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.

Unconscious programming makes us eager to believe our own lies
The ‘man in the mirror’ always turns out to be our worst enemy
Nature’s renewal and growth boost my hope for my own life each year
Watching kids on a Friday night reminds me of struggle to belong
Predictions of doom keep failing, so isn’t it rational to doubt them?
Ohio high school shooting shouldn’t be excuse to take more guns away
Goodbye, Mother
Few things satisfy like giving thoughtful gifts to those we love