In days long ago measurements relied on the physique of the man in charge. Or at least that is what my teacher told me. The distance between the king's fingertip and elbow was the designated standard, and the length of his foot marked another. The span of his hand decided one more, and the name persists when calibrating the height of a horse. I am unclear if there were any women or children whose size determined anything. 

 

I wonder if this was a heady experience. Probably it added to the sense of self importance that was already part and parcel to royalty. Servants carefully recorded his limb, and all of the kingdom bowed to that norm. How could that not engender a rush of power? 

 

These days there is a system based on the number ten that is more locked in, notwithstanding Liberia, Myanmar and the USA. Always the renegade. 

 

It can be alluring to hold ourselves as the standard for everyone around us. Our decisions about family size, or income, or where we vacation, or how we worship rise to universal ideals.

 

"I did it this way, so you should too."

 

I saw a video of a woman berating a man for speaking a different language than her. One she did not know and was on those grounds inferior.  

 

There is a set of moral standards, also numbering ten, that keeps me in line. The funny thing is, though, the directive is pointed at me. Not from me. 

 

"You shall not kill. You shall not lie. You shall not steal."

 

It would be handier for applying to others if I could only make myself the one giving commands. 

 

"He should not covet. She should honor her father and mother."

 

But that kind of power is as meaningless as my shoe size.