I think we are taught from birth to be sorry, to apologize for ourselves.  I don’t do that anymore. To be contrite is to destroy my sense of self. To be arrogant is to destroy my soul.

My Amish friends are taught humility. They can’t speak well of themselves. I can’t speak for them, but I wonder how I could grow in that way and move forward in such a challenging world.

Thinking differently was life or death for me. Being different was a lifesaver.

How would I ever want what I have if I did not know that I was different – not better – than other people?

I needed to attract attention, to blow my own horn. I needed to find a way to stand out. Books did that for me. I don’t know many humble, successful writers. If I were Amish, I’d never gotten to my second book. I wrote 26.

Acknowledging and accepting my differences – my brokenness –  saved my life and brought me to happiness and fulfillment. I used every bit of failure and mistakes.

I am not better than anyone else. But I am not sorry for my life. I will not speak poorly of it.

Every once in a while after my Open Heart surgery, a friend will ask me if I regret smoking and drinking when I was young, especially when I was a young reporter. For some years, I said yes, but when I thought about it, I realized that I was lying to myself and others.

How sad to be young and never take a risk, challenge conventional wisdom, or defy authority?

Those years as a reporter were transformative. They were essential to creating who I am now, for better or word; they were full of joy, meaning, and pride. Being a reporter was the first time I was proud of myself; this inspired me to go ahead and take the leap and live my life.

I am not sorry for any foolish or reckless, or unhealthy or reckless thing that I did. If I could move the fingers of time, I would not go back and change a moment of it.

I am not sorry for anything I have done in my life. I regret countless things I have done in my life. To regret something is not to apologize for it but to be sad, most often about a missed or lost opportunity. I still think of those.

Like all of us, I did the best I could with the tools I had. Hindsight, like nostalgia, is a trap. Looking back is a plunge into a sinkhole.

I would do many things differently in my life knowing what I know now, but I’m grateful I didn’t know then what I know now. I would have made myself into a eunuch. I’d probably be a real estate attorney (no offense). Wouldn’t we all do things differently? People treat mistakes as if they were deliberate acts of criminality.

But a mistake is not a crime. A mistake is an error, something every single human being on the planet has done, again and again. It is that simple, and it is that complex. In some parts of our culture – politics, the media – mistakes are not forgiven.

Animals live in the moment; they are not capable of mistakes.

Humans, blessed or cursed with a conscience and a sense of right and wrong, constantly make mistakes. That is the whole point of organized religion, which is built on sin and errors. What would we have to confess?

There is no need to apologize. If you believe in God, then you must accept that is the way he made us. If you don’t understand wrong, you cannot possibly do right or know what it is.

People are held to an impossible standard of perfection.

So they are always saying they are sorry, begging for mercy to be forgiven for things they could not help.

It is hypocritical to blame other people for making mistakes.  As witnesses not of our intentions but our conduct, wrote Hannah Arendt, we can be true or false as we choose.

The hypocrite’s crime is that they bear false witness against him or herself…integrity can indeed exist under cover of all other vices except this one. “Only crime and the criminal…confront us with the perplexity of radical evil,” said Arendt, ” but only the hypocrite is rotten to the core..”

When human beings stumble, as they must, they are increasingly ruined, discharged, shamed, mobbed on new media, sent into oblivion, unforgiven in a world of people who make mistakes all the time.

We are a thoughtless and increasingly cruel culture in many ways. I hate nothing more than a hypocrite, a shame because our world has more hypocrites than black ants.

I know that sounds arrogant, but it is true.

I have many regrets, but that is not the same as apologizing for myself or my life.  I regret the people I hurt, misunderstand, or treated poorly. I regret getting divorced or the pain my daughter endured when she was sick.

But I am not sorry; that is not a reason to rend my garments and speak cruelly of my life.  Every time I apologize for being me, I cut a little piece off of my soul.

I have learned that if I am not my advocate, then I will have no advocate.

I have apologized to many people for many things. But I refuse to apologize for me; I am not sorry for my life. I am just all too human.

I have learned that no other creature, human or animal, can love me if I do not know to love myself.

I have learned that no one can be proud of me if I am not proud of myself.

I spent much of my life apologizing for myself. I couldn’t do the math. My Dyslexia left everyone around me treating me as if I were impaired, as if I were stupid,  and over time, they persuaded me. I still can’t do the math.

Because I didn’t know what to think,  I couldn’t think.

My books were the first intimation that I had something to say,  something in my brain that worked. My father was stunned.

Five New York Times Bestsellers convinced me that although I might be crazy, I was not dumb.

And then I learned that five New York Times Best Sellers means nothing, any more than a lightning strike was aimed at me. When my editors were done with me, they chucked me into the trash and left me for dead,  just like any big corporation. It was a great gift to me; they moved me to start my blog.

When people treat me as stupid, I get angry; sometimes, I lash out. But I am not sorry for that either. It is how I fought back and gained some pride, and learned to create my own identity. I never let other people define me now.

Humility is not self-debasement. Humility is the opposite of pride and arrogance. I am anything but prideful; I have been guilty of arrogance. My search is for authenticity, not humility. I am different. I am unique, as are you.

The word humble has its origins in the Latin word humilis, meaning “low.” I don’t care to be low, just honest. Life is the Mother of humility; we learn to be humble just by living awhile.

I am learning much now; I will be learning as I go to the grave. I like that about myself; I will never apologize or speak poorly of myself, despite the many mistakes I have made and as much as I have yet to learn about life.