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.

I still have trouble accepting that my idealized world doesn’t exist
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In other news, donations keep pouring in to feed the monkeys
Finding joy brings more happiness than the empty pursuit of pleasure
Trivial distractions keep us from focusing on love and connection
Loss of majestic tree in my yard feels like death of an old friend
If we’re seduced by our desires, we often follow devil in disguise
Don’t believe the words they say: Politicians revert to their incentives
I don’t claim to know the solution, but the modern church has failed