A few months ago, I made plans to meet a friend and mentor for lunch. I am typically running late, and was so proud of myself for arriving early — and before my friend. I sat at the table and eagerly awaited his arrival. I hadn’t seen him in quite some time, and I was excited to catch up with him. My friend is always extremely punctual, so when he didn’t arrive within a few minutes of our scheduled time, I started to wonder if he was waiting for me somewhere else. I sent him a text and email to tell him that I was at the table. More time passed, and he still didn’t arrive. I began to worry that something had happened to him. My calls went straight to voicemail. My emails were not returned. Eventually, I had to leave to get to an appointment. I called again and left him another message, expressing my concern about his well-being.
I walked out of my next appointment to find a voicemail from my friend. I could hear the despair in his voice as he profusely apologized. I could hear his voice breaking as he repeated over and over how truly sorry he was. He told me that he would investigate how this could have happened. When I called him back, he immediately started in with his apologies again. He had discovered that somehow, our lunch got deleted from his calendar and replaced by another commitment. His phone had died and he had no back-up battery, so he didn’t get my calls and text messages until he got back to his office to charge his phone. From my perspective, I was simply relieved to know that he was okay. This is a person who never flakes. He is always punctual. I had been worried, not angry. I wasn’t even concerned about my time; I do some of my best work while sitting in public places, and spent the time productively. From my perspective, the only thing left to discuss was our availability to reschedule. In my mind, all was forgiven.
The next day, a beautiful flower arrangement arrived at my office, accompanied by a simple note:
I’m so imperfect, and so sorry.
Six simple words, so humble and yet so powerful.
As I held the note in my hand, I realized that I was holding not simply an offer of apology, but something far greater: a lesson in how to apologize.
These six words said everything that needed to be said, and more.
These six words say what we don’t even know how to say.
Have you noticed how the words “I’m sorry” seem to come easily in almost every situation, except for those that actually warrant an apology?
Some of us—especially women—have a tendency to apologize for practically everything, including the mere fact of our existence.
You accidentally touch the person on the yoga mat next to yours: Sorry.
An unexpected guest comes over and your house is a mess: Sorry.
Someone answers the phone when you call, they start to engage in conversation, and then they say “I’m sorry, it’s actually not a good time to talk?” Sorry. (That’s a double apology that could be avoided by implementing a new tool called voicemail, but I’ll leave that for another time.)
You send back your meal at a restaurant because the order was wrong: Sorry.
Saying “I’m sorry” in these situations disempowers us; it conveys false humility and a lack of confidence and self worth. By saying “I’m sorry” so often when it’s uncalled for, we devalue the meaning and spirit of these apology words.
When the situation really calls for an apology—when our actions hurt another person—the sincere apology seem to be elusive, if we are inclined to apologize in the first place. Too often, we find reasons to justify our behavior. Instead of taking responsibility and admitting our faults, we place blame: on our circumstances, on a third party’s actions, or, worst of all, on the person we hurt. Suddenly, “sorry” seems to be the hardest word.
Much has been written about how to offer a proper apology, especially in the context of Yom Kippur, which we will observe starting tonight. For Jews, this is the holiest day of the year. This is the day for apologies.
As I’ve made amends to people I’ve hurt this year and prepared to stand before God to atone for my sins, I’ve thought a lot about why it seems to be so hard to say “I’m sorry” when it really counts. I wonder if perhaps we we are making apologizing too complex.
Apologies don’t have to be hard, but they do have to be sincere. That requires that we first stop the unnecessary apologizing, so that any apology we offer means something. When it is time for an apology, all we need is six simple words:
I’m so imperfect, and so sorry.
May you make every word count, and be blessed with forgiveness from those you’ve hurt and from your creator.
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