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.

UPDATE: No, I really haven’t died; I’ve just lost my sense of purpose
If you’re out of place somewhere, nobody’s going to be very happy
Hey, you! If you’re in New Jersey, you help pay for ‘Jersey Shore’
Good character matters far more than winning political arguments
We’re trapped in our own heads, fearful of other folks’ judgment
I swiftly judged her bad attitude, but I was slow to judge myself
Face of a stalker? At Florida school, it’s ‘stalking’ to speak of karma
Plans change and people hurt us, but we often need to start over