I hate broccoli rabe. But you have no reason to know that. It has no bearing on your life, whatsoever. It’s just my personal opinion.
Some people in my family love it, so my mom makes it all the time. It’s a staple side dish at almost every holiday. Every birthday. Every family dinner.
And every single time, I look on with curiosity as they all savor the sautéed greens. ‘Mmmm, this is soo good’, they say, as they look back at me, knowing full well that I am going to try a forkful, once again. Like I do almost every holiday. Every birthday. Every family dinner.
It’s a running gag. And gag, I do. Because I do not like it, Sam I am. In my personal opinion, it is bitter. And pungent. And just a little too assertive for my taste.
But I try it again and again anyway, because I know that one’s sense of taste can evolve, opinions can change. They aren’t fixed forever. I also know that broccoli rabe is good for me, nutritionally. And everyone else seems to be enjoying it so much.
Just because I have publicly decried it many times, doesn’t mean I have to stick to my guns. Trying it again is not a compromise or betrayal of my ethics or morals. My distaste for the vegetable doesn’t define me in anyway. I haven’t sworn an oath to the Rapini Haters Club.
Maybe my opinion has changed? Maybe my taste buds have changed? Maybe I have changed! I’m not the same person I was the last time I tried it.
So, with an open mind, I try it again, as if for the first time. Every time. But it never tastes any better. Or at least it hasn’t yet.
Over the past few years, the very ritual of my putting it on my plate and tasting it has become its own staple side dish. Everyone laughs about it. They watch my face squish up as I take a bite, and wait to see if I can chew it long enough to swallow it. I think everyone is secretly waiting for the day that I say I like it. Especially the chef.
Maybe that’s one reason I keep trying. Maybe I don’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings. Maybe that’s why I say ‘Yeah, I guess it’s not completely awful’, even though I still detest it. Or maybe it’s because of Celine Dion.
Many years ago, I’m not sure how many, but more than twenty, I was at a friend’s house for Sunday dinner. I don’t think her mom made broccoli rabe that day, but she might have? The memory is fuzzy but ‘it’s all coming back to me now…’ I do remember her dad’s delicious homemade wine.
After dinner, we were lounging around, cozily crowded in the living room, lazing on chairs and ottomans, the floor and the hearth-seat. We were talking, as we often did, about music, when someone mentioned Celine Dion. Without thinking, in part due to the homemade in vino veritas I’m sure, I called out, ‘I HATE Celine Dion!’ Because I guess, at the time, I did. And I must’ve been feeling passionately about it in that moment. In hindsight, it was probably a little too assertive for some tastes.
As the bitter, pungent words left my mouth, I caught sight of my friend’s very young niece by the fireplace. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her lip was quivering. She began sobbing, heaving, almost uncontrollably. She was a very sweet and sensitive girl, and apparently a Celine Dion super-fan. She leaned into her mother, who wrapped her up in a hug, and cried.
I never felt so bad about strongly voicing a musical preference in my life. And I have strongly voiced many. I apologized- profusely. And though she may have long forgotten about the interaction (I’ll have to ask her next time I see her) it is a core memory for me.
That was the day I learned, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last time, that there is no real need to interject my personal judgment about things into every conversation. They are simply my own internal impressions. And no one needs to know them. They have no bearing on anyone else’s life. And the negative ones can leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouth.
By nature, we humans are judgmental. We judge 100 things around us each second as safe or dangerous. We judge each thing we see-hear-smell-touch-taste as good, bad or neutral. But why do we feel the need to vocalize our judgments all day long? Why must we put them out there for the world to see and hear? Why do we go on and on…
Why do we hold so tightly onto our preferences and express them as if they are fixed personal truths? Part of our identities? They are just impressions. Feelings. Opinions. And they can change. They can always change.
Maybe I don’t hate Celine Dion anymore. You don’t need to know if I do or not. It has no bearing on your life.
And maybe I will like broccoli rabe someday. Who knows? My taste buds may evolve. I may have a change of mind or a change of heart, and ‘my heart will go on and on’.
Blech.
Skip to My Lou, My Dharma 
We hear that you feel open to change in this case, might even welcome it! We feel hopeful when we consider that.
We appreciated that you said negative judgments can have a particular impact. We notice that, too. We fear the positive judgments, too. We sometimes experience them as you describe: judgments can land as declaratives, as if they were fact so that to experience something differently—and say so—is to take up a polar opposite position and create a binary.
We notice that we often enjoy to hear how someone feels and what they need. This often nourishes our needs for information and can open opportunities for empathy, compassion, connection.
We can sometimes still get there from judgment—and for us, right now, we must use more capacity: overcome fear, lean into trust, focus on love.
We know people who try to accustom their taste buds to things they initially dislike and want to like or at least tolerate. Some people do this with alcohol under the explanation of “acquired tastes.” An exposure therapy of sorts. This is one of the only paths we have identified for us to be able to like or tolerate interpersonal interaction with people who don’t practice nonviolent communication.
We commit to attempting to trust them and to trust that we will survive even if we don’t appreciate their response/reaction. With practice (exposure), we hope we will acquire the taste.