Sorry, not sorry
While running on a fairly narrow path the other day, almost every time I either needed to say “Excuse me” or stepped off the path to pass someone, it was followed by a gentle, almost reflexive, “I’m sorry” from those I passed.
It’s a very South African thing - apologising for everything - so I smiled at it. But, as often happens when I’m out running, my mind wandered beyond the moment.
The people who were being caring and considerate didn’t belong to any particular race, religion, gender or age group. They were just being what South Africans would call lekker - loosely translated here as being kind, decent, good people. And it struck me how far removed this was from the dominant narratives we so often hear, where difference is framed as something to fear, manage or defend against (especially from a historic perspective for this nation).
What I observed on that run - and it’s not unique to my experience - is that being lekker doesn’t require a certain skin tone, lineage or label. It requires presence. Humanity. A willingness to see the person in front of you.
And that matters, because in times where those chasing power, pomp and prestige rely on the masses focusing on difference as weakness, real greatness - as nations, as communities and as humanity - comes from recognising difference as strength. A verse from the Holy Qur’an captures this beautifully:
“We have made you into nations and tribes so that you may [come to] know one another” (Al-Hujurat, 49:13).
Using difference as a tool to divide and distract is one of the oldest manipulation tactics there is. It works best when people are encouraged to look outward for enemies rather than inward for truth. And it almost always serves the few, not the many.
And yet, for all that noise, what I experienced on that narrow path told a very different story.
When I think back to those brief exchanges, what stands out most is how unperformed they were. No agenda. No labels. No need to be right or impressive. Just people being people.
That simplicity made me reflect on something closer to home: how often we apologise for taking up space. How often we soften ourselves to avoid discomfort. How often we trade authenticity for acceptance.
Many of the leaders and professionals I work with aren’t stuck because they lack skill, ambition or intelligence. They’re stuck because somewhere along the way, they learned that being fully themselves was risky. So they adapt. They dilute. They over-explain. They say “sorry” when what they really mean is, “I’m here.”
That insight landed even more deeply for me this past weekend.
Humanity shows up
In a group coaching session with a room full of world-class master coaches, I found myself hovering on the edge of a mini identity crisis. The moment itself was brief, but the internal impact was significant. Old questions surfaced. Old doubts whispered.
And then something familiar happened - familiar in the same way it had on that run. Humanity showed up.
Several people responded not from status or superiority, but from care. What united the room wasn’t background, gender or ethnicity, but a shared commitment to growth with honesty.
For my part, the shift was subtle but important. I didn’t apologise for the discomfort. I didn’t try to explain it away. I stayed with it - vulnerably but without self-erasure. That moment allowed me to question who I was without feeling threatened by the question itself. And instead of shrinking, I grew.
Know thyself
The irony isn’t lost on me that the same systems that benefit from division also benefit when individuals are disconnected from their own truth. People who don’t know who they are are far easier to influence than those who do. I'm going to repeat that in case it didn't land the first time: People who don’t know who they are are far easier to influence than those who do.
And so real leadership - and real unity - doesn’t begin with sameness. It begins with people who are grounded enough in who they are that difference no longer feels dangerous.
Perhaps that’s what those moments on a narrow path were quietly reminding me of: when we’re anchored in our humanity, kindness doesn’t need choreography, respect isn’t performative and authenticity doesn’t require permission.
Final thought
As another year unfolds, many of us will be looking for something more: more clarity, more purpose, more alignment. Before striving to become someone new, it may be worth asking a gentler, braver question: Who am I when I stop apologising for taking up space?
That question, in my experience, often informs the most meaningful Next Step.
