My Car Was Stolen

Ugh. My car was stolen. It was taken either late Wednesday night/ early Thursday morning from my gated apartment complex. Ugh.

I went out around 7:00am to walk Dolce Dog, didn’t notice if my car was there or not. Then I went upstairs to get ready for work. Around 8, a friend called asking for a ride to an appointment. Of course I said yes. So at 8:20am I went downstairs to get in my car to pick her up.

“Hmm, I thought I parked in this spot last night? Maybe not?” “Where did I park?” “Is someone playing a prank on me?” “Oh shit, my car has been stolen.”

^ That was my thought process.

I called the police. I called insurance. I called my parents. I talked to my apartment management. I joined every Albuquerque car theft group possible. All pretty much could only say that my situation sucked. That the statistics for getting my car back weren’t pretty, but possible. They said that most cars stolen, if recovered, are found within 3 miles of the theft site. My car, apparently, is generic enough that it’s popular to steal and take across the border to sell.


Guys, Thursday was still a good day. It just had a really sucky situation to it.


I took the day off work (OBVIOUSLY). I regrouped. I filed my police report. I went to get coffee and a burrito. Hannah came to walk around with me searching for that car (hey, who can’t walk a 3 mile radius?).

My coffee was good. My burrito was great. We met a farmer who gave us free radishes.


Thursday was still a day that God created. I still was SO blessed Thursday. Never have I felt so loved by friends/ family. SO many calls and texts (a little overwhelming…) of encouragement and sympathy. The day was car was stolen, I realized how privileged I am- to have had parents who cared for me as a child. to have been invested in and loved. to be raised to not hate. What caused someone to steal my car? And how do we change that hurt?

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