Wouldn’t it be great if you could reinvent yourself on a constant basis? There is something enviable about watching performers like Bowie, Madonna, and of course Lady Gaga change their personas (clothes, hair, comportment) every two seconds. Not that at this point in my life I need to start sticking prosthetic nipples on my shoulders or horns on my head as Gaga does….although she may have something with the nipple on the shoulder thing, it’s better than having them dangle around one’s knees.

But think about it, how great would it be to reinvent yourself every so often - a little redesign to spruce up the place and keep things lively. You could certainly stave off boredom by parading in a host of new characters to introduce to all your loved ones. 'Yes, family and friends, this month I’m going to be a cowboy and love all things horsey. In fact you can start calling me, Tex. Why? Because I can…oh, and I’m bored of being the girl that reads books and cooks Thai food. So there.' Okay fine, my husband would probably have me sectioned if I came home wearing spurs and chaps, and wonder who was sauntering around the house singing Western theme tunes. Then again, he may actually dig the whole chaps thing, I’ll have to check with him on that one.

The possibilities of reinvention are endless really; one month you could be a hippie chick and get really into growing your own organic vegetables, hydroponically of course, and then WHOOSH, by the next week, you could decide that you’re going to start hanging out Goth clubs because black is the new black. And let's be honest, PVC is so easy to clean (after my own OCD heart). So you may begin to feel a bit like Sybil, and people would probably start to tire of your theatrics, but think of all things you’d learn and things you’d be exposed to, even simply on a superficial level. Go on admit it, you know half of you went to summer camp or somewhere no one knew you and started styling your hair differently and talking with a mild Bostonian accent just to see if you could get away with it. On a smaller scale, how many of you give a different name at Starbucks to the barista? Yeah. I thought so.

In high school I used to dress differently almost every day. At the time, I was probably just trying to figure out my look, but I remember also thinking that being restricted to one style of dress was just boring really. Some days it would be a big hippie floral skirt and sandals, other days a more conservative demure outfit, then out of nowhere, a metal t-shirt and ripped jeans. I’m sure my mother started to wonder about my mental state. Then again, she had other teenagers to contend with, so perhaps she was used to the vacillations of the adolescent mind and figured as long as I was breathing, all was well.

I suppose it could’ve been a lot worse, I could’ve grafted horns to my head and left the house in my underwear. Then she really would’ve had cause to worry.

I think anyone with a heart that pumps blood could tell you how challenging it is at times to make an apology. Walk into any house on your street and ask the occupants if they are a quick forgive, or if the word ‘sorry’ gets stuck in their throat sometimes and you’ll quickly find yourself with a myriad of answers – half of them couched in caveats: ‘I’m always the first to say sorry, BUT it depends on the circumstances!"

Didn’t Elton John have it so right when he said, “Sorry seems to be the hardest word.” One it comes to that little five-letter word and one’s personal relationships things can get complicated really quickly. For some people the notion of apologizing is a capitulation they are simply not able or genetically designed to make. For others, they are quick to say it, but you know they don’t mean it. And of course you can also stumble across those human gems that say it instantly, mean it with the utmost sincerity and drive the rest of us bonkers cause they're so damn evolved.

I think I fall somewhere in the middle. When I’m wrong, or have done something moronic (it happens) I readily admit it and will tell my husband so. The problem is, determining when I’m wrong is not always so easy (ha!). Let’s face it, sometimes I’m just so convinced that I’m right that I’d rather spend the time convincing my husband of my viewpoint – and vice versa. Yes, we can be utterly exhausting. On the good side of things, I think we – like most adults (ahem) out there – are starting to realize that an apology ends whatever pointless argument we are having and gets us back to the more poignant and pressing matters in life: like who is going to bathe the King. You see, baby steps, the only path to the heartfelt apology. 

I think the thing that amazes me – or scares me senseless – about human beings is how truly stubborn we can be. Despite umpteenth religions telling us the importance of forgiveness – hey Jesus forgave and look how he was treated; Geeesh! – Many people can simply not come around to the fact that their behavior cannot always go unchecked and it is hurtful to those around them. These people utterly mystify me. Yeah sure, we’d all like to NOT be culpable for our actions and walk around hurling that three letter conjoining excuse (yeah, BUT; I’m talking to you) that attempts to explain our transgressions, but it comes to the point where some people just have to stop being so darn pigheaded and just apologize for being…well, human. No caveats, no buts, no escaping. You screwed up and acted like an ass, now own up to it.

That’s the beauty of the apology. We’re human; we’re built with design flaws. Big ones. In fact, if we were laptops, we’d all be sent back to the factory for some serious refurbishment. So hence, why most humans need to get in bed with the apology, give it a big fat hug, and pony that bad boy out a lot more often.

Sorry for not blogging on Friday…gosh, it just gets easier and easier.

Happy Monday.