I Don’t Hate People, Really

By G. E. Shuman

          Have you ever simply felt really frustrated with people? (Unnecessary question, I know.) I mean, have you ever wondered why so many of them say and do all the stupid things that they do? Have you ever just wanted to take a long walk down the road, alone, and not stop walking? Have you ever felt like some people are so self-centered and rude that you’d like to slap them silly just to wake them up before you strangled them? Ugh! Well, if you have ever experienced any of these feelings, welcome to my club.

          You know, I consider myself to be a friendly guy, a guy who can tolerate and has tolerated a lot in life. I love my wife and family more than I could ever say, and, best of all (or worst of all for my attitude right now) I’m a Christian and know that we are commanded by God to love everybody. That’s right, everybody. Ugh, again!

          That last point has always been a tough one for me, and one I have a lot of work to do to accomplish. Strange as it may seem after what you have read here so far, I really am trying to love people and not get so frustrated by some of them, to the point that I have all but stopped watching the news. That’s right. And don’t tell me that the news isn’t frustrating.  It’s all bad news all the time anyway, about all the bad and all the stupid things that all the people do, especially the people in Washington D.C. This country would be a lot better off without politicians; that’s something I think most of us can agree on. I think that the least we should do is to delete them all and reboot.  How refreshing would that be, huh?

          Still, I really am trying to behave myself and love others more. I have bitten my tongue so many times when I’ve felt like committing verbal assault that I can hardly taste food anymore, and I’ve walked away from boastful blabbering bozos so many times that I don’t need my treadmill anymore. (Okay, so, I do still need the treadmill. That’s not really the point.) 

          Still, half of the conversations that I overhear in public places, especially in local restaurants, are simply the products of one person telling their captive lunch mates how much they know about something. (Those conversations aren’t overheard on purpose. They’re overheard because of the decibel level of that person’s voice, and the fact that I can’t leave because I’ve already ordered my food.)

          Be honest, you’ve been there too. And, to that lady in the next booth the other day who ruined my nice conversation with my wife by relating to her very tolerant lunch companion just how much she knows about something, (I have no idea what, and that’s not important.) all I can say is, please try not to speak, especially that loudly, ever again. There was and will be no one in that restaurant, ever, who wants to make you famous for your genius take on the world of that subject, whatever it was, so you don’t need to broadcast it and rattle the windows.) There, see how understanding I can be?

          Truthfully, honestly, I don’t actually hate people. (I will keep telling myself that for the rest of my life.) I just don’t understand a lot of them. That selfish person who cut me off in the intersection the other day, (I wonder what he did with his extra three seconds.) that verbally filter-less lady who just can’t seem to help saying every single thing that pops into her brain and a few things that don’t, that selfish young man who pushed his cart in front of my wife’s cart in that busy checkout line, are not so different from me. (It really hurts to admit that.) They have their problems, and so do I. It’s the old, supposedly Native American adage of not judging another person until you have walked a mile in his moccasins. (That way, if you have made him angry, he’s a mile away and barefoot.)  Sorry, I couldn’t resist adding that.

          The other day a good friend of ours was chatting with us about some of the foibles that people seem to have and offered a bit of wisdom on the subject that lowered my blood pressure a little, I think. I hope I will always remember it. She said: “Everybody has their own little bag of rocks, and they’re all different.” (Thank you Sandra.)