Every Sunday morning, I get up early and head to a coffee shop in town. It’s a quiet ritual for me. The streets are mostly empty, the same friendly barista is always on shift, and I sit in the same corner with a flat white and my laptop, hoping the words will flow.
This is my favorite kind of writing time: early, quiet, and without pressure. Just me, the coffee, and whatever wants to be expressed.
This morning, a woman walked in and, in my opinion, was rude. She had a snappy tone, avoided eye contact, and treated the barista like a vending machine. There were no pleasantries, just a barked order while she stared at her phone.
I felt tense; I always do when I witness behavior like that. I judged her harshly. Irritation surged within me as I created a whole story in my head about her: She was “one of those” people, probably always in a rush, likely rude to everyone, driving an enormous car and never thanking anyone who lets her out at a junction. What a terrible person.
All these thoughts flashed through my mind within seconds, based on just one moment and one interaction.
It wasn’t my best moment, I know.
Then, I caught myself. I realized that the woman’s behavior had somehow felt personal, even though it wasn’t. She hadn’t even noticed me, tucked away in my corner. Yet, something about the way she walked in and spoke stirred something within me. That’s what made it stick and led to my judgment of her.
Upon reflection, I realize I’ve probably come across this way too—when I’ve been stressed, tired, or overwhelmed, or when I’ve just received bad news or am running late. When my nervous system is frazzled and the world feels like too much, I might behave poorly as well.
While this doesn’t excuse it, it does make me curious. I wonder how often we perceive the sharp edges of someone else’s demeanor and assume it tells the entire story. How often do we react to someone else’s discomfort, their story, or their unspoken expectations?
As a coach, I see this frequently. My clients often recall moments when someone was short with them, distant, or made a careless comment, and they carry those experiences for years as proof that they are too much, not enough, or a problem.
I gently remind them, “What if it wasn’t about you at all? What if that comment, that reaction, or that silence was never personal? What if someone else’s rudeness says more about their day than your worth?”
When people are difficult, it’s often because they are dealing with difficulties of their own. That doesn’t mean you have to tolerate it, but it might mean you can carry it a little more lightly.