Monday, August 19, 2013

I'm so sorry...

I promised you an utterly self-indulgent and narcissistic post, and I aim to please. This started out as a blog post. Then it was a letter. Now, it comes full circle.

 “I’m sorry.” People tell me I say it a lot. My mother said you should never say you’re sorry unless you really are. Well, I really, really am.

 I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't know it's supposed to be high T-cells and low viral load. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you better this evening. I'm sorry I'm not prettier, thinner, taller, funnier, smarter, or more graceful. Sorry I walk too slowly. Sorry my socks don't always match and occasionally my underwear is inside out. Sorry I haven't been a better mother. Or daughter, sister, wife, or friend. Sorry for opportunities squandered. I'm sorry I said [insert anything here]. I'm sorry I didn't say [ditto]. Sorry I ran over that rabbit in 1986. And 1999. And 2005, it was never on purpose. Sorry I wasn't a better caretaker for my cat/dog/horse/turtle/fish/guinea pig/hamster/gerbil. I'm sorry I didn't pick up that rubber band on the sidewalk yesterday, because now some poor cat will get tangled in it and die. I'm sorry I brushed my mother's teeth during her last days instead of just holding her hand. I'm sorry I latched onto you like a barnacle on a ship. Or a lamprey on a shark, and I'm sorry I don't know the difference between a metaphor and a simile. I’m sorry I said “I’m sorry” in 115 emails in 2012. I’m sorry I never delete emails. I'm sorry I'm dull and shy and inept, and I sometimes wonder when you'll grow impatient and move on to more interesting and challenging companions.  

When it comes right down to it, I'm sorry for taking up space. It seems a waste. Yet I'm aware that this reveals my huge ego. So I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I'm sorry.

But we seek progress, not perfection, and there is progress. There are even a few things that I'm not sorry for. I'm not sorry I blocked traffic one day to help a turtle cross the road. I'm not sorry I had a daughter, or went to Harvard, or gave up my car, or that I broke my foot. I’m not sorry I fell in love. I'm not sorry that when they made me play an Oompa Loompa at the GLBT chorus concert, I held up signs during the final show as I moved crossed the stage: "Will trade" "sex for" "speaking role."  It brought the house down.

And I'm not really all that sorry I latched on to you.

1 comment:

  1. Anyone who blocks traffic to help a turtle cross the road is a good person in my book! I'm not sorry I follow you on Blogger, and I'm glad you're back!