I spend my days lounging comfortably inside my well-worn niche; I am “The Good Girl”; doing my homework with precision and care, practicing my oboe and leading the school environmental club headlong into yet another bold project. I have a transcendent group of friends, loving parents, and I’m completely happy to walk through life with my head held high, the glow from my halo perfectly illuminating the SUPER KID label on my forehead. Pretty beautiful picture, huh? I’d like to agree, but as fate would have it, there is a certain Loss Prevention Officer at the local Gottschalk’s store who would probably call my bluff. When I was a freshman, she found some new labels for me: shoplifter and teenage delinquent. It’s true: even the bandgeekhippiehonorstudent succumbed to the diabolic specter that is peer pressure, stooping as low as petty thievery. I’m sure you’ll understand why those secondary labels haven’t quite achieved forehead status, but despite their less obvious place in my everyday life, the existence of this ever-present crime, the proverbial skeleton in my closet, has had a more profound effect on my life and character than any other event in my memory.
Although I had done the wrong thing plenty of times before, this scenario was a step above the ordinary. Until then, I was used to getting a slap on the wrist for “being bad”-my new punishment was a little bit more extreme. Grounded for a year, 20 hours of community service, public humiliation…I even got my own parole officer. But in spite of all that, and in spite of how cliché I know it must sound, the worst part of it was the way my mom looked at me. The desperate way she scanned the computer screen when she looked for Internet articles that might contain any clue as to what she could possibly have done wrong to make me turn out the way I did. I can honestly say I’ve never felt like a worse person than when she looked me in the eyes and asked me why. This embarrassing incident defined many pieces of my personality, because it was the first time I was truly and profoundly ashamed of myself. It changed the way I looked at myself, and the way I looked at others. I could no longer pretend that I was better than the people around me. Every time I started to think something negative about another person, a little voice in my head would remind me that I was no better than they were. I had lost my right to judge others because I was too busy judging myself.
This outlook on life might seem depressing, but in reality it was very refreshing. I no longer wasted time being angry or irritated with other people’s faults. I spent more time focusing on what changes I needed to create in myself-how I could better my own life. Looking back, I feel only lucky that I had this experience, despite the negativity associated with it. It gave me a new outlook on my life and my peers, endowing me with a newfound passion for personal improvement and compassion for others, allowing me to work my way to the place I’m in today. In no way am I rationalizing what I did; it was wrong and I never should have even considered it, but I do believe in learning from your mistakes. Many of my current values and beliefs have sprung from the lessons I learned that day, and I’m glad that it happened, in the sense that it helped me mature. No one is perfect, but recognizing your imperfections and being proud of your commendable features is an essential part of life, something that I was fortunate enough to learn early on.