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.

Emotional wounds in me quickly spot those with similar wounds
Genetics, culture work together to drive us to pursue what we want
Here’s a hot news flash: State ‘industrial policy’ still doesn’t work
Reality check: A stupid racial prank isn’t ‘the worst thing anybody can do’
Just a sandwich: Why do people make everything so political?
After last month’s weight freakout, something’s shifted in my attitude
Doing the right thing frequently requires breaking immoral laws