What I Love About People (Even When They Drive Me Nuts)

Some days I really do love people.

Other days, I look at Lou, our dog, sigh, and say, “You, my munchkin face, are my favorite human.”

I’ve spent most of my life watching people. Teaching, parenting, friending, starting over after divorce, moving states, sitting in hospital rooms, standing in grocery lines, doing life with the same man whom I love but can also sit on my last nerve. 

People have always been my classroom, whether they knew it or not.

They have absolutely driven me nuts.
And they have also been my greatest teachers.

I think back to my very first year of teaching on the Apache reservation in Arizona. Sixth graders. Middle of the year. Middle of nowhere. Dirt roads. New teacher. New divorce. New everything.

I walked into that classroom so eager to connect.

Eye contact is important to me, so I did what I always do. I tried to catch their eyes. They did what they always did. They dodged. Looked down. Giggled. Scooted their chairs. Practically, acted like making eye contact might land them in jail.

I went home exhausted and convinced I was failing.

It took a while before I learned that in their world, not looking straight at an adult was actually respectful. They weren’t ignoring me, they were honoring boundaries I didn’t understand yet.

The whole time I thought, “What is wrong with these kids?”
Underneath it, life was whispering back, “Nothing. You just don’t know their language yet.”

That year softened me. It taught me that people show love, respect, and interest in ways that don’t always match what I expect or even understand… yet. That has come in handy many times since.

Fast forward, and I live with Harold.

Here’s what you need to know about this man. He is steady, kind, and genuinely good. He is the person who shovels the neighbor’s sidewalks and also drives me to frustration with his endless questions.

The questions are over the top, but this man who helps the neighbor reminds me why I said yes to him in the first place.

That’s the thing about people. Their quirks are often tangled up with their goodness. You don’t get one without the other.

And long before Harold, there was my big, loud cowboy family.

I grew up in a world of boots by the door, too many people talking at once, and stories that got bigger every time they were told. We loved each other fiercely, and we were a little bit of a mess.

Holiday dinners were a master class in “people I love who also drive me up a wall.”

• Someone would get their feelings hurt.

• Someone would storm off and clatter around in the kitchen.

• Someone would make a sharp comment across the table that landed like a rock.

Then, the next day, somebody would show up with leftover pie and a hug like nothing had happened.

It used to confuse me. How can we be so dramatic one minute and so loyal the next?

Now I see it differently.

We did not always have the tools to talk about hard things. We did not always apologize well. But we showed up. We fixed cars, watched kids, helped move houses, sat in hospital waiting rooms, prayed in our own clumsy ways, and kept answering the phone for each other.

That kind of steady love in the middle of dysfunction will mess with your head in the best way. It taught me you can hold two truths at once.

• You can be frustrated with someone and still be the one who shows up when their life falls apart.

• You can want to scream in one moment and still make them a plate in the next.

People are rarely one thing. Most of us are a strange blend of “oh my gosh, stop doing that” and “I would not have survived this without you.”

And then there are the everyday people.

The neighbor who brings over soup and crackers when you’re down for the count.

The cashier who calls you “hon”, looks you in the eye, and really means it.

 The friend who texts you a ridiculous meme right when you are about to cry.

The stranger who holds the door when your hands are full and your brain is tired.

I used to get frustrated with people who stayed on the surface. Small talk about the weather and grocery prices made me want to crawl out of my skin. I wanted to talk about life, death, second chances, and what it all means.

I still love those conversations the most.

But now I also see the beauty in the tiny ones. The quick comments in the cereal aisle. The “how are you doing, really?” from the woman at the pharmacy. The shared eye roll in a waiting room when things are running late.

Most people are just doing their best to make it through the day without falling apart in public. Sometimes, a little weather talk is all they have in them. That is not shallow. That is survival.

So yes, people drive me nuts.

They make decisions that baffle me.

They forget things I wish they would remember and remember things I wish they would forget.

They show up late. They cancel. They say the wrong thing. They ask questions that have already been answered…ten times.

And at the very same time, they are also the reason my life feels full.

They are the ones who showed up when I moved, when I grieved, when I celebrated, when I doubted myself. They have held my hand, challenged my stories, made me laugh so hard I cried, and reminded me that I am still here, still loved, still learning.

What I love about people, even when they drive me nuts, is that they keep trying. In clumsy, imperfect, human ways, they keep reaching for each other.

And for me, underneath all of it, that is what matters most.

Love is ALL there is.

Diana