I looked up the definition.

To tolerate:

to allow the existence, presence, practice, or act of

without prohibition or hindrance; permit.

To endure without repugnance; put up with.

Wow.

How generous of me.

To allow the existence of something.

That was a brutal moment.

It turns out I have to think rather highly of myself

to tolerate someone.

I have to believe I’m big enough to permit their existence.

Big enough to “put up with” them.

What a strange position to take.

Somewhere in that moment,

I’ve already decided something.

What’s right.

How things should be.

Where the line is.

Then I’m graciously tolerating anything that falls outside it.

Tolerance can sound virtuous.

It always hides my quiet arrogance.

I’ve already judged the situation.

I’ve already written the script.

Now I’m being noble enough to endure the deviation.

That’s the contradiction.

If I’m tolerating something, I’ve already decided it’s wrong.

Or at least less right than me.

There may be a place for tolerance.

I’ve noticed when I’m being tolerant,

I’m defending my idea of how things are supposed to be.

My experience is that tolerance is most useful for one thing.

My own ridiculous certainty.

That’s the place where I’ve made myself the arbiter

of what is right.

Everything is backwards.

I have found it more useful to tolerate my discomfort,

to tolerate my feelings,

than to tolerate you and your opinions.