I recently recommended the TV show Lucifer to my mom, and she loved it. So when she was done, I binged it too. (And you should give it a go, if you are as behind the times as I am and haven’t seen it.)

In this show, the construct of hell is that you live your guiltiest moment over and over on an endless loop. At one point, Lucifer says that the silliest thing about it is that it’s entirely voluntary; if anyone ever decided to walk out at any time, they could do it. But nobody ever does.

To me, this sounds horrible. It’s a brilliant idea of hell, and if it’s real I will absolutely end up there and I will probably never escape. My mom, on the other hand, thought it was a wonderful idea, that you could work through your guilt with the prospect of moving on. We then talked about what our moments would be.

Mine would be when I had a temper tantrum at 6 and left a gate open, which resulted in our dog escaping and getting hit by a car. My mom had to bury the dog, and my great-grandfather had to teach her how to use a pick to get through the concrete-hard late-summer dirt. When I shared this with her, my mom very sweetly pointed out that I learned from this and to think of all the dogs that haven’t died since because I never leave a gate open.

I don’t think that matters, really; I reckon that is still my guilt loop. One of the nice things about going through life in a generally oblivious state is that although I’m pretty sure I have upset and offended people to greater and lesser degrees, I am generally not aware of it unless they bring it up. And I’d like to add here—there are nice ways to do that, and not so nice ones. I’ve been subjected to both, and I’m always grateful to the folks who assume good faith on my part. I’m almost never out to pick a fight. You can tell when I am. Coming at me like I’m an ogre when I was just cluelessly bumbling along trying to get shit done is likely to get you an apology, but it’s likely to resemble one delivered by a narcissistic character in the fantastic Whit Stillman movie The Last Days of Disco: “Anything I did that was wrong, I apologize for. But anything I did that was not wrong, I don’t apologize for.” Furthermore, although I will apologize, I will also likely put some distance between us since I clearly have no idea what will set you off and would just as soon not go through all that again, thanks.

But today is apology day. So.

I apologize to my Japanese friend in preschool who wanted to be blonde and made me laugh when she put on a Shirley Temple wig made of gold sequins.

I apologize to the girls in my grade school for being the smart one and not hiding it while also not helping them along as much as I could have.

I apologize to the boys in junior high that I blew off because they laughed funny, looked funny, smelled funny, or weren’t funny. I could have told you what was up, and I’m sorry I didn’t.

I apologize to my first boyfriend for not picking up more of the bills. I was ancient before I realized how much you probably spent on me.

I apologize to all those girls I knew in college and fell out of touch with. I’m glad Facebook exists and some of us have reconnected. I’m also sorry to my college roommate that I fell out with. (But I actually did try to apologize to her years ago and got no answer. So I kinda think that’s on her now.)

I apologize to all the old-timers I worked with and didn’t take their lessons to heart. I loved to hear their stories, but I didn’t really appreciate the perspectives or intended messages until much later.

I apologize to all those people I mentioned above that I inadvertently and unwittingly insulted who never pointed it out.

I apologize to my kid for not figuring out how to deal with his brain issues until his brain was pretty fried trying to get me to understand him.

And finally, I apologize to my husband for all the sound and fury, past, present, and future. Thank you for knowing it signifies nothing.