Completely Subjective: Lee Upton’s “The Apology”
I keep seeing these reels on Instagram known as “kindness content,” and if you’ve been on any social media in the past few years, I’m sure you’ve seen it too. In case you don’t know, they are produced by people filming themselves helping out random strangers by giving them wads of cash or surprising them with food or even a new apartment. Although these are promoting good deeds, the intent behind them is heavily debated. Is it true kindness, or just exploitative, performative, and clout-chasing? Obviously helping out someone in need is nice, but when it has the goal of generating views and likes in order to monetize the “kindness content” creator, the authenticity is taken away.
This phenomenon reminds me of the question posed by philosopher T.M. Scanlon: “What do we owe to each other?” This is an interesting question. Do content creators owe the needy of the world because of the rough circumstances they face? Or is it that the content creators are owed an opportunity to show off their wealth and “kindness?” Whatever the answer may be, it seems that in today’s world, we assume that we must owe one another something, with even kindness becoming a sort of trade-off. I witnessed this firsthand this April at my grandma and grandpa’s house, where I asked myself the exact question I just posed to you.
It was April 11, 2026, the third day of the Masters golf tournament, which also happened to be the day I arrived in Florida for spring break. My grandpa’s health hadn’t been the best, and his house was beginning to feel more like a patient’s room. Pills were skewed across the counters, and various home caretakers were taking shifts throughout the day. Even his queen bed had been replaced with a twin hospital bed. I didn’t even go into his room until the late afternoon despite arriving in the early morning because I felt so scared that he wasn’t the same person as before, the one who used to have me raise the flag with him every morning and wake me up early to go to the food pantry and fly kites with. At around 3:00pm, just as the UV was hitting its peak and the pool was reaching its max temperature for the day, though, I finally went in for a quick hello. His eyes were tired and fixed on the small TV in his room that was replaying Rory McIlroy’s latest shot, and his helper was just leaving. “Oh, Natalie! You’re here!” he said, his eyes opening a bit wider. I leaned on the twin bed next to his hospital bed as I asked him about his day and what he was watching.
I expected a quick conversation, worried about any awkwardness that might happen. Even when the first pleasantries faded and the sun outside the window seemed to be calling my name, however, I sat on the bed, deciding to watch the Masters for a bit longer (even though I have never been able to get behind the hype of watching golf). There were small conversations over the murmur of the golf tournament about who he thought would win the game, about how he used to work at the World’s Fair, about his experiences in the Marine Corps, all while I was simply listening to what he had to say and enjoying his company. Golf for two hours was not something I planned to do on that sunny day, but just like the blankets over me, I felt this calm feeling spread throughout my body along with a soft fluttering heartbeat that said “Yes, you can stay longer, just you and Grandpa, everything can wait for a bit.” And so I did until dinner.
After I finally exited the room as my grandpa said “See you around campus,” I was suddenly bombarded with “thank yous.” My grandpa’s helper said how nice it was of me to sit with him like that for so long, because most teenagers wouldn’t do that. My aunt said how sweet it was of me to do that for old Grandpa, because he doesn’t get much attention these days. I know they had good intentions, but it felt weird, kind of like I was a big kid they were thanking for playing so nicely with a little kid at the playground. I didn’t feel like I was doing him a favor for those past times when we went out together, though. I know as well when we spent time together in the past and he took me places he didn’t do it because he felt in debt to his granddaughter. That afternoon I didn’t even have my phone out to capture when an Angelic Teenage Girl Spends an Afternoon by Her Grandpa’s Hospital Style Bed (Keep Watching for Family’s Astonished Reaction!). So if we really didn’t owe each other anything, what led to me spending those hours with my grandpa?
This exploration of those quiet but profound moments is depicted in Lee Upton‘s “The Apology” from her collection Bottle the Bottles the Bottles the Bottles and featured in Best American Poetry 2016, and perhaps it could guide to an understanding of what makes them so important. The majority of the poem is Upton’s detailed observations of an evening nature scene. She first mentions how “these pink spatters,/these crumbled parlor doilies,/these milkweed blossoms,/fade as if antique.” Upton describes nature in such a romantic and artistic way, almost as if she is painting the scene for readers. Her fascinated and curious tone communicates her absolute awe for this scene; she even describes “crumbled” pieces of plants as not old, not rotting, but “antique,” depicting a deep appreciation for everything around her, no matter its state (even if that state might be an at home hospital bed). Upton goes further to personify nature, claiming how “[an insect inside a tree] had become a tree/to give the tree a voice.” Upton is not only illustrating a scene of nature, but giving it a “voice,” causing readers to feel just closer to it and appreciate the intimate serenity of the evening just as much as she does. Essentially, she amplifies nature’s elegance through her intricate diction.
Upton then explores the small relationships between different plants in the evening scene, noting how “…the milkweed does not report on the condition of its leaves,/the height of its flowers,/its life without bureaucracy.” There is not only calm in observing the scene of nature, but within the ecosystem itself; the milkweed doesn’t expect anything of what’s around it, does not initiate a system of strict rules of how much its leaves must serve it or how strong and tall its flowers must be. It simply coexists with them, embodying a mutual respect for its counterparts, not waiting for the give and take (a very stark contrast to how an iPhone camera self serves its owner for whatever “kindness content” is being filmed). This moment reflects the entire style of the poem, a single stanza with no breaks in between; it is pure, uninterrupted wonder and grace.
Upton finally concludes her detailed exploration of nature’s charm with what we’ve all been waiting for, “The Apology.” In the final lines, her narrator wittily confesses how “I am sorry for speaking for nature./But it was asking for it.” Nature’s allure was just so compelling and strong to Upton that she felt it was absolutely begging to be appreciated for all that it is. Despite this, Upton owes nothing to nature, and it’s not like nature exists just because it feels it owes poet Lee Upton a favor. Likewise, Upton isn’t describing it to be nice, as nature surely couldn’t care less about what she thinks about it. She does not owe it an ode to its beauty, and she certainly does not owe it an apology for said ode– yet she does it anyway. She gives it a “voice” anyway. She sees it, really sees it with no expectation for any views or likes in return for her own benefit. Knowing that it deserves all that she can give it, her whimsical account encourages others to give it the same respect.
So, “what do we owe to each other?” Perhaps this was the wrong question to ask. If it all comes down to owing each other something, it feels like kindness can’t truly exist at all since the intent behind it is skewed. I know it does exist though, because I could see it in my Grandpa’s blue eyes as he told me his favorite old stories, and I can see it in the way my friend Chloe always waits for me as I pack up my bag after class even after all the other students have left, and I can see it in the way my mom gives me a “voice” just by listening to me tell every single detail of my school day each afternoon. The best acts of kindness, the ones that make your heart flutter and allow your boredom of golf to subside, aren’t just transactions. They are testaments to each other’s intrinsic worth and humanity.