We’re all judgmental, aren’t we? Let’s drop the negative connotation associated with our baser instincts and judging others, and instead consider it more in slightly more neutral terms: We’re evaluative. We weigh options, make assessments, identify strengths and opportunities, and so on.

Of course, those evaluations and judgments apply both to ourselves and to others—and to practically every little thing around us, every context in which we find ourselves, every internal and external state.

Given how frequently (constantly!) we are making evaluations, you might think that it’s normal—indeed, even automatic—for us to also revisit those evaluations. Based on little more than the law of large numbers, it stands to reason that we’d have to reevaluate our judgments often.

But we don’t. Once we make an assessment, especially if it’s a value assessment, we tend to hold fast. Our judgments become part of our senses of self. Organizational psychologist Adam Grant writes about this in his most recent book, Think Again1. I guess the old adage about first impressions really is true. Judgments, once formed, are hard for us to get rid of.

But considering that each of us lives in our own constantly changing skin, we might expect ourselves to freely rethink our evaluations of self.

We don’t, though. Instead, we perform all our little evaluations and derive a set portrait of Who We Are; then we stick with it. Here’s a bit of a paradox: my portrait of Who I Am includes that I’m a Learner. I value curiosity and exploration and all the growth and change that comes along with it. I tend to believe that I can cultivate new skills, gain new knowledge, form new ideas, and so on.

I don’t, however, tend so naturally to believe that I can strengthen my weaknesses or overcome my limitations.2 Because my hips have been tight for as long as I can remember, I think of myself as a tight-hipped person. Because a younger version of me was quick to anger, I have to remind myself that it’s not necessarily true that I am hot-tempered.

I’ve been reading a lot of the writings of Thich Nhat Hahn in recent months, and I’ve been thinking especially about one mantra he shares: “Are you sure?” Beautiful in its simplicity, it’s a nonjudgmental way to investigate our judgmental nature. However positively or negatively charged the judgment, it’s easy to ask: Are you sure you’re hot-tempered? Are you sure your hips are tight? Often, I don’t even need to answer the question; the very act of asking brings me some perspective.

If I choose to investigate the question, my answer is usually, “No.” I’m not sure. For those judgments and evaluations of self, this can be helpful: Maybe today’s yoga practice is the one that will unlock my hips so that—even only just this once—I can find myself in lotus pose. Even if not, that physical limitation is my current reality, but not necessarily my destiny. Just as even though once upon a time I may have been quick to anger, that doesn’t mean that I cannot be and am not more patient and equanimous today. The current reality—good, bad, or indifferent—can simply be what it is.

The point of asking “Are you sure?” isn’t to stop yourself from thinking or acting or behaving in a certain way unless you are 100% sure. It doesn’t put absolute certainty on some kind of pedestal. The question doesn’t have to lead to a forensic analysis of our judgments or thought processes, nor does it presuppose that some conclusion/belief/action based on faith or absent of empirical evidence is fatally flawed.

The point is perspective. Certainty is fixed, decided, definite, and final. Good. Or bad. Full stop. And while too much uncertainty can be problematic on its own3, a dash of uncertainty makes for curiosity, exploration, learning, and discovery. It creates space (maybe the sort of space that allows us to take a beat before reacting in anger, or maybe the sort of space that finally unlocks the hips).

And we all need a little space sometimes.