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.

As we encounter emotional truth, poisonous past can make us numb
Humans are most heroic in small moments of caring for each other
Dishonesty runs rampant when partisanship matters more than truth
Some people hate their enemies so badly that fairness doesn’t matter
Fear of potential loss is a terrible reason to stay in the wrong place
Opening a business? It’s easier to do in Rwanda than in U.S. today
I’d like to help change the world, but politics is no longer my hobby
I’m trying to silence inner critic who says I ought to be perfect
Face the facts: U.S. Constitution is dead document with no meaning