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When I ran into Brittany tonight, she seemed subdued. She’s normally bubbly and happy, but it was obvious that she was miserable.

There were other people around at first, so I couldn’t ask much about what was doing on. I just leaned over and asked, “Are you OK?” She quietly mouthed, “I’ll tell you later.”

When the place had cleared out, she came and sat with me. Then she explained what her boyfriend had done Saturday. It’s a long story, but he was intentionally cruel and mean to her. He had laughed about it Sunday and taunted her. But when she threatened today to break up with him, he alternated between begging her not to and angrily threatening her if she did.

Brittany acknowledged what we were both thinking. I had warned her about this man after he did something similarly cruel and nasty to her nearly a year ago. I had warned her then to get away from him — because she had discovered who he really is.

But Brittany had given him another chance. And when similar things have happened over the months, she’s done the same thing. She chooses to believe his convenient words of remorse instead of his actions.

People eventually demonstrate who they really are. Always. When people demonstrate what they are — through their actions — believe them. It’s idiocy to pretend that people are going to be something other than what they’ve shown you.

Brittany hasn’t learned that lesson yet. And it’s a lesson that I’ve been really slow to learn, too.

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I spent much of my weekend showing houses to buyers. Every time I do this, it’s always the same experience for me. I wonder why anybody with the slightest understanding of aesthetics would have built such houses — and why anybody would buy them.

I’m in the minority on this, of course, because almost everybody buys whatever is popular among his friends and family. They don’t know any better. They buy what they know. They buy what seems “normal” to them. So they buy houses which are painfully garish or pretentious or dull to me. And builders keep building those sorts of houses — simply because that’s what people expect to buy.

When I’m showing such a house — and people are talking about borrowing half a million dollars to buy it — I want to ask them if this is what they really want. I want to ask them if they’ve ever considered the warmly beautiful piece of living art they could build for that money instead. I want to show them houses such as this one on the market right now in Redlands, Calif.

But I don’t — because I remember how ignorant I was about design philosophy before I finally learned to appreciate good architecture, too. They wouldn’t appreciate my suggestion any more than I would have appreciated it back when I wanted something which I would loathe today.

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I’m not certain whether I love this world or hate it. I’m never sure whether I love my fellow humans or hate all of us. How can I be so confused about this?

There are times when I experience beauty and love and joy as I walk through this world. In those moments, I feel as though all is right and I’m at peace. I feel as though I love the people around me and want to connect with them. In those moments, it’s a joy to be alive.

But there are times when mundane and callous actions by others pierce my heart and make me hurt and cynical. In those times, I sometimes hear an inner voice crying, “I hate everybody!” In those moments, I want to give up on humans and become a hermit. I wonder why God made us.

Am I confused? Schizo? Bi-polar?

Not really. I’m just experiencing very different parts of what it means to be alive. And as much as I want to rage against the things which hurt me and make me want to run away, I have to accept that my own choices have brought me to where I am. Even when others have taken actions which have hurt me and angered me, I am the one with the power to change my own life.

Nobody can do it for me. I have to change myself in order to change my experience of this world.

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