To share, or not to share?

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When things happen to you, my first instinct is to tell you to share that thing. Turn life into a story as soon as you can, so you remember it and it becomes a part of history. It’s part of…

To share, or not to share?

When things happen to you, my first instinct is to tell you to share that thing. Turn life into a story as soon as you can, so you remember it and it becomes a part of history. It’s part of my world philosophy, in many ways summed up by the pop culture phrase; “pics or it didn’t happen”.

However as I have aged, and changed some views on life, I have considered that some stories are not really best shared. I still maintain that we remember stories more than we remember happenings, but I am wondering – are all things worthy of such historical memories.

We write our own stories.

Do we have to share the bad ones? Let my story of my Thursday morning act as an example.

I have taken to spending my Wednesday evenings in a neighbouring city to Toronto. Hamilton is a smaller city about 45 minutes drive South of Toronto. Sadly, Hamilton has a bad reputation caused mostly because it’s known for an ugly industrial/steel district which sadly resides on their east side, which happens to be along the tourist highway between Toronto and our major highway to Niagara Falls and the USA. If you’re lucky enough to view Hamilton’;s West side, it’s quite nice. The whole city suffers from Toronto envy however, including the city sports teams, which don’t do well when the big city is so close.

This morning, I came outside, and appreciated the beauty of the area I was in. A view of the escarpment cliff that separates the city into uppers and lowers. The old fashioned neighbourhood I was in was beautiful. An old fashioned downtown residential area with lots of tree coverage and Christmas lights.

My story turns here, as I open my door and see it rummaged. Paper is everywhere as if the FBI has been searching for something teeny tiny and needed to throw everything about the interior. This is not my first car robbery, but the first in several decades. I was beginning to believe it was something that just didn’t really happen that often. We never really hear of break-in in Toronto… at least not in most areas.

The dilemma of storytelling then, is whether this is a story that needs to be shared.  If I tell the woman I was staying with, what purpose does it serve? She will feel bad, and even perhaps somewhat responsible, which is of course absurd – and yet still, human nature. My story could actually upset her and spoil part of her morning… for no real reason. She doesn’t need to know this.

I am not especially bothered by it. I can express frustration that it happened, but nothing was damaged beyond the mess. My loss was minimal because I don’t have much of value in my car. Thing oddness of what was taken and what was left is almost a bit humorous. I was at first incredibly sad, because I thought I had lost my irreplaceable Pokemon Go Plus gadget, but later I discovered it had been discarded in the trash. Luckily they had no idea this $45 toy sells for over $150 on Ebay. I am so happy I don’t need tol live without the silly amusement. I had to go one week without it recently and I didn’t like it one bit.

I did lose a Sony laptop, but it was an old beater I kept under the passenger seat for emergencies should I ever need a laptop on the road. It was Windows XP and ran super slowly. It was an old free hand-me-down from a client whop upgraded, so it had no real value or sentiment.  None of my valuable or admin software I would want anybody handling was loaded so I’m in no security danger. I have some remote connect software on it, so I may monitor it just for fun over the next few days.

I was surprised, they didn’t even open the trunk, but I suppose that is more public and suspicious.

Mostly I lost about 20 dollars in coins, although $3 worth was scattered about the floor as they scavenged quickly.

So… not a bad story, but one I probably don’t need to call up and share. Thank you blog for being where I rant and change life into stories, even if nobody reads them.

Sorry Hamilton… I think you’re a slummy smelly crime city again.

It’ll be hard.

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