Bear with them; none of this lasts

Some resentments you can reason your way out of. Others just sit there, heavy and reasonable, because the wrong really was a wrong and the person really hasn't changed. This is the keystone of letting go, and it's not a clever argument. It's a wider frame.

Marcus, writing about how to face the end of things, lands on how to treat the people around you in the meantime: "it is no way right to be offended with men, but it is thy duty to care for them and to bear with them gently" (Meditations 9.3, Long). He sets it against the backdrop of how brief all of it is — the job, the rivalry, the difficult coworker, you. The nurse who wronged you on the night shift, the foreman who never owned his mistake, the regular who treats you like furniture: all of you are passing through the same short stretch of time, and the grudge assumes there's an endless future in which to keep score.

There isn't. That's not morbid; it's clarifying. When you remember that the whole arrangement dissolves, that everyone here is on the clock in the largest sense, the impulse to bear a grievance against any of them starts to look like a strange use of the little time there is.

Bear with them gently. The alternative is to spend hours you won't get back staying angry at someone who'll be gone, same as you.