Forgive me.

Sorry! Sorry. So sorry. Oh, I’m sorry.

So many sorries.

What do they even mean?

If a sorry falls in a forest, does anybody hear?

I say sorry a lot, a habit I am trying to break.

When my son gets tired or anxious, he says sorry as if stuck on repeat.

I tried to teach him to say “thank you” instead of “sorry”, inspired by an article my best friend sent me. It said to replace “sorry” with “thank uou”, as in, instead of saying, “Sorry I’m late”, say, “Thank you for waiting”.

Simple. But not easy.

I remember one night he and I were sitting in the car and he just kept repeating, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you” over and over in a panicked and unsteady voice.

So much for that strategy.

I come from a country which is perpetually sorry. Canadians say “Sorry?” instead of “What?” or “Pardon?” or the ever-American “Huh?” We say sorry before any possible complaint or concern that may need to be voiced. We fear ruffling the feathers of others. Is there any other place where sorry is the most frequently-used word in everyday interactions?

Sorry can also be passive-aggressive. “I’m sorry, but I’m not coming to dinner with her.”

Or it can be totally disingenuous, as in, “I’m sorry you feel I upset you.”

Seriously? WTF is that?

There’s something about SORRY that can become a compulsive habit. There’s even some pop song trending right now by some former-Disney-newly-adult star who sings, “Sorry, not sorry”.

Interesting paradox. I wonder what she was thinking when she or her massive money-making machine male producers wrote it.

SORRY implies guilt. “I screwed up.” Or, you can be sorry that something is happening to something, or someone: “I’m sorry you’re sick.”

Not ALL sorries are neurotic.

But a lot of mine are.

There’s also the sorry that some well-meaning adults make children perform. The “Empty Sorry”. Forcing a child to say they’re sorry when they’re not only reinforces the use of the apology as nothing but empty words. If you’re not sorry, you’re not. Making things right is a lot more important that just saying the words, especially when you don’t mean them. And that goes for adults, too.

There are some people who refuse to say sorry. I find them fascinating. Is it the word? The concept? Admitting they made a mistake?

I’d like to go on a Sorry Diet. It’s second nature to apologize, even for something super minor, like forgetting the napkins when you set the table. My friend told me that when she plays tennis with other women, they are forever apologizing to each other throughout the game. It’s exhausting.

I propose a ban on sorries. Maybe make a list of a dozen or so other things we could say instead. I’ll get right on that.

In Montreal, where I grew up, the majority French Canadian population is not as sorry as the Anglophones and Allophones who already feel they are encroaching on the popular culture by not being French enough. When a Francophone bumps into you in the metro, they say “Scuse!” loudly and aggressively, a brusque shorthand for “excuse me”.

And they never sound sorry.

We have a lot to learn from French Canadians. They dress better, party better, and speak up for themselves with gusto, far more than TROC (The Rest of Canada). Where do they get their confidence? (Is it a micro-aggression that I’m singling out French Canadians? Probably. Dammit. Sorry.)

Something must be done about this primarily female apology epidemic. I think most people (men) in power are not sorry enough a lot of the time. I mean, have you heard ANY true heartfelt apologies from all of these manipulative, sick bastards who prey on women? Not so much, dudes. Maybe you get an “I regret”. Which is not the same as an apology at all. It’s self-involved, and mostly horseshit. “I’m sorry” is directed outward, communicating with someone you actually hurt.

So I think a lot of people, ok, MEN, around here, need to work on their sorry skills.

Anyway, I’m sorry if you don’t agree with me on this.

Actually, I’m not.

Welcome to BB. 2/6/18

Welcome to BeingBouncy. I haven't blogged in years (not since my kids were in preschool and I needed a place to vent about mucous, potty training and over-priced strollers), yet I feel compelled to begin again. The last blog, "Questions, Comments, Complaints" was fun for many years, but I kind of maxxed out in all of those categories. I'm especially tired of the "complaint" part. After a certain point, you're not venting, you're ruminating. Also, my mom would read my blog every day and then send me long emails telling me how to solve my problems, and that wasn't the intention. (That's what email's for.)

I'm writing about Being Bouncy because that's the relatively new way that I look at myself, and my life, and I'm hoping if you read this blog at all, you'll be encouraged to do the same. I have an essay about it that I'll post forthwith. In a nutshell, I'm bouncy because I have to be, and you can be, too. Saying yes more in life and keeping a perspective are both things that can really help you bounce back from life's inevitable curveballs.

Full disclosure: I'm a teacher and a writer, not a shrink or a self-proclaimed self-help guru. There are neither crystals nor chakras involved in this blog (but if you like them, more power to you). I'm not going to tell you to meditate your problems away, though I will put in a huzzah for meditation in general, because it can make you a bit mellower and not yell at people as much. I'm not a Pollyanna and my life isn't always rainbows and unicorns. It's also shit and dark clouds and deep depression. But usually, not. So don't freak out. I'm well-medicated and have spent many, many years learning to take care of my wonky brain chemistry.  And if you think you have wonky brain chemistry, by all means, go see a qualified doctor! Don't take St. John's Wort and hope it all gets better. Modern medicine saved my life, and it saves lives ALL THE TIME. So don't fuck around.

My influences and inspirations are many-fold: Jenny Lawson (aka The Bloggess), Maria Bamford, John Green, This is How by Augusten Burroughs, and, for being just a kick-ass writer in general, Junot Diaz. (There is a reason he won the Pulitzer.)

But make no mistake. I am writing about mental health, and that ever-present buzzword, RESILIENCE. But I call it being bouncy, as you will see in the essay below:

On Being Bouncy

I’m bouncy. Kind of like Tigger. Also a bit like Piglet, for anxiety, and Kanga, for love, and on a really good day, Zen like Pooh. (But that’s another essay altogether.) Overall, I am Tigger. I’m up, I bounce. I fall. I get back up because there’s a spring in my ass. Here’s why:

1. Having undiagnosed multiple mental illnesses throughout my childhood and into my early twenties.  Bouncing back to find myself having somehow survived college, in spite of making many stupid and reckless choices, and my mother saving my life by finding some answers.
2. My parents divorcing, leaving us all living a in a groovy and totally swingy 1970s vibe while adults around my sister and I acted like teenagers, changing partners and keeping secrets. Bouncing back by being happily married for 22 years and counting.
3. Falling in with a highly dysfunctional quack who played with my meds, and my life. Bouncing back by moving south of the border to start again.
4. Having a breakdown in Southern California while I worked at a soul-sucking ad agency from hell. Bouncing back by finding my dream job, and practicing getting good at it.
5. Losing a baby when five months pregnant because he had no kidneys and there was no hope. Bouncing back by giving birth to the two most cherished and wonderful children of all time. (in my opinion)
6. Moving every couple of years with small kids, while having to start all over again and again, finding new friends, work, another doctor, dentist, hairdresser, mechanic. Bouncing back by keeping the family safe, healthy and intact, and in school, where appropriate, without missing a semester, and with a travelling husband in the mix as well.
7. Having another breakdown, fleeing my job, which was literally making me sick, and getting a new diagnosis that added to my brain chemistry drama. Bouncing back by doing everything in my power to be healthy and try to stay that way as much as possible.
8. Moving yet again. Bouncing back by finding a haven for my family and me. beautiful friends, a supportive work atmosphere, and my idealistic intentions for the world still intact.

How am I still so hopeful after all of these bumps in the road? I’ve been alive for quite some time now, and still, I’m learning how to live, how to be happy, how to thrive.

As Hercules Mulligan says in “Hamilton”, “...I need no introduction. When you knock me down, I get the fuck back up again.”

Yes. I am bouncy. Like Tigger.