We woke this morning to a message from the downstairs neighbors that my bike had been stolen. At five AM they were woken by a racket outside, specifically, a saw going through chain (yeah this thief had balls, no tiptoeing about it). Anyway, they hollered and called the cops and he ran off but he had already taken my bike. He hadn’t yet sawed through the girlfriend’s lock:

I find myself not as angry as I’d expect. A little violated but not angry really. There have been a rash of bike thefts in Minneapolis recently, maybe that’s why I’m not mad. I don’t feel singled out or targeted.

There is a corner of my brain holding an outdated idea that when people steal they do so because they need to. The old stealing bread to feed the family concept. I just don’t think this kid needed my bike. I think he WANTED the money he’d get from hawking it.

I’m trying to hold on to the unexpected positivity because I’m afraid to let the uglier feelings in. I don’t want to feel afraid in my home or neighborhood. I don’t want to suspect every teenager walking past. In the end I’m glad we have the kind of neighbors who care enough to holler and call the cops. My warmth for them is filling all that space I expected to fill with anger.  I just hope I can sustain it.

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