It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Tribal instincts cause us to see others as evil, when they’re just different
Don’t believe angry words and deception from a wounded heart
What if the best you can offer to someone will never be enough?
Theft is biggest problem with customers not tipping gay server
Hug awakens realization of how much I’ve missed human touch
Love & Hope — Episode 4:
Romantic interest no easier now than it was for me in sixth grade
Envy drives hatred for wealthy, but I want to earn my riches
Correcting an old error: there’s no such thing as ‘We the People’