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.

Buggy WordPress plugin knocked site off the air for about 36 hours
Few things satisfy like giving thoughtful gifts to those we love
Can love last? Man holding hand of his dying wife gives me hope
As I faced my father’s narcissism, I had to confront who I’d become
Christmas looks different now, but I still see joy with eyes of a child
Fear of terrifying future makes heart look to the past for clarity