My bike was stolen on two separate occasions. Actually, two different bikes were stolen, in two distinct settings, at two completely unrelated times. I was shocked the first time, but I shed a significant amount of tears the second time.

Luckily, I was fortunate enough to be gifted another bike this past Christmas. To no one’s surprise, I was prohibited from bringing the newest bike to my off-campus house. The dreadful Cleveland winters make this rule more favorable because I won’t feel convinced to bike in 30 degree weather.

But, come spring, I’ll miss the impromptu bike rides. Simultaneously, I know that leaving my bike in the safety of my family home is likely the safest option. Seeing as my first bike was stolen from the side of my garage at school and the second bike was snatched from my closed garage, I don’t think any space is definite.

And while I pondered my own actions and decisions for bike storage, I made an attempt to think that something positive would come out of the situation.

In reflecting on my anger, I did actually find something bright amongst the clouds. The bike mystery led me to my neighbor, a woman who has lived next door to my house for 25 years. I consulted her for an eye witness account, hoping she’d have some information about the potential suspect. She recounted her sights from the previous day, shocked to hear that I had two separate possessions stolen on two distinct occasions.

She couldn’t pinpoint anything suspicious, but I remember my mindset shifting. I recall feelings of nostalgia, excitement, happiness and wholesomeness. The woman truly felt sympathy for my situation. I could detect it in her voice; I understood her intentions in the way she genuinely wanted to be of assistance.

Nothing came of the conversation in the following days. I accepted the loss of both bikes, but I embraced my new connection with my neighbor. Now, I can walk down the driveway and always expect a smile and a wave from next door.

In the end, it all worked out. The bike was replaced, my life continued to move forward, the world still rotated and my neighbor still values my next-door presence. It’s these small moments that make for belly-aching stories ten years from now, something to hold onto when it comes to the randomness of college life. And, because of the double bike theft, I established a connection with the most genuine and kind hearted neighbor.

So, thank you? Thank you to the bike bandit for forcing me to not take my possessions for granted, for showing me the value of connecting with your neighbors and for making me understand that life isn’t always that serious.