My car was stolen today, and I discovered my empty parking spot less than 24 hours before a long-anticipated journey abroad.
My first reaction: Wait, what?
Then: Oooooh – my car has been stolen — That’s just *$(&(#*$(@ GREAT
I was hit with all those uncomfortable emotions, rolling over me in waves: confusion, panic, fear, violation, sadness… and then… slowly… those feelings turned to acceptance, irony, awe, joy…
Joy in the face of a stolen car? …Well, why not?
I get the joke – that awkward moment when I second-guessed whether I had actually parked at home the night before; the truly *bad* timing, another drama during a time already marked by acute change and a liberal dose of stress. The clock counting down to my departure and the laundry list of errands I had before me.
It’s such bad timing, it’s funny. I swear I can hear the universe laughing.
So I did what I had to do. I made the phone calls and weighed the options. And after another whirlwind of a day, all the logistics are squared away, and there’s no other way in which I can influence the outcome.
It’s time to go traveling — time to explore, reconnect with my family and friends, and Let. Go.
That was already the plan. Nothing has changed.
Regardless of the outcome, if my car is found destroyed in a ditch or returns home without a scratch, I know that my reaction is the true test of the experience. It’s not earth-shattering like a house fire (yeah that happened), death or disease. It’s just another notch in the belt of experience that fuels my life and feeds my soul.
A stolen car as nourishment? Sure, I’m game.