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.

Economic and moral ignorance is at root of fast food worker walkout
Ron Paul isn’t a racist, but the old newsletters need a credible response
We learn lessons as we mature, but it’s usually too late by then
When voters insist on lies, politicians follow their incentives and lie
Market failure? Why do we have so many overeducated people?
Great men who change the world rarely look impressive from start
I wanted to be Capt. James Kirk; have I become Ignatius J. Reilly?
As I quietly watch my world burn, I’m painfully aware this isn’t fine
Black Friday orgy of consumerism makes me very uncomfortable