This week has been my week for making mistakes. Every once in a while, I go through a time in which every time I turn around, I discover I have made another mistake. It’s nice to have attained an age at which I know I won’t die of embarrassment. I’ve discovered something ironic too. The less upset I show at the mistake, the less people seem to notice or care that I’ve made it.

When I was younger, these times used to throw me. Now, the first thing I check is whether the mistake is fixable. If it is, I usually just fix it and move on. I then try to figure out why it happened and fix that too if possible. If prevention is not possible, I just shrug and move on. I’m amazed how often mistakes can be fixed if I don’t waste my time spinning my wheels or let my embarrassment cause me to wait too long to deal with the problem.

Along the way, I’ve also learned a few things about apologies. There really is an art to apologies. Timing matters. The longer I wait to apologize, the worse my tone will be. The crankier the recipient will be as well. Volume and frequency matter too. Quick, direct, one-time apologies get me farther than loud, repetitive ones every time. I try never to beg with my apologies and to give my explanation of my actions very briefly if I give it at all. Begging seems to trigger that part of people that just can’t help hunting down creatures that run in fear. Explanations tend to sound either whining or making excuses. Neither approach brings out the best in the recipient.

Mr. Philately and I have been telling the kids for years that the first rule for getting out of a hole is to stop digging. I spent years digging as though you can hide a hole in a hole. Something in a stubborn personality just can’t help continuing to dig. But, as Mr. Philately is fond of pointing out, doing something the same way and expecting different results is irrational. Now I just start looking for a ladder and, if that doesn’t work, using toe-holds, and finally, if that doesn’t work calling for help and hoping someone hear me before I die of dehydration or starvation down there.

I’m well aware that there are some mistakes that are hard to recover from. That’s hard not to know in my line of work. I’ve sat across from drug addicts, teenage killers, and others who have made terrible mistakes. I spend a lot of my time at work trying to salvage what little can be salvaged after big, disastrous mistakes. Still, with most of them, I recognize that their size built. One mistake leads to another.

I just hope that I can convince my own kids to recognize and deal with those smaller, more fixable mistakes. If I can lead by example, perhaps I’m half-way there.

|