I’m sorry. I guess. Because in another life, I must’ve been awful. I guess I’m awful in this one, too. There have been times in my life when I have felt life paid it forward to me in a way I could not comprehend – I felt so full and so grateful and I worked my ass off to be someone who deserved it. I am trying so hard to leave this world better than how I found it, so why’s it so hard when my patience is stretched thin with relationships, family, work, and life stress, to not flip off the loser who’s causing a log jam by tooling along in the left lane. I get it. The difference in my commute will be measured in seconds, possibly a few minutes if I endure the agony I feel they’re inflicting. And how many friendly driver waves does it take to compensate for a flip-off? How many doors must I hold open, smiles must I offer, sob stories need I hear while ignoring my own needs (such as getting back to work, using the restroom, or making it on time to a meeting)? Is there karma calculus? It’s something for me to ponder on my drive home – something that will hopefully prevent my freeing any birds, tooting any horns, or swearing out loud in the car (does that count? With no witnesses, if I’m being outwardly patient but in reality I’m smiling & cussing about them in my car, what sort of points are assigned for that? Do I break even, or is it still counted against me when the patience I exercise isn’t genuine?)

I may be agnostic, but I still liked this:

The “mea culpa,” as the Confiteor has come to be known popularly, is not simply a confession of sins, but rather an admission of one’s flawed nature and the willingness to make amends for it.