The street lights were reflected on the wet pavement as I walked back to my car. I had a good night celebrating a friend’s birthday. And like most good nights, it ended late. I was ready to get home and change into comfortable sweats and sleep without setting an alarm for the next morning.

I walked towards my car and saw the window smashed and my backseat pulled down for access to the trunk. I briefly checked if anything was stolen, but nothing seemed missing. Not even my Patagonia fleece or Osprey daypack.

I don’t remember feeling any strong reaction, not shock or anger or cynicism. But I don’t think I was resigned or indifferent either. I want to call it acceptance. Life happens, and I was grateful nothing was stolen and it was just the small back window that was broken and I wasn’t the one living a life breaking into cars at night.

If this happened some years back, I would have had a stronger reaction. My heart would have been burning and my mind would have been wondering why I deserved it. I would have found a list of reasons in my head why I was being punished. I would have gotten overwhelmed by all the steps to fix it. Checking my insurance, finding quotes from shops, scheduling time to replace the window, taping it up past midnight instead of laying warm in bed.

I would have put a lot of blame on the criminal. But I would have put a lot of blame on myself too. I was stupid to park in a sketchy area so late at night. Oh, of course this would happen to me. Never mind I had parked in this neighborhood before and my car had been fine. I would have filled myself with regrets, carrying responsibility over matters that couldn’t be helped.

To some, this thought process might sound wild. For others, I think you know how thoughts can move this way, kind of twisting everything along. It still happens from time to time, but not so much. I often know right away that it’s lies. I just have to let the feelings part of it pass through. It helps to think of things to be thankful for in times like these.

The night went on. I drove home, hoping it wouldn’t start pouring rain, but not getting too worried when I had to turn my windshield wipers on. I parked in front of my place, found some tape in my closet, grateful I had tape, and went back outside in the sharp cold.

As I sealed my window, thankful it wasn’t pouring down rain, I thought about the person that broke into my car. They didn’t just smash my window, I think part of them was trying to smash the world they hated so much. Smash it into little glass pieces. A world that was full of opportunities, but not for them. I wondered who they were, what their life was like, where they slept, if it included a bed. And instead of feeling sorry for myself and my vandalized car, I felt sorry for the person who smashed it. What kind of life did they live that led to spending a Saturday night breaking into cars.

I’m not justifying their actions, just trying to understand it. And a part of me can’t understand. I can’t understand why this is my life, and that is theirs. I simply hope it keeps me grateful for what I have, instead of shaken over the things I don’t. And I hope my gratefulness always drives me to generosity, generous in how I view others and myself.