Karma

As I approached my car this morning, my eyes were drawn away from the glaring crater in my driver's side door. For a moment, I was able to forget the scrapes and dents that trace the length of my poor little car, and ignore the fact that the doors no longer close all the way. My eyes focused instead on a purple envelope pinned under the windshield wiper, "Dre" written in familiar handwriting on the front. Guilt instantly collected, solid in my gut. I knew who the card was from. I knew I didn't deserve it.

Last night, at dinner over Mexican food with three of my best friends, I was not nice. I was impatient and exhausted, drained by two days of frustration and stress. I snapped at my friends and failed to enjoy their company. During a discussion of what they were giving up for Lent, I asked leading questions that implied my disapproval of their choices. "Did you choose that for personal gain or religious sacrifice?" I prodded with  accusing eyes, acknowledging their answers with little more than an indifferent nod. I asked very few questions about C's Fashion Week internship and even fewer about the others' impending job changes. Walking out I felt ashamed, but I said nothing, simply wanting to get home and go to sleep.

That's why the guilt formed so quickly. I didn't deserve a card. I didn't deserve anything but a swift kick.

After prying open my door and settling in for my morning commute, I opened the envelope to find a black and white card which featured a kitten, adorable even to this feline hater. It had bandages wrapped around its head, chin, and limbs. It peered at me with sad eyes, but all I could do was smile back, my own eyes watering. The card felt thick in my hands, causing the knot of guilt to move from my stomach to my throat. I blinked to focus on the words written by my best friend, holding her money in my other hand and driving with my knee. Her words turned my watering eyes into streaming tears, making me a complete driving hazard - a bad decision considering Monday's events.

I racked my brain trying to figure out why my best friend and her boyfriend had done something so nice. I thought I had been pretty calm about the situation, making sure not to show that I was stressed. I opted not to talk about it when they tried to press me or offer their sympathy. I told them that things happen. That's what insurance is for. I had expressed frustration that I'd caused a wreck, but I had joked about the fact that I'm always bragging about my driving skills. "I guess it's karma," I laughed. "That's what I get for bragging."

Recalling that conversation made me even more perplexed. Karma? I have no good karma coming my way. I used it all up a couple of months ago. I'm sure of it. Plus... I was a jerk last night. Surely I don't deserve this.


I've always believed that karma is real, but in that moment I began to question it. Good things happen to bad people all the time and vice versa. We always seem shocked when it happens the "wrong" way, yet we jump to give karma the credit when it fits. Maybe there's no rhyme or reason for why good and bad things happen to bad and good people. Maybe it's all a crap shoot or maybe it's all part of a pre-designed plan in which we're supposed to learn certain lessons at certain stages of life. For now, I'm choosing the latter. The last couple days have taught me, or rather reminded me, of a number of lessons, and maybe that's all I'm supposed to take out of this. Forget that piggy bank full of karma points because mine was undoubtedly bone dry. I'm just blessed enough to have amazing friends, and aware enough to heed the world's advice. Check your blind spot. Be nice to your friends. Do nice things because it feels good.