The Word I Didn't Learn

My Italian vocabulary was limited, and my go-to was not included.

I’m home from a bike trip from Parma to Verona, bookended by stays in Milan and Venice. The journey was as restorative as plunging into cool water after grueling uphill climb that you thought might never end, which I think is a pretty accurate description of the last two plus pandemic years.

Our bike tour’s team leaders, Gigi and Tomasz, taught us enough basic Italian to safely pass people on the road. There was grazie for thank you, prego for you’re welcome, and the names of many coffee drinks, including espresso, cappuccino, americano, and even shakerato, which is espresso with ice. But one word I didn’t learn is the word I say most often back home, a word that comes as naturally to me as breathing: sorry.

I am expressly sorry for everything. For being late, for getting things wrong, for forgetting, for being slow or fumble-y, for the way the world is, including things outside my control. I am sorry you are unhappy, and sorry if I’ve made you unhappy. Reflexively, sorry is my most natural state.

In Italy, though, I didn’t know the word for sorry. There were many times I wanted to say it, but since I couldn’t, I didn’t, and after a while, the impulse passed. This was a good and instructive thing. A life of constant apology is exhausting for everyone involved.

Of course, now that I’m back home, I expect the word sorry will leach back into my lexicon, but I dare to hope it will no longer be knee-jerk and more selectively indicative of genuine and appropriate remorse.

Hey! Just now, I looked up the word for sorry in Italian, and I know that it is spiacente. I am not sorry that I learned this too late, and that the word (and ultimately, the feeling) faded, unexpressed.

On the other hand, I happily lost count of all the grazies.