Try to see the good in others. When you're tempted to judge

Host: The evening sunlight drifted across the old bookstore, filtering through dust and memory. It was the kind of place where time felt thicker, slower—where the air smelled of paper, ink, and a faint trace of coffee from the shop next door.

Outside, the street murmured with city noise—footsteps, car doors, a child’s laughter spilling into the air like a soft bell. Inside, the light touched the edges of the bookshelves like grace, warming the spines of a thousand stories waiting to be believed.

Jack sat in a corner, arms folded, his brows furrowed as he watched the crowd. He had that look of a man who’d seen too much and trusted too little. Jeeny stood a few feet away, flipping through a book, her eyes shining with that gentle, unguarded hope that always made him uneasy.

Between them, on the table, lay a scrap of paper. On it, in Jeeny’s handwriting, the words:
“Try to see the good in others. When you're tempted to judge someone, make an effort to see their goodness. Your willingness to look for the best in people will subconsciously bring it forth.” — Marianne Williamson.

Jeeny: “What do you think of it?”

Jack: (without looking up) “Sounds like something you’d find in a fortune cookie.”

Host: The light shifted, falling across his face, etching the lines of fatigue and bitterness that life had drawn there. Jeeny smiled, softly, as if his sarcasm were a language she’d long since learned to translate.

Jeeny: “You call it fortune, I call it faith.”

Jack: “Faith in what? That people are better than they act? That if you just squint hard enough, the liar, the cheat, the coward will start to glow?”

Jeeny: “Faith in what’s still untouched inside them. Even the worst person carries a seed of goodness—you just have to look for it.”

Jack: “You mean pretend it’s there.”

Jeeny: “No. See it before it’s visible. That’s how it becomes real.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked, steady and slow, each second stretching between their words like a tightrope. Jack leaned back, eyes on the ceiling, breathing out through his nose.

Jack: “You know what I’ve learned, Jeeny? When you start looking for the good in people, you end up blind to the damage they cause. The moment you believe everyone’s got a heart of gold, someone uses that belief to cut you.”

Jeeny: “And yet you still hope, don’t you? Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be so angry.”

Jack: “Hope is what hurts. You expect people to rise, they fall. You forgive, they repeat. You start believing in their goodness, and before you know it, you’re bleeding optimism.”

Jeeny: “You sound like you’ve been disappointed too many times.”

Jack: “I’ve been awake too many times.”

Host: The words landed like a stone, but Jeeny didn’t flinch. She closed her book, walked closer, and sat across from him. The light from the window fell between them—a line of gold, thin, fragile, but constant.

Jeeny: “You think cynicism is wisdom, Jack. But it’s just fear wearing a smarter face. Marianne Williamson wasn’t talking about denial—she was talking about choice. To see the good even when it’s buried.”

Jack: “And what does that accomplish? You start seeing good in a man who’s hurt you, what then? You let him do it again? Because you’re too busy looking for his soul to protect your own?”

Jeeny: “It’s not about forgiving the hurt. It’s about refusing to let it define what you see. You can’t heal a world you judge.”

Jack: “And you can’t fix one you refuse to judge.”

Host: The room tightened, the air alive with tension—that beautiful, terrible kind that comes when two truths collide. The light dimmed slightly as a cloud passed over the sun, shading the room in gray.

Jeeny: “Jack… do you remember the homeless man outside the station last winter? The one you gave your coat to?”

Jack: (shrugs) “Yeah. He was freezing. I had a spare.”

Jeeny: “No, you didn’t. You gave your own and went home in the snow. You didn’t even think about it. That was you seeing the good in someone—without a reason. It’s already in you.”

Jack: “That wasn’t goodness, Jeeny. That was guilt. He looked like my brother. I couldn’t walk away.”

Jeeny: “Maybe guilt is just the shadow of goodness—a sign that you still care.”

Host: Jack’s eyes softened, the lines on his forehead loosening. The cloud moved on, and light returned, painting both of their faces in a shared, golden warmth.

Jack: “You really believe people change when you see the best in them?”

Jeeny: “I do. Because we mirror what’s shown to us. When you believe someone is good, you invite them to be that.”

Jack: “And if they’re not?”

Jeeny: “Then at least you’ve lived with an open heart. That’s never wasted.”

Host: A moment of silence hung—the kind that feels like a breath before understanding. Outside, the light shifted again, catching the dust in the air, turning it into a small, floating galaxy.

Jack: “You know… maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world. Everyone’s too busy trying to catch each other’s mistakes, no one’s seeing the light that’s still there.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You don’t have to ignore the darkness, Jack. Just refuse to let it blind you.”

Jack: “You make it sound so simple.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. But it’s the only way we’ll ever see each other again—not as threats, but as possibilities.”

Host: The clock ticked again, its sound gentle, forgiving. Jack reached for his cup, staring at the steam that rose and vanished—like a thought turning into truth.

Jack: “Maybe next time I’m tempted to judge, I’ll try to see something good instead.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s how goodness begins.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back then—bookshelves stretching high, the window glowing, the city soft and golden beyond.

Two people, one table, one moment of understanding—
and in that tiny space, the world shifted,
just a little,
toward goodness.