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.

A sincere apology can bring color back when the world looks gray
The Alien Observer:
Science or bias? What if there’s no proof that eating fat will kill you?
I just found out an ex got married – and I’m shocked to feel jealous
‘What’s the worth of one warm smile? Go and ask the dead man’
Only certainty of life is that every one of us crosses River Styx alone
I want to help out of pure love, but human motives are messy
Hidden chains need to be broken, so I’ve become a reluctant rebel