Wednesday: I’m sorry
18 January 2012
Yesterday, I apologized to a few friends for being five minutes late for lunch. I then ranted about being sick and tired of offering apologies. It feels as if, several times a day, I’m contrite about something. Usually I’m late – not very, but never early and rarely on time – and so I greet friends and enemies, generally, with the words, “Sorry I’m late.” On email, my responses usually start out, “Sorry for not getting 
back to you sooner.” Too often, my tone of voice with the girls about a ‘situation’ isn’t gracious but grating, and so after taking a breath, realizing I don’t always have to be mean, I say, “Sorry I yelled at you.” Perhaps I beep my car horn too quickly, unaware that the person in front of me isn’t moving their car because a very old, blind person in a wheelchair is trying to cross the street in front of them. I hang my head and mouth the words “I’m sorry” and shrink behind the wheel.
I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Shoot me. I’m flawed.
But what’s up with being late? Time is quantifiable. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. I’m old enough to understand how long it takes to get from point A to point B, even in Los Angeles. I know it takes me twenty minutes to shower and dry my hair. I have Sigalert.com to help me understand traffic, yet I believe I can wiggle my nose like Samantha from “Bewitched” and transport myself anywhere, with clean hair, in five minutes. How morosely disturbed do I have to be offering apologies before I change my tune and leave earlier?
Regarding my anger as a mother, how do I remind myself that yelling at my kids, in the grand scheme of things, never moves the story forward? Sure, there are circumstances when repeating the same request calmly four times is enough and so the fifth time is LOUD, but actually shouting at the girls with contempt only serves to create more chaos. Afterwards, I generally feel hungover. How many times do I have to express regret for my actions before they stop listening? Maybe they already have. Like the grown-ups in Charlie Brown: Wah, wah, wah.
Regarding the car horn – I don’t beep much, but I have the same reaction when I get into what should be the fastest line at the grocery store and it turns out to be the slowest (naturally) because the person in front of me is writing a check after they’ve stopped to question the price of the tangerines they just bought that were supposed to be on sale but they’re not because the person picked up the ‘organic’ ones instead of the reduced-price tangerines that give you cancer, and so now the produce guy has to exchange the good tangerines for the cheap ones. Who writes checks?! Okay, that’s not the point.
I think I need more time. I might have to lower my expectations about what I can accomplish in any given day, or at least manage them more efficiently in order to stop apologizing more often than not.
I’m sorry for this post. Sometimes Daily Cup of Jo is just me working out my neuroses. Cheaper than therapy, no traffic to make me late.
Yesterday, I apologized to a few friends for being five minutes late for lunch. I then ranted about being sick and tired of offering apologies. It feels as if, several times a day, I’m contrite about something. Usually I’m late – not very, but never early and rarely on time – and so I greet friends and enemies, generally, with the words, “Sorry I’m late.” On email, my responses usually start out, “Sorry for not getting back to you sooner.” Too often, my tone of voice with the girls about a ‘situation’ isn’t gracious but grating, and so after taking a breath, realizing I don’t always have to be mean, I say, “Sorry I yelled at you.” Perhaps I beep my car horn too quickly, unaware that the person in front of me isn’t moving their car because a very old, blind person in a wheelchair is trying to cross the street in front of them. I hang my head and mouth the words “I’m sorry” and shrink behind the wheel.
I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Shoot me. I’m flawed.
But what’s up with being late? Time is quantifiable. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. I’m old enough to understand how long it takes to get from point A to point B, even in Los Angeles. I know it takes me twenty minutes to shower and dry my hair. I have Sigalert.com to help me understand traffic, yet I believe I can wiggle my nose like Samantha from “Bewitched” and transport myself anywhere, with clean hair, in five minutes. How morosely disturbed do I have to be offering apologies before I change my tune and leave earlier?
Regarding my anger as a mother, how do I remind myself that yelling at my kids, in the grand scheme of things, never moves the story forward? Sure, there are circumstances when repeating the same request calmly four times is enough and so the fifth time is LOUD, but actually shouting at the girls with contempt only serves to create more chaos. Afterwards, I generally feel hungover. How many times do I have to express regret for my actions before they stop listening? Maybe they already have. Like the grown-ups in Charlie Brown: Wah, wah, wah.
Regarding the car horn – I don’t beep much, but I have the same reaction when I get into what should be the fastest line at the grocery store and it turns out to be the slowest (naturally) because the person in front of me is writing a check after they’ve stopped to question the price of the tangerines they just bought that were supposed to be on sale but they’re not because the person picked up the ‘organic’ ones instead of the reduced-price tangerines that give you cancer, and so now the produce guy has to exchange the good tangerines for the cheap ones. Who writes checks?! Okay, that’s not the point.
I think I need more time. I might have to lower my expectations about what I can accomplish in any given day, or at least manage them more efficiently in order to stop apologizing more often than not.
I’m sorry for this post. Sometimes Daily Cup of Jo is just me working out my neuroses. Cheaper than therapy, no traffic to make me late.
I write checks. I’m that lady.
I also drive slow and I never apologize.
One coin, two sides.
Just today I was in line at Ralph’s with 18 items in my cart (really! I counted them!). As usual, there was only one regular check line (with 3 people in line) and one 15 items or less check line (with no one in line) open. The checker from the 15 items line called me over to check out there. I said “I have 18 items”. She said “come over here anyway”. So I did. Of course as soon as she started checking me someone got behind me with 1 item. I apologized meekly to the woman behind me and held my head in shame. Now I can’t shop there for a month. I really am sorry, but I think Ralph’s needs to open more regular check out lines. This is why I do most of my shopping at TJ’s.
Some of us apologize always and for everything (Jo) some apparently apologize never and for nothing (Jessica). I think people these days don’t say I am sorry nearly enough. We have taught our children that saying “I am sorry” is part of taking responsibility for your actions if they result in harm even when it was unintentional (as when my son recently said to his sister “I’m sorry the book I threw in your direction when you were annoying accidently hit you in the head”). One thing I know is my kids can stand up, look someone in the eye and say “I’m sorry”. I bet your kids can do the same. Of course, I model it all the time for them as I am constantly screwing up.
I’m sorry, I have gone on far too long
Okay, Jan, that made me laugh out loud. Why do check out lines make us crazy? And yes, Ralph’s needs to open more and less of those do-it-yourself ones. Mary Anne, two things: it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission (which is one of the reasons I apologize so much) and, do you think any of it has to do with growing up Catholic with a punishing God? Regardless, my kids do know how to apologize. Goldie says she’s sorry to me about as much as I do in return. I’m not the only screw-up in the house. — Jo
Actually – no. My God growing up was all forgiving. Thus the magic wand of confession. More likely I get it from my family – saying you were sorry always meant a more lenient punishment than if you tried to pretend you were without fault. See – even your blog is therapy.
Jessica, any chance you could wear a GPS device that I can track so I’m never behind you at the check stand…or on the road! And you “never apologize?” Is that for driving slowly…or at all? Wow! I know it’s differences in the way we live our lives that make the world an interesting place, but common courtesy (like “I’m sorry”) once in a while teaches everyone something.
Makes a world of difference when it is a heartfelt genuine “I’m sorry” instead of a rote one that’s just meant to smooth things over and move on. Though, I guess, anything is better than nothing.
I never learned to apologize growing up. My parents would have a fight and then not talk to one another for weeks. So when I got married my husband, who came from a very large family, would have to prod me into apologizing. I wanted to but couldn’t get the words out. For him, it was no big deal. When our kids were born, we tried to make it a rule that if they heard us argue then they would have to also hear us apologize to one another so that saying “I’m sorry” wouldn’t be a foreign concept to them.
Your words always make me stop and breathe, Jo. Thanks, thanks.