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January/February 2008 Living Now
The Sorry Epidemic

by Carolyn Campbell

The sorry epidemic is flooding our world.

I'm sorry for taking too much time. Sorry my kids are too loud. Sorry I'm not who you wish I was. Sorry I...

One day I tried to keep count of all the sorrys I heard in restaurants, stores, conversations, street corners and meetings. It was impossible. I was face-to-face with a raging pandemic. And, sadly, I must admit I myself am recovering from this dismissive disease.

Recently on a trip to California, I met with my writing coach. Before we began I said, "I want to maximize my time with you. I'd like you to charge me an extra dollar every time I say I'm sorry."

I went on, "It's really important to me because -"

My coach gently interrupted me, "Justifying your request is a form of apology."

She ticked me $1.

Two hours later, I only owed $4. It was one of the most productive sessions I ever had. I was ecstatic. I had eradicated a lifetime of unproductive apology. I committed to paying her $1 for every I'm sorry I uttered for the next month.

Inspired, I stopped at a sidewalk cafe to write. Two hours flew by. As I stood up and stretched, a piece of paper floated off my table. I knew in an instant - my computer had just been stolen. The thief had reached from behind and stolen my brand new computer, and I never even saw his hand.

I chased the thief, screaming to strangers to stop him as he jumped into a waiting car. Dodging traffic and ignoring horns, I followed them into the projects, ducking under a gate to confront them and retrieve my computer.

Instead, I found that I had followed an old woman in a car that looked like the getaway vehicle. Terror spread across her face.

"Sorry I scared you," I said as she locked her car doors and pulled away. Walking back to the cafe, the sorrys started flying like battle planes bombing Iraq.

First, the internal ones - these can be the most toxic. Sorry I had made such a scene. The entire staff was standing around my table when I got back. Sorry I hadn't just gone to help out a friend instead of selfishly taking time for me. Sorry that I didn't see the thief - what was wrong with me? I thought I knew the urban jungle.

Then the external ones. Sorry to the cop who said I was nuts for running after the thief. Sorry to my friends who urged me to let it go. Sorry for losing my temper after the tenth call to Dell when no one could find the serial number on a computer only three weeks old.

By 5:15 p.m. I owed my coach another $75.

I left San Francisco a day early and began my journey home. I drove through the desert, letting the magic of midnight wanderings transform my thoughts. I realized that my sorrys were often a misfocused attempt to relieve others of their responsibility. My thoughts evolved with the hum of the road. I could see how I let things be taken from me without ever demanding their return. My sorrys had prevented me from really standing up for what I needed, what was important to me. As farmland turned to mountains I felt myself climbing into a new commitment to release the habitual sorrys from my life.

Exhausted, yet exhilarated, I pulled off the highway seeking a place to camp. The full moon danced on the rich red soil, the night crisp with dark surrender. The road turned to gravel and wound down into a canyon. There, to my right, was a secluded nook to tuck my car. As I turned my wheel my car jolted forward, then downward - nose diving into a five foot ravine.

Stranded, miles from any help, I panicked. My sorrys turned into anger, my anger into defeat. I gave up. There was nothing I could do. I went to sleep in the back of the car. Oddly, it was one of the best night's sleep I've had.

I awoke in the morning to the sound of a truck. Two young men stopped, laughed and had me out of the ravine in 20 minutes. Not a single sorry was exchanged. I thought, What if I laughed at my foibles, acknowledged the gentle goodness of strangers and didn't get caught in the projections of others?

Later driving through the valley, the sergeant called.

"We've arrested the suspects," he said. "We've been looking for that car in a string of robberies but no one had ever given us the license number before. I've never seen so many people help track down a thief."

"Yeah, it was probably all my yelling." I almost apologized, then realized, no it was my screaming that got the bystanders to take down the license plate. My determination to chase the robbers was so unusual that the witnesses stayed around to offer any assistance they could.

I'd like to report that this revelation healed my sorry infliction. The truth though, is this time-honed epidemic doesn't recede overnight. It's taken years to even notice, and it will take time to completely release it.

My practice today: I still pay whomever I'm with $1 for every time I say sorry for who I am or how I interact in the world. When I truly am sorry, I want it to have meaning, not a congested attempt at putting others at ease.

Notice how many times a day you find yourself apologizing, unconsciously trivializing yourself, seeking acceptance, dismissing your needs. Does it run your life? Dare to let your life inspire your actions rather than destroy your being, in whatever form it takes. Unapologetically.

Carolyn Campbell is an international writer, speaker and coach. Recognized for her community-centered approach to business, she specializes in helping healing practitioners, creative professionals and social entrepreneurs make a better living doing what they love. Visit www.thecoresource.com.