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.

Baby girl murdered by own father is reminder to stay away from abusers
If we keep waiting for perfection, we’ll always keep traveling alone
Time and maturity have changed
Why did I really feel annoyed? They were happy; I was jealous
When did someone decide we have the legal right not to be offended?
Keep trying: The squirrels are pedaling as hard as they can
What’s the point of a secret crush if heart isn’t ready to accept love?
Today’s kids learning they should fear police, not respect them
Love drives us mad, but madness rescues us from ‘horrible sanity’