Dude. Really? Okay, I can sort of see if I was hanging out in the hood of, like, Northeast Minneapolis at 3am on a Saturday night. But you've got BALLS to smash my window and swipe my stuff in broad daylight on Grand Avenue in St. Paul behind a well populated patio-open bar in 70 degree weather on a Tuesday evening. While I was doing YOGA for fuck's sake.
Yes, when it first happened I was surprised. And sad. And pissed. And violated. And relieved. And because I am a wordsmith, here is my message from each of those emotions:
Surprise: Is that my car? That's my car. That's my car with the window smashed right the fuck out. Really? Someone actually did this?
Sad: Dude, someone actually did this. And my stuff is gone. My ipod, which I really enjoyed. And my GPS, which told me where to go and how long it would take me to get there. And you're a really mean person. And I'll cry a little for a few reasons--first because it sucks and I don't deserve to be robbed. Second, because you reminded me that though I'm all yogic and happy and good energy these days, people like you--and a lot worse than you-- are still hanging out in the world being mean.
Pissed: You're an asshole. And you'll get what's coming to you. Karma, baby. Enjoy the twenty bucks you're going to get for my stuff. Savor it. Because you're a dick, and I kind of hope you overdose on whatever you buy with it. What gives you the right to not only steal my stuff, but to vandalize the shit out of me while you do so? Fuck off. Try getting a job and earning some fucking money like the rest of us have to in this life. Remember how I just told you to fuck off? Do it twice.
Violated: Okay, so some guy's hands were all up in my car. My diet coke can was upset and my rear view mirror was out of joint and some stranger's germs and ick and ooginess were all up in my grill. Literally. Disgusting. And you took my stuff. And you rifled through my belongings--not with respect or reverence, but with the intent to harm. And you may know where I live. And you have a GPS that will lead you right to me. And you *touched* my *stuff.*
Relieved: Becuase you were after my things and not me. Because I'm in a place in life where I know that an ipod and a GPS are not rights in this world, but niceities. And because when I came home there was no one waiting in my house but Gatsby, wagging his tail. Windows and electronics are replaceable...that's cool. And I cannot tell you how happy I am, in my only child self, that I really couldn't care less about the loss of possessions. They're stuff. And I can buy more. With cash that is also re-earnable. And I bet I'll appreciate them even more than I did the first time around. And I'll be more careful from now on, which, because everything happens for a reason, will probably safe me, ultimately, from a greater harm than you issued.
So, Person, you can see I'm a touch confused. Because I don't know whether to be mad at you (which doesn't do any good), feel sorry for you (for the bad karma that this and no doubt other poor malevolent decisions will garner you), or devote my next yoga practice to you in the hopes that some positive energy will help you in even the tiniest of ways. Or, perhaps, thank you. Becuase you didn't wait in my car for me to see what else you could take. And yeah, I won't sleep well tonight, but I'm surprisingly okay with that. Because I will sleep again--and I'll do yoga again, and I'll drive again (with a bright new shiny driver side window!) and I'll go shopping and buy myself some new electronics and live to enjoy them.