broken windows

We live on a street that's on the border of a nice area and a not-so-nice area, such that M always has me carry pepper spray walking home. Our car has been broken into so many times, I literally can't remember if it's three, four or five times. The first time was my first month here; I'd been naive and left my bag in the seat. It wasn't actually taken because all it had were my climbing shoes and harness. I didn't even notice the window was smashed until I'd been sitting in the car for a few minutes and noticed the draft. This had never happened to me before, and I was pretty startled. I looked up places to replace the window and was surprised to see how easy it was to replace it--then understanding this happens often. When it happened a second time, when nothing was in view in the car and again nothing was taken, I already knew what to do and where to go. It seemed routine. But the next few times wore on us a bit, especially the time when we couldn't repair the window right away, and someone came again and cleaned out everything in our trunk and compartments. Everything from our car registration, to our boulder pad that was so big that we hadn't thought to have to bring it in (who would steal that?...someone, anyone). That time, I think we felt particularly violated, knowing that our things had been rummaged through and that something valuable had actually been taken.

We came to expect this from our street, and have been extra careful since then to only park it in certain areas and keep it entirely clean. Then it happened to us again, somewhere else. We drove to Oakland and stopped at a place to get sandwiches before a hike in the Oakland Hills. M had his backpack in the backseat, and I thought briefly of bringing it in, but it was daylight (ten in the morning), we were in a crowded parking lot, and there were people sitting outside. So we left it there, and went in to grab sandwiches. We were gone for less than ten minutes, and when we came out, our window had been smashed--for the fourth, fifth or sixth time. His backpack was gone, but luckily nothing valuable was in it and our more valuable things in the trunk weren't taken. I think something inside us wilted then, feeling so taken advantage of in a very unexpected moment. But, we again found it very easy to replace the window, and had our car back within an hour of this happening.

I get amazed at how easily our windows are broken, when we think of the inside of our car as so safe. I'm surprised at how violated I feel, how bruised my own insides get from this trespassing. But I get more amazed at how easily replaceable it is, how I soon forget. Though the remnants of those shards linger, I remember at the end of that day (which turned out to be hard in many ways) feeling lucky for still having in my possession those things that aren't so replaceable. Experiences. Values. People. Love. And I think that sometimes our windows break not so much to depress us with fragility, but to remind us to look the other way for the strength of things that hold steady against external weight.