The last few days I’ve been thinking about the act of apologizing.
There are so many ways to apologize and not mean it: This week I heard myself say “Sorry” to a woman on the bus who was clogging the aisle with her stuff, when I wasn’t sorry at all, but indeed was annoyed that she was in the way. The same day I overheard someone else say to a shop clerk, “I’m sorry, will you help me,” when what he clearly meant – and communicated in his tone – was, why don’t you put your phone down and do your job?! I’m sure we’ve all been the recipient (the deliverer?) of the “I’m sorry you feel that way” non-apology. Or the all too common, “I’m sorry, but . . . .” when the sorry is immediately erased by the don’t-blame-me-self defense.
Or, the lovely, but not really apologetic, William Carlos Williams poem, This is Just to Say
I have eaten/ the plums/ that were in/ the icebox
and which/ you were probably/ saving/ for breakfast
Forgive me/ they were delicious
so sweet/ and so cold.
I find myself longing for some real apologies – to give them and receive them. The kind that don’t bite. The kind that do more than squeeze me through a tight spot. The kind that come from a soft part of me connecting with a soft part in you. The kind that are followed by please forgive me. The kind that point in the direction of healing.
May it be so.
Annette Atkins
