A week ago, my messenger bag, containing notebooks of writings, electronics, and other keepsakes, was stolen from a restaurant in the Century Century mall. I blame myself for this one, as I forgetfully left the bag unattended for an hour. That same night, my email account was hacked. I caught it early and changed my passwords immediately. As far as I can tell no major damage came from this one, though I lost most of email and several of my phone contacts. Last week, my bicycle, bought two months ago in an effort to cut down the amount of driving I was doing in Los Angeles, was stolen from my downstairs parking garage. The thief, or thieves, somehow snuck into the garage and cut the Kryptonite chain.
Then, last night, while I sat in church, someone shattered my car window and ransacked my car. This incident stung the most. Aside from the $277 charge for a new window (as well as cutting my fingers several times cleaning the mess), I experienced a feeling of feel invaded, and there is a feeling of being invaded and loss of security. loss of security, a loss of purpose. And of being violated.
The one consolation from the break-in: as I keep no valuables in my car, I can take pleasure in visualizing the look of disappointment on the thief’s face when he or she broke the law only to find nothing but CD cases, an empty sunglass case, and a Bay Area Fast Pass. Enjoy the free ride across the Golden Gate Bridge, jerk.
I’ve made it my mission to love and serve the people of Los Angeles, but incidents like these make it hard. Right now, I’m vacillating between the desire to beat someone’s ass and the remembrance that the guilty person is probably a hurting soul in want of love and grace. I imagine scenarios during which I meet the man or woman. And depending on the moment, I greet the person with a prayer of forgiveness or for the person and forgive them, or a punch in the mouth.