Day Thirteen

There is, somewhere, a single drop of rain that begins the monsoon. An avalanche rewound through miraculous time-lapse photography would capture one unnoteworthy snowflake. And then another. Thus are the revelations that eventually alter our souls. Have you ever found yourself discussing albino trapeze artists and stop to trace back exactly how you arrived there when you were just debating the pros and cons of PNC Bank's account options a minute ago? The mind is a magnificent organ, ideas flames in the night, words...kerosene.

The other day, there was a conversation with a friend during which she told me something difficult had happened to her. My immediate, instinctual response was "Oh, I'm so sorry!" to which she replied, "It's ok, it's not your fault."

Drip.

Hours later: Wait...of course it's not my fault - I wasn't even in the area, involved, or know those people! Did she think I was implying I was somehow connected to this circumstance? I was using the phrase "I'm sorry" to communicate empathy, true distress and vexation over her situation as a result of my emotional attachment to her as a friend. I was absolutely in no way responsible for what happened. As the day passed, I became aware, stunningly so, of how often I uttered those words, "I'm sorry." And me, lover of words and collector of constructs - the ideas beneath the words - was dismayed and physically slightly ill at the thought that I have been subconsciously even remotely communicating to my own inner self as well as everyone else - that I could possibly be culpable or liable in any way for the things that befell others. That I could have foreseen or prevented them. Sympathy is not an apology.

I am not sorry. I am upset and distraught over the unfairness of this world, the choices made that reap dreadful consequences, the random acts of God and nature that wreck havoc in our lives - but I owe no apologies, I bear no weight in these things. Why am I picking up such a burden? My internal dialog is often a battle between self-love and self-hate, the winner decided randomly depending on the dispute. I fear I have been undermining any ground gained in the "own your shit and your shit alone" category.

I will commiserate. I will sympathize. I will listen with compassion and love - but I will stop taking on responsibility for things not mine to carry. I have to stop being sorry.