Robbed

On Monday, my house got broken into and robbed. They didn't take anything of sentimental value, just stuff that can be replaced.

I've been chewing on this for a couple of days because I was feeling a lot of things.

First, anger. How dare they?
Second, fear. What if it happens again?
Third, peace. Que sera sera.

I'm upset that they broke into my place and took the stuff for which I've worked so hard.
I'm scared now that I know that I'm vulnerable (but not stupid--an alarm system is going in before I replace the stuff).
I'm at peace because it wasn't me, specifically, that was targeted--there were a bunch of B&Es in the neighbourhood that day.

If they catch the thief/thieves, then whatever they get will satisfy me. Because I know that, whatever side of the spiritual spectrum you stand, after man's punishment, it'll be either a) God will take care of all that at some point, or b) my karma will run over their dogma (bad joke). In other words, I'm a live and let live kinda guy. If you steal my stuff, it's just stuff. But woe betide you when you get caught. Not if, but when.

The conservative in me agrees with the cop who came over to dust for fingerprints (there were none): the current sentences for such a crime are laughable, and regardless of what the screechers would say, it is a deterrent because, well, you can't rob someone if you're in jail. And if by robbing someone you risk a boatload of time in jail, I'd like to think it would make people reconsider a day job.

The compassionate person in me wants to reach out to the person/people and help them. Because they obviously need help--financial, emotional, whatever.

The twain are not mutually exclusive, BTW.

I got robbed. They took stuff. They left irreplaceable stuff. And they didn't take the most important thing: my principles, my dignity, or my sense of fairness.

Or my ability to write a rambling blog post. :P