What Goes Around

It’s been almost a year since someone broke into our home. I still remember the crippling wave of panic that swept over me that day when it hit me what had just happened. He kicked in a door and waltzed into the one place on this earth where I feel safe. It made me sick to think about what it really meant: after studying my daily routine, a stranger had forced his way into my home, rifled through my possessions and took what he wanted. Then, he walked home and sold it to the highest bidder.


I was shaken that day, but I was mostly angry. It’s a difficult thing, trying to understand why someone would choose to do something terrible to you. Your mind floods with ridiculous questions, mind-boggling scenarios and a myriad of what-ifs. But, as I reflect on what happened last year, I keep coming back to the idea of karma. I’ve always believed that each and every one of us, regardless of who we are and what we believe, will always get what we deserve.

The idea of karma in this particular scenario seems obvious: he broke into the homes of nearly 10 people, stole their possessions and was caught 7 months later. He’s been sitting in jail since October and recently pled guilty to a reduced charge. He is slated to be sentenced for his crimes (including probation violation) later this month. It’s safe to say that he got what he deserved---we all got what we deserved.

Yet, despite all of this, I somehow cannot shake the irony of one tiny detail of this man: his age. Just two years span between us, but somehow we live in completely different worlds. I don’t know him and I hope that his mug shot is the closest I come to ever seeing his face, but deep down I wonder about him. I wonder about the series of horrible choices he probably made on his way to choosing to break into my home. I think about the good choices that brought me to this point in my life and the fact that our paths crossed, in a way, only because I made my choices and he made his. It’s almost as though being a good person and being a terrible person made our lives intersect for just one day—and that’s what disturbs me.

I still wonder what went though his mind that day, even when it sickens me. Did he look around my home at the life I’ve worked so hard to build for myself and realize that he could’ve made something—anything—of himself? Or, was he just thinking about how quickly he could rifle through my jewelry box and run home before someone heard the dog barking? Maybe I’m looking into it too much; perhaps he thinks his life is good and he enjoys being a thief. Hell, he probably thinks it’s me who is the pathetic one, slaving away at an actual 9-5 job and paying off college loans until 2022.

Then again, I imagine the cold steel bars of prison have a way of changing one's outlook on life.