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.

What’s at the root of objections to real freedom? Paternalism
The more I understand humans, the less I really comprehend us
Don’t be shocked if insane system produces narcissistic leaders
I keep trying to find the light, but my choices leave me in darkness
When you compromise principles, you soon won’t recognize yourself
Whatever you’re doing for Fourth, have a safe and happy holiday
Why are you and I forced to pay for free phones for certain folks?
How do you suppose invention of ‘truth machine’ would affect you?