I’ve never had a hard time apologizing.
In fact, I say, “I’m sorry,” far too often. I need to locate that sweet spot between taking responsibility for my screw-ups or insensitivities and using the gesture as filler and in turn diminishing its value.
There are important phrases in life that need to be used sparingly, or they become like the boy that cried wolf or the chicken with the falling sky.
I love you. I love (fill in the blank). I’m not happy. I’m proud of you. Get out!
Loving people and puppies rest high on my shelf of expressions to be cherished, as does “I’m proud of you.” I don’t throw those words around lightly.
I am, however, an “I love (fill in the blank)” blabber mouth.
There are moments I catch myself loving practically everything, which is absurd and ultimately dilutes the meaning.
Sometimes I even add quantifiers like “absolutely” or “so” to accentuate that I was full of crap before and this time I am serious about the love.
See what I mean? It becomes approaching wolf and falling sky.
This post was supposed to be about apologizing. I’m sor… Ah, ah. See, I almost said it.
I am not sorry, not even a little.
An apology shouldn’t be filler like “um” or “whatever.” It is a leap of vulnerability to admit genuine wrongdoing.
I’m not wasting that on late emails or fumbling to find my debit card at the grocery store. Most situations are not “sorry” worthy.
So, along with controlling my need to over love things, I will not be sorry at every turn.
I’m saving my heartfelt regret for the real stuff. It will mean more that way.
Pain, pressure, and disregard. Those sound like decent guiding indicators for an apology. Everything else is an “oops.”
My thoughts from the laundry room. Overslept.