You're Awake. So Why Is Everyone Else So Annoying?

You finish meditating. It's been a good one. The mind actually settled down for a change. You're feeling peaceful, centered, maybe even a little pleased with yourself.

Then you walk into the kitchen.

Someone asks whether you've paid that bill you promised to take care of.

You haven't.

But instead of simply saying so, you're irritated. Why does everyone have to bring their problems to you first thing in the morning? Can't they see you're trying to maintain some peace in your life?

A few minutes ago, you were observing your ego.

Now you're observing everyone else's.

And apparently, they all have a lot of work to do.

The bill is still unpaid, but somehow that's no longer the issue. You're busy thinking about how reactive everyone is, how attached they are to their problems, and how little they understand about being present.

The ego hasn't disappeared. It's just learned a new language.

The Ego Has Found a New Career

Somewhere along the way, you start questioning the whole arrangement.

You meditate. You read about karma, dharma, the Self. Some of it really does change you. Things that used to bother you lose their grip. You care less about impressing people. You catch a reaction before you act on it.

But a mind that spent years building an identity around being important can build one around being spiritual just as easily.

Suddenly, you're not just someone who meditates.

You're someone who understands.

You recognize other people's attachments. You see their conditioning. You know when they're acting from fear or ego.

Before long, you've become the unofficial spiritual consultant for everyone in your life.

Whether they asked for one or not.

We're much better at recognizing someone else's ego than at admitting when our own has taken over the conversation.

Your Friend Probably Didn't Call for a Spiritual Diagnosis

A close friend calls you after being passed over for a promotion.

"I didn't get it. After everything I did for that company, they gave the promotion to someone else."

Six years of hard work, late evenings, missed family dinners, and someone else gets the job.

You've been studying spirituality for years. You listen and immediately see the problem.

She's attached to recognition. She's identifying with her career. She's letting external circumstances determine her happiness.

You may not even be wrong.

So you tell her.

"You know, the real problem is your attachment to the outcome. Once you stop needing external validation, these things won't affect you so much."

She's quiet.

She called because she'd had a miserable day and wanted to talk to somebody.

Instead, she's received a spiritual diagnosis.

"That's rough. Tell me what happened" would have been enough.

And you might never realize why she doesn't call you the next time something goes wrong.

The Invisible Scoreboard

We've spent most of our lives comparing ourselves with other people. Salaries, accomplishments, job titles, houses. Just about anything we can measure.

Then we discover spirituality and begin questioning the whole business of comparison.

Except now we're comparing spiritual progress.

Someone describes a beautiful experience during meditation, and another person says, "Yes, I remember when I used to have experiences like that. Eventually you move beyond them."

It sounds helpful. It may even be true.

But there's also a faint suggestion that one person has already graduated from the place where the other is standing.

And the scoreboard works in reverse, too.

Someone mentions sitting in meditation for an hour every morning. You think about the twelve minutes you managed before your knee started hurting and your mind wandered off to what you needed from the grocery store.

Now you're the one who's behind.

You came to meditation hoping to get a little less caught up in comparison. Somehow you've turned sitting quietly with your eyes closed into another competition.

And nobody else even knows they're being scored.

They think they're having a conversation with you.

Sometimes "Protecting My Peace" Is Just Avoiding an Uncomfortable Conversation

I hear people use that expression quite a bit.

"I'm protecting my peace."

And sometimes that's exactly what they're doing. There are relationships and situations we genuinely need to step away from.

But there's another version of this.

Your partner says, "What you said yesterday really hurt me."

You could ask what happened. You might discover a misunderstanding. You might even realize you said something insensitive.

Or you could respond, "That's your projection. You're reacting from your unresolved emotions."

There. Problem solved.

Except you've managed to avoid the entire conversation while making it sound as though you're the one approaching it consciously.

That's a useful trick if your objective is to never have to apologize.

I've caught my own mind doing a quieter version of this.

A few years back, I had lunch with a former colleague I've known for over twenty years. The conversation turned to work, and I mentioned that I'd decided not to renew a consulting contract I'd had for four years.

The money was good. That wasn't the problem. I was tired of spending my days doing something I no longer felt connected to, and I'd saved enough to give myself a few months to explore something different.

He put down his fork.

"Are you crazy? People would kill for that kind of money. What are you going to do, sit around and meditate all day?"

I laughed a little and tried to explain.

"No, I've thought this through. Financially, I'll be fine. I just don't want to keep doing this forever."

But he was already telling me why I was making a mistake. I was walking away from easy money. I'd get bored. I'd regret it in six months.

After the third interruption, I gave up.

"Look, I wasn't asking for advice. I'm just telling you what I've decided."

We finished lunch, talked about a few other things, and parted on friendly terms.

On the drive home, though, I was still irritated.

He hasn't changed in twenty years. Everything is about money with him.

Then another thought showed up.

He's so attached to his career that he can't even imagine someone wanting something different.

By the time I got home, I'd decided he was completely trapped in his conditioning.

That evening, I was unloading the dishwasher, and I was still sitting at that lunch table.

Only now, I was winning.

I was explaining everything I should have said. I was remembering something equally irritating he'd said the last time we met. I'd even started rehearsing what I'd say if he brought it up again.

I put the last plate away and caught myself.

Wait. I already made this decision. I wasn't asking his permission. So why am I still arguing with him?

He was probably at home watching TV.

Somewhere between the restaurant and the dishwasher, I'd turned a disagreement about a consulting contract into a judgment about his entire level of consciousness.

I don't have to discuss my personal decisions with him again. But I also don't need to decide he's spiritually inferior to justify that choice.

Sometimes "This isn't for me" is enough.

Who Is It That's So Awake?

One of the reasons I keep returning to Ramana Maharshi's teachings is that his approach to self-enquiry doesn't leave much room for this kind of mental performance.

Instead of asking how spiritually advanced we are, he directs attention toward the "I" making the claim.

Who is this "I" that says, "I am awakened"?

And if I believe someone else is less conscious than I am, who needs to be the one who's ahead?

It's a simple inquiry to discuss over a quiet cup of tea.

But then somebody criticizes you over dinner.

What happens?

Do you notice the irritation, or does your mind immediately begin explaining what's wrong with the other person?

You can spend years studying awareness and still be deeply attached to being right.

Knowing everything Ramana taught won't stop you from getting annoyed when someone questions your judgment.

We can become so good at discussing the ego that we forget what we're supposed to be looking at.

Our own.

Sometimes You're Just Annoyed

There's nothing particularly profound about admitting you're annoyed.

You don't need to explain the other person's consciousness. You don't need to work out their karmic patterns. You can simply acknowledge what's happening.

It may even save you a few hours of arguing with someone who isn't in the room.

The next time you catch yourself silently deciding how conscious someone else is, notice what you're getting out of that judgment.

You might have a legitimate complaint.

You might also be enjoying the feeling of knowing better.

There's something funny about an ego that can survive years of meditation, profound realizations, and a library full of spiritual books, only to get offended by a perfectly fair question about an unpaid bill.

Eventually, I'd like to think our spiritual practice has less to do with how awakened we believe ourselves to be and more to do with how we treat the people around us.

Especially when they're right.

This reflection accompanies the Episode of The Karmic Recode Lab, "When 'Awakened' Becomes Just Another Ego Costume."

Recognizing our patterns is one thing. Changing how we live with them is another.

If that gap feels familiar, you can explore working with me privately over 12 weeks at thekarmicrecodelab.com.