Sorry I'm Not Sorry

A few years ago I was on a film set, shooting a short film that I was acting in.  This was long before "Sorry I'm not sorry" was a popular phrase thrown around to express how unapologetic one truly is. It was my very first time on set, and I was really nervous and really excited and kind of scared.  I didn't sleep much the night previous, due to these emotions, and also a tragedy that struck the day before.

I arrived at set on Saturday morning at 6am, costumes in tow, unsure of what to expect, having never been on a set before. It was October, and it was foggy, cold, and my stomach was in knots. I went over to our makeshift craft services section, and busied myself the only way I know how--munching, and making sure that refrigerated items weren't left out of the ice chests. I stuck yogurts and milk into the ice chest with a shaky hand, issuing quiet warnings of 'this stuff can't be left out.'

Overall, it was a great experience--surrounded by friends and fellow actors, it was nice to be on set, to see the cameras, schedule, run lines, and listen to music to get me prepared for my scenes. I felt like a real actress, and it was pretty fabulous.  Then, it was time to shoot my first scene--I stood in a tiny room getting mic'ed by the sound engineer for the project, a stern (but friendly) lady who had been in the industry for many years.

As she was putting the mic on me, my arm was in the way--"I'm sorry." I said, and she kind of looked at me.  A minute later, my very existence being an impediment to how the mic fit, I apologized again, "Oops, sorry." I said, and then she looked at me.

"Stop apologizing." She said, her tone was kind, but firm.

"Sorry." I said, again, by rote--not even kidding around.
"Stop saying you're sorry," She said again, "Are you really sorry?" She inquired.
I thought about it for a moment--"No." I said, simply, realizing I wasn't sorry.

She went on to explain to me that she had encountered this phenomenon for years, mostly from women, apologizing when they weren't really sorry.  Throughout the rest of the mic session, any time I felt like saying sorry, I would try to catch myself.  I failed a couple times, and she and I laughed together.  "It's hard, isn't it?" She asked, and it was.

After I did my scene (which I was really proud of, by the way), I thought more about what she said, about the apologies I offered, and how I wasn't really sorry--I just wanted people to like me, to think I was polite.  Which, I suppose, there is nothing inherently wrong with. But, then I stopped and thought about it more. I was apologizing, in this particular instance, for my body being present. For the appendages, which are of myself, being in the way of someone strapping a foreign object to my body--I was apologizing to them when I moved the wrong way, when I didn't move fast enough.  I thought back to my time in the makeup/hair chair, and noticed the same thing-- I was apologizing for blinking, for moving my head, or scratching my nose.

When I thought about it in those terms--it was ridiculous. I realized that I cared so much about what people thought of me, that I was essentially apologizing for my own existence.  Like, 'oh, sorry my very presence is an annoyance/impediment to your work, I apologize profusely and incessantly in the hopes that you don't think I'm rude or don't appreciate what you're doing for me.'

Kind of crazy, really, when I looked at it like that.  The rest of the time filming, I really concentrated on not apologizing for trivial things.  I tried really hard to not say sorry unless I meant it--If I accidentally hit someone when moving my arm, I am sorry; if someone hits me, I am not.  Before that weekend, I would apologize for either instance.

It was more difficult than I imagined--I learned for the first time how absolutely ingrained 'I'm sorry,' and 'Sorry' were in my every day vocabulary.  And the thing is: I never even noticed.  How many times had I apologized before this, hundreds?  Thousands?  More? 

Most of us--or at least some of us--were brought up to be polite. We were taught that we shouldn't be rude, we should be kind, we should treat others with respect.  I thought maybe that had something to do with why I apologized so much, but that wasn't it, not when I really sat down to think about it.  No, it was more than just manners--please, thank you, you're welcome--it was deeper than that.  When I looked at why I was apologizing, it wasn't because I was sorry, it was because I felt like an inconvenience, because I felt like I needed to make sure the person I was randomly apologizing to knew that I was a nice person, that he or she really liked me.  It was because I felt like an inconvenience--and what I learned that weekend, is that I wasn't--I'm not--an inconvenience. And if I am, well... that's not because of me.

After filming was over, I hugged the woman who taught me this, and told her thank you, and meant it.

For awhile, I kept it up--I wouldn't randomly drop an apology for something I wasn't truly sorry for, for inane things like taking too long to retrieve money from my wallet, to find a card, or enter my PIN number at the checkout line, or being in someone's way on a sidewalk.

Recently, however, when I was at a drive thru retrieving my Diet Coke (I still really need to cut back), I noticed myself apologizing for not speaking loudly enough.  "Oh, a large diet coke, sorry."  I wasn't sorry at all! And yet, there I was apologizing, as if to say pleasedonotbemadatme.

It was then that I realized I had begun walking on eggshells with the rest of the world again--I had forgotten the lesson I learned that weekend in October, which in the short run was: Don't apologize for things you aren't actually sorry for. And in the long run was: You are just as worthy as everyone else.  You deserve things just as much as everyone else.  Your existence is not an inconvenience, and if it is, it is not your problem, it is theirs.

So, you see, I realized that I need to get that back--I need to work on not apologizing at random, to strangers, for things I can't control or are not my fault.  When someone bumps into me on the street, I don't need to apologize, they should.  

It's a tough lesson to learn--it was then, and it certainly will be again. But, it's pretty important--on the surface it isn't a big deal, but at the heart of the issue, it's realizing that I am important. Sorry I'm not sorry.

An Adoption Tail (Tale)

Hello, Internet, meet Cash.  Cash is, quite obviously, a dog.  My dog.

I adopted him on a rainy day this past November on a whim, and I can't think of a better decision I've made recently.  I was heading to Nordstrom to buy my mom's Christmas present, and on a leisurely stroll through the mall toward my destination, I happened to pass by a storefront that the West LA Animal Shelter uses to adopt out shelter dogs.  It's NOT a pet store, so no angry comments, please.

Anyway, I'm actually allergic to most dogs.  And cats.  And horses.  And tigers.  Basically, anything that has hair and sheds (and isn't human), I'm allergic to.  But, mix it with a poodle and I can have it (wow.  I just got an image of a tiger mixed with a poodle in my head-- and how cute, but ferocious!).  So, basically, I thought I would just go in and look at all the cute puppies that I couldn't adopt because of my mean ol' allergies.

Not the case.  I went in, and there were actually a few dogs I wasn't allergic to.  But, my eyes (and heart) went straight to Cash.  His name scrawled on a piece of paper at the front of the cage, he was a pup with sad eyes, quiet and in the corner by himself.  I asked to see him, and the volunteer brought him out, and I pet him for a few minutes, and then left, wanting to see if my allergies would kick in.  I went into the Nordstrom, browsed the shoes, and couldn't get my mind off of the dog.  I wasn't even ALLOWED to have dogs at the place I was currently living.  After a phone call to my mom (she said no, I shouldn't do it,) and one to my boyfriend (who said to do it), I went back to the storefront.

I spoke to the same volunteer, and she brought him out again, and though he seemed nervous, he curled up right in my lap.  The volunteer said she'd never seen him do anything like that before.  She was probably just trying to get him adopted, but I didn't care-- I was hooked.  So, some $200 and a lot of paperwork later, I left the mall without a present for my mom, but with a dog I wasn't even technically allowed to have.

I will always remember walking Cash out through the mall, and how he trotted along.  He seemed to know that he wouldn't be going back to the cold cement of the West LA Animal Shelter (a high kill shelter).  As he hopped into my car, scruffy and rather dirty, I took him to petco and got the essentials--food, dishes, toys, and treats.

I snuck him into my place, and was a nervous wreck.  If I'm completely honest, I did have a bit of 'buyer's remorse,' the next day and the following few weeks.  But, that faded away until all I was left with was what a gift this little guy is.  And I'm not just saying that because he was housebroken.  He's smart, sweet, and the biggest cuddlebug around, too.

He lived with me, undetected by the management of my tiny studio apartment, in a  large complex for two and a half months, until my boyfriend and I moved in together.  Apartment hunting in LA with a dog = always a good time (a different tale for a different day). But, in the end, we found a great place that allows dogs.

The paperwork said Cash was an 'owner surrender,'-- his old family "didn't have time for him anymore."  Sometimes, I think about how he must have felt when they left him there; how he was probably scared, cold, and sad when he realized he wouldn't see them again. But, then I think of how happy he was trotting through that mall, and the sadness dulls a little.  Sometimes, it turns to anger when I wonder how in the WORLD they could have given him up--and how they could have given him up to a high kill shelter, at that.

He's the first thing in my life I've been truly responsible for.  I had dogs as a kid, but it was my parents (mostly my mom) who fed them, bathed them, took care of them.  With Cash, it's me.  And that was SO scary at first--it's a lot of responsibility.  You don't just get to up and go for the whole weekend anymore.  You have to plan.  Find arrangements for the dog.  Which can be annoying and frustrating.  But, then he cuddles with me, and all is forgotten.

The only remnant of his old life is his name--which I kept because he knew it, and I didn't hate it.

Adopted dogs are the best dogs-- they KNOW you saved them; it creates a unique and powerful bond full of love and happiness.  If you get a dog, ADOPT (from a pound or a rescue, preferably a pound/shelter).  It's worth it to save a life.

I didn't actually set out to tell the tale of Cash's adoption; I set out to talk about how my comfort is secondary to his at bedtime, but there it is.  Maybe that's a post for a different day.

For this day, I am just so glad that we found each other, Cash and I.