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On Apologies

Apologies are wonderful inventions. An argument can be made that learning to apologize is the most important lesson one can learn for friendships, with learning to forgive being a close second. In conflict, apologies are the balm of peace and the ultimate confession of humility. 

But… apologies aren’t always about repair. Sometimes they are signals of subservience. Or, perhaps, of surrender. Rather than resolving conflict, they are deployed as an easy way to avoid it. This is especially true in the minor frictions of quotidian life. Here are real examples, gathered during the last 48 hours:

• Person says ‘sorry’ to me when walking down the narrow staircase that I am walking up.
• Person says ‘sorry’ to me for pulling their coffee table three inches closer to mine.
• Person says ‘sorry’ to me for their very adorable baby staring at me.
• Person says ‘sorry’ to me while moving their chair in to give me more space to walk behind (there was already lots of room).
• Person says ‘sorry’ to me after I choose to hold the door open for them.

There are probably twice as many examples from the same time period where I was the one apologizing. I apologize a lot.

The first person that drew my attention to this was Ocean Vuong in his book, On Earth We Are Briefly Gorgeous. He mentions it in an interview with Adroit Magazine too:

“I think that’s often how most people of color learn how to be. We learn how to traffic in apology. The apology is a formidable way to be visible and yet unthreatening. When one apologizes, one can’t necessarily ask for anything or demand anything…”

I think that Ocean is correctly perceiving the power dynamics of these moments. He goes on to discuss how poetry and writing helps minorities reclaim their visibility. All fine—but that’s definitely the long route, isn’t it?

Racial implications aside, I do think that there are easier ways for the person to regain whatever power they have surrendered. Maybe, just maybe, we can give it back to them. Maybe these harmless, polite moments could also be opportunities to break etiquette and elevate the rewards in the games we play. Maybe these are chances to invite a little bit of dignity back into the world. 

So these days, I don’t let people apologize so easily. These days, I respond with strategic sincerity instead.  

What I Say

Since this is New York, and most of these frictions are caused by people circumambulating the environment, I like to say with a large but completely un-sarcastic smile:

“There is nothing to be sorry for. We are all sharing the space.”

Extra points if you can look them in the eye while saying it. 

This version of the clemency tends to get the warmest response, which is why I use it most. I think it’s because anyone who has lived in New York knows that the city is for all of us and yet belongs to no one. There is nothing here to contest, so to speak.

Alternatively, I will say:

“Oh please, don’t be sorry.”

This one is said somewhat teasingly, but with the jovial implication that I am the one offended that they would apologize. This is a fun subversion of the trajectory of offense. First, they are afraid they offended you, so they apologize; but their ego is relieved of all burden when they find out that it is actually a mini-insult to apologize. It’s as though you are asking them, “You think I am upset so easily?”, but with humor and gentleness.

The third variation of my response is a simple:

“There is nothing to be sorry about.” 

No smile for this one. I try to say it seriously, gravely even, and with an almost quizzical look on my face. I use it the least because there is, I think, a small chance for it to be received as condescending or to make them feel stupid for having apologized. The upside, however, is that it gets the point across if received correctly. It communicates the weightiness of the dignity, uncovering it from the lampshade they’ve covered it with. There is a power, I think, in speaking the truth simply.

What I Wish I Could Say

I realize that, to an extent, it’s not that serious. This is the type of over-analysis of small situations that I tend to linger over and few others find as remarkable. It doesn’t have to be this deep and it probably isn’t. Most people never acknowledge these small clemencies, although some do. At the end of the day, it’s mostly for me anyways.

You see, I get emotional about people. I love them. I can’t get enough of them. And like Wesley telling Buttercup in The Princess Bride, “As you wish,” these small phrases are really disguises for what I wish I could say:

Brother. Sister. There is nothing to be sorry about here. Who taught you this? I am grateful for this friction, because this friction means that you are in the world — and you are worth many, endless frictions.

Dramatic, I know — but I won’t apologize for it.

Long live everything,

Bradley

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About the Author:

Bradley Andrews is a hopeful rabble-rouser on a mission to inspire the world. Stay in touch with what he’s doing by subscribing to a weekly digest of his activity through micro.blog. This will send you writing, photos, and other curiosities that you are guaranteed to love.