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.

Utah man turns newspaper obituary into insightful, funny confessional
Federal ‘help’ makes medical care more expensive and less available
Trump bringing Marxism to U.S. better than Marx could’ve hoped
If you’re waiting to be rescued, what are you still waiting for?
Forgotten photos are a powerful memory of a friend who’s left me
FRIDAY FUNNIES
A sincere apology can bring color back when the world looks gray
After his death, I can finally see good in narcissistic father again