Friday, September 25, 2009
Love Means Always Having to Say You're Sorry
Few people really know how to apologize. They think they do, but they don't. The only really acceptable form of apology is one where you lay down on the floor, throw your tail between your legs, and pee all over yourself. There are no qualifications, no rebuttals, no "yes, but..."s. To get any sort of credit for a good apology, you simply have to make a sandwich of your own shite and smile while you eat it.
My people, historically, are bad apologizers. Schickel's are German. We make the turd pie, offer others a slice, and smile while they eat it. Historically speaking, I'm saying.
I am, by nature, a bad apologizer. I can only say this now, because lately I've gotten much, much better at it. And you know who's been teaching me? Vildy.
Vild gives an excellent apology. It may come as no surprise to you that's he's had considerable practice, been at it longer than I, and as we should all know by now, it is only the fool who fails to learn from the Master.
Giving a good apology is not the same as always admitting you're wrong. I think people get this confused, I know I have. Nothing is more annoying than people who apologize too much, for things that aren't their fault. Or people who just feel so guilty about stuff that they are forever lobbing apologies over the fence, making you pick them up like tennis balls at the country club. Fuck that, those are worthless, dime-a-dozen-I'm sorries. That's not what I'm talking about.
Saying you're sorry is not a defensive stance, its a submission. I understand why its hard for people to do. It's easy to feel that if you apologize, you've lost turf. That you're bending over, rather than giving over. But I've learned, through some really retard attempts, that giving a simple, honest apology is one of the most freeing things in the world. Its a euphoria all its own. Vild, as it happens, is high as a kite.
When you say you're sorry, and mean it, and the other person accepts it, its like the whole blackboard universe gets swiped clean by the eraser of God. And I don't think I'm overstating it. Something happens to your soul. It expands, increasing its volume ten-fold. And big as it gets, its still tiny, fitting comfortably in the palm of your hand.
I've lain in bed decrepit some nights, after a fight with Vild say, where I've felt so bound and gagged by my own ego, so tightly packed and shrink-wrapped in my own selfishness and rage that I feel I might implode, a sucking sound my only remains. And every once in a while, when its clear to me how wrong I've been, how completely I've been taken over by my mutant, Thalidomide self, I will turn to Vild and give myself over fully in apology. When I do this simple act, the hair shirt of self-loathing falls to the floor and I am once again smooth and comfortable in my skin, made silken by forgiveness.
I think people should really experience this more often. And in return, we should all learn to behave less victoriously when receiving an apology. In its perfect form, the reaction should not be a fist pump. A victory lap, run around the contrite, is an amateur, asshole move. The experienced guru will see the delicate egg shell crack and put out cupped hands for the downy chick.
I have a long way to go. I still defend, I still gloat. But I've had a few successes and with each one I get closer to something true. If I fuck up along the way to that truth, all I can say is, well, I'm sorry.