Hipocrisy-a Real Soon

Hypocrisy: the act of being less critical of oneself than of others.

We all do it, but to what extent? Lately I've been thinking a lot about this topic. I apologize in advance (and give fair warning) this blog is more personal and less pop-culture than normal. Hmm..now where to start...

It was a dark and stormy night...no no
Once upon a time....not even close

Well then, lets start at the beginning. I have a history of being disappointed by people. Maybe it's because I think too much of them, maybe they don't live up to their potential, who knows. That's a whole other blog (been there, done that). My point is, I like to think I see the best possible person in people and, for better or worse, get brutally let down when they don't live up to my expectations.

I grew up with two brothers. I now only have one. Oh no, don't start sending me flowers in sympathy, the other one's not dead. He's just no longer in my life. This is because I have standards. I refuse to put up with people who live in their own head and only think about themselves. Now, don't get me wrong, I've given him time to grow and change; unfortunately, he thinks he's fine the way he is. In fact, my nickname for him is the prodigal son. This comes from the Biblical story illustrating how one son is forgiven no matter how horrible he is and is considered equal to the always loyal son. In case you're not getting it, you can guess who always identified with the "loyal son."

But this blog is not about my feelings toward the "Prodigal Son." What it is about is the continuous forgiveness no matter the trespasses. One of the only things I resent about my wonderful father is that he was always so quick to forgive him no matter how cruel his actions. I understood unconditional love, but not the concept of always "letting things slide." Or, at least I thought I didn't understand it. After much further investigation of myself, I have realized I am just as guilty as my father. Like father, like daughter.

My best friend in high school was my rock. He was the only one who understood me. Over the years..well..I guess life got in the way. I take that back..girls got in the way. "When Harry met Sally" poses the quintessential question: can men and women be friends? I've always said yes, but I have learned why it is so hard. But I digress...

It's been at least 4 years of this rocky "friendship" we have endured and every time it is his own actions that keep us from talking (oh my would he be steamed if he read me saying that..lol). But no matter how much he hurts me, no matter how unfair he is to me, I always reach back out to him. I always forgive his trespasses in a heartbeat (no pun intended) because I care about him with every fiber of my body. I forget how he made me feel for the last 6+ months and I welcome him with open arms. And yet, when my dad does this to my brother, I yell at him. Talk about hypocrisy.

So what's the moral of the story? Well it would be easy to say it's not to judge without looking first at yourself. Yet, I don't think it's that simple. We all have our crosses to bare but perhaps we all carry the same cross. What makes sense to one person may seem absurd to someone else. All I ask from my readers now is to find the similarity in others, rather than your differences.

"If only she knew..."