The backseat of a cop car is not comfy. It pretty much feels like sitting on a more textured, barred version of Roger Rabbit’s Wild Ride, minus everything fun about it.

“Watch your head,” the officer kindly reminds me. “Sorry, I have to…”

Not to worry, this ride was the least of my troubles. These kind cops had listened to me lament my phone which 5 minutes prior had been taken from my hands on a muni bus on my way home. I had sat there soaking in what just happened before popping out the side exit to do what, I wasn’t sure. Luckily there were two gentlemen who dialed 911 for me and there just so happened to be cops already circling the block of projects. I filed a report, thanked the kind men and ducked into the back of the police car.

A bit dumbfounded back at my place and feeling a little naked, I tried to locate the phone, put a “stolen” note on the display, suspended my service and removed any cards attached to the phone. I attempted to find an online alarm clock and slept terribly.

I awoke to a failed alarm in time to get ready for a much-needed coffee date with a girlfriend who was one of the best people I could have met with. She enlightened me with a skill she learned on a mediation retreat – to not let thoughts that aren’t yours have any authority; to ask “who gave you that authority, Thought” and to remind yourself that “these thoughts are not my thoughts.” Definitely a practice but as we headed to a yoga class and set an intention, mine pretty clear, I felt the slow release of breath – letting go of what this situation truly was: attachment to a material object.

This object is not me. It does not define me. It is just a “thing” and in the big picture, I was safe, I had witnessed the kindness of strangers and some pretty awesome cops who treated my situation with seriousness and value and drove me to my front door.

Yes, the situations sucks. I both dislike that my phone was stolen and dislike that I dislike it so much. It happened, it’s over and I now know that the backseat of a cop car is not plush but hard plastic. Hard plastic to let the hard reality sink in that some things suck but they’re still just things.