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Notes of Logic That Are Personal, But Indulge My Process

The logic of responsibility

The recent offering that’s dominating the web is forcing me to figure out the parameters of responsibility.

How old is too old for thought or how young do you have to be — in order for self-awareness to kick in.

The blame game is never fun — neither is the task of owning your judgment in the face of uncertainty and the challenges of calculating how far you’re willing to go — in private.

This process isn’t attempting to level the varying mishaps we all encounter as humans, but here’s how I summate this issue:

Back in 2009 — I was a young adult in my thirties, and based in New York City. I had a job with a financial firm while moonlighting as a burgeoning writer. I wasn’t making an impressive amount of money, but I did have the perks of being able to garner membership at Equinox.

It was a welcomed luxury — and I took full advantage.

On a summer afternoon in mid-July — I rushed to one of the locations on the Upper West Side — with the intent of a short but sweet session — before heading downtown for a group outing.

The workout was routinely satisfactory, and afterwards I quickly headed h back to my locker to prepare for a much-needed shower. When I opened my locker — I could tell that someone else had partaken of the space. I pulled out my bulky purse and reached inside. Everything was spoken for — except my wallet.

I emptied the contents on the nearby bench — and my wallet was nowhere to be found. I had been robbed. I quickly reached for my phone and began the task of alerting all the financial institutions in my Rolodex.

The short version of this tale — is that I did report my ordeal to the neighborhood police and they were able to apprehend the culprit. Her capture did very little to erase the damage of having to switch banks — after her attempt to re-route my bank statements to her home address was successful. I also had to register for a seven-year protection plan for the sake of my social security number, tax and credit information.

The whole process of recovery was a bitch, as I was forced to re-build my own identity, but I had to console myself with the fact that it could’ve been worse.

Of course the pain of my predicament encouraged me to share with expectation of empathy — but as soon as I divulged the truth of my woes — I was faced with criticism and heaps of scolding.

This is because I was old enough to know better. I was old enough to not recklessly toss my bag (containing my primary identifications) into a locker that wasn’t securely locked. I stupidly assumed that the weird lady sitting nearby— wasn’t paying attention to the activity around her. I inconceivably made a poor decision and expected the outcome to deviate from the norm.

I assumed Equinox was a pricey venue — filled with wealthy Manhattanites, who wouldn’t give a damn about open lockers — gaping with lust. I basically miscalculated and paid the price.

My point is that bad things happen all the time. Sometimes it’s a situation beyond our control — like when kids are forced to learn the hardness of an organ they’ve never seen before. Or instances where we’re mature enough to comprehend the risks of our decisions — but we push further into it — with the hope that shit doesn’t hit the fan. Or if it does — the results will be worth it.

Nobody deserves to be — but I always wonder if there’s the additional responsibility of recognizing the part we play in the overall shape of things.

I was miserable as fuck — as I shuffled paperwork, faxes, and follow ups — all because I was too much in a hurry to adequately protect my belongings. And even though I’m still pissed at the woman who stole my shit — my family and friends were right to scold me for being negligent and surprisingly immature.

If you are old enough to read between the lines, and yet you still venture past the realm of reason for the sake of preserving something you can afford to lose — then maybe you should examine those tendencies — as you heal from the consequences of that ill-fated decision.

I’ve experienced the tragedy of not being mature enough to weigh the options of rescuing myself before the suffocation — so I know the difference.

The logic of responsibility is a mutha!

And so is trying to figure out this shit — in a space that allows for open conversation and the ability to juggle possibilities without curse words or “cancellations” or all the stuff we summon — when the outcast needs to be cast out.

It’s personal and I’m using a public residence for this — so indulge me.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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