This week, I got robbed.
…and I’m actually pretty upset about it.
To be completely upfront, it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been. It was a non-violent incident where my bag was taken out backwards under my chair in a restaurant by a professional and without my immediate knowledge. My friends have been super-supportive. The Barcelona police were patient and understanding of our communication efforts in Spanish. And, as (perhaps rather bluntly) summarised by a colleague:
“at least it’s a problem that can be fixed by money”.
In other words; I have my health, nobody was hurt, and although the sheer cost of day-to-day items in work bag (laptop, phone, camera) is painful, I’ll still be able to eat. Pay my rent. Drown my sorrows in rotisserie chicken (shout out to new branch of Chicken Shop in Barcelona; my old friend, you were there when I needed you).
I’m very lucky, and I appreciate that.
However, this week has been really shitty. Dominated by the overwhelming sense of vulnerability that comes with being robbed.
Twice in the last 4 weeks(in completely different situations), someone has looked at me and made the active, conscious decision to liberate me of my possessions. Someone has looked at me, knowing nothing about me, and chosen me as a target.
Twice. In a month.
I’m not taking stupid risks. The situations were completely different (first time I got a small handbag ripped off in the street in Cuba). And if it hadn’t been my backpack this time, it might have been someone else in the group. But still. I feel like a total idiot. I feel like I could have done something different, should have done something different. I feel like the fact I got robbed (again!) was my fault, that it could have been prevented somehow. Maybe I should have been holding my bag in my arms at all times instead of having it between my feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have even taken my laptop with me for a drink on the way home. Maybe I shouldn’t have sat with my back to the door. Maybe…
Hindsight is 20–20.
Having some stranger bugger off with all your day-to-day possessions is also a total bitch when you work remotely. I now find myself down on laptop, phone, and purse. I can’t work until I pay a load to get an old laptop functional. I can’t easily get money out, so I’m immediately reliant on the +1. I only have my passport as ID, which I’m nervous to carry around now in case I get robbed again. It makes you feel precarious; vulnerable in your own lifestyle.
As a digital nomad too, we move around a lot so all my bank stuff is registered to my parents’ house in a different country. My shiny new money cards are racing their way to the UK, along with the replacement SIM I need for the verification code to get back into Whatsapp (my main method of communication with, er, everyone). Once my parents send them on, it’ll take a week in casual Spanish post to make it here.
Practical logistics take so much time.
The amount of ringing, cancelling, changing of locks and passwords is huge. I carried that bag to and from my co-working space every single day, but I’m a bit scared I can’t even remember everything that was in there. They have my colouring crayons. My business cards. My favourite jumper. There’s no value to them in these things, but I’ve spent years optimising the exact contents of my backpack. It’s the thing I’d grab on the way out of a burning room so I could cope with…whatever really.
I’m mostly sad as well because this feeling of big, terrifying vulnerability makes you doubt your choices. Maybe, if I hadn’t been out in the world…. It’s an unwelcome reality hit that life is full of risks. Every time you step out of the door (let alone out of your comfort zone), you can’t guarantee what’s going to happen. Most of the time, that’s my favourite thing. That’s why we travel. Why we explore new things. The whole fucking point of everything.
But this week, I’m a bit grumpy with ‘outside’.
Which is simultaneously making me annoyed with myself, because it’s only ‘stuff’, and stuff shouldn’t make me feel so lost without it.
Ho Hum. Onwards and upwards. I’m working on that ‘being positive’ thing. Casually browsing second hand sellers online on the very unlikely chance that I find my items. Changing the locks to our flat. Trying to do all the awesome, fun things that make the risks of travelling all worth it. I’m aware millions of people are probably having a worse week than me, but I still feel justified in feeling gently sorry for myself.
And for anyone else out there, if it happens to you and it feels like you should have known better, it’s OK to feel like a total idiot. And to be a bit sad about it anyway.
…at least it’s Friday!
