A Sampling of the Times I Said “I’m Sorry” on My European Tour of Self Discovery

In the palace square, when I walked a little too close to a few doves eating a croissant, scarring them, making them fly away.


The time I bumped into a marble statue at the museum, not even slightly budging the two-ton structure, but nevertheless feeling as though I had wronged it.


When my hair violently flew in the face of my Italian lover on the wind-swept beaches of Positano. I mean, my own face, meaning I apologized to myself.


That time a kid tried to steal my wallet in the busy marketplace and I asked for it back.


The time I had to translate my directions to a cab driver who insisted he was used to tourists and didn’t care that I was taking a long time to explain, and to please just stop apologizing already.


That time I threw my penny into the fountain at the same time a young child also threw their penny in, obviously ruining their wish.


When an old lady threw a bucket of water off her balcony directly onto me – she must not have seen me.


To myself, when I couldn’t button my pants after staying next to a fresh pasta maker for a few days.


To a stray cat, upon finishing my scone at the cafe, because I had nothing left to share.


To the painting I was looking at in the museum, for making such a loud noise when my bottle of water fell out of my hand onto the floor.


To the baker who playfully threw fried dough at me to catch with my mouth, missing it, hitting my eye, and then falling to the floor where it could be eaten by no one.


To the collective whole of Europe for being an American in this day and age and pleading that I really identify more with Canadians and Europeans and I really didn’t want to leave the Paris Agreement and please I promise I’m not a typical asshole.