Reality Competition Shows: When We All Become Critics.

Troy was a couple of years older.  He was married with one child when we started medical school together.  We had similar interests-  less beer and sports, more art, music and philosophy.

I experienced many firsts with him- from classic movies, to great operas, from staying up all night awaiting shooting stars in Joshua Tree to skipping class for French baguettes and caffeinated hyperbole. 

There are those in whose company you feel you belonged your whole life.

I grew close to him, but every time I let my guard down, he pushed me into an uncomfortable corner.  Troy was a perfectionist.  He judged harshly.  In a beautiful antique masterpiece, he pointed out the crack in the corner.  In a triumphant movie, he took pride in finding flaw.  Where I found wonder, he crushed it with cutting critique.

At times, this atheist was certain that if he were God, the world would be a better place.

In my house, we used to watch the now cancelled American Idol, before we switched over to The Voice.  My kids learned quickly from Simon:  To appear smart, criticize! 

Reality competition shows have trained us to roast the contestants.  We feel superior, not only to the participants, not only to the judges, but also to our friends sitting beside us, in front of the set, when we guess the winner early.  “See,” we say.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

We grow up in schools where grades kill our creative outlet, constantly in fear of failure.  As adults, we are trained to mock those who trip.  When we walk into a magnificent building, we boast, not noticing the grandeur, but zooming in on the “missing tile” as coined by Dennis Prager. 

Trouble is- sometimes all we see is the defect.  The scar becomes the person.

Criticism, constant crucifixion, is the biggest killer of relationships.  Cynicism drives in the nails.  Eventually, the trained knife of judgment slashes the hearts of those closest to the critic.

Troy and I grew apart.  I continued to have distant respect, but did not want to be jaded.

I treasure that curious child within me, who in the words of Picasso, still wants to remain an artist.