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.

Would you have avoided mistakes if a psychic could’ve warned you?
It’s hard to nurture what’s alive when you water dead flowers
Irrational beliefs hurt all of us when you hand power to the ignorant
I haven’t learned to stop walking on eggshells around angry people
Galt’s Gulch? I can live without that, but I need my own ‘Akston’s diner’
When the state turns you into a criminal, friends become enemies
If principles of First Amendment still apply, principles of Second do, too
We never get enough of whatever lets us feel safe being ourselves
If you start sharing your abuse, some will tell you to ‘get over it’