Why I Stopped Believing in Karma
It makes no sense and I don’t feel better.
There is a natural progression of events in life: Someone does something horribly wrong. We feel angry. We want them to pay for it. We want consequences. We want justice.
The reality, though, is that justice is not a menu item in a restaurant where you can sit down, order it and have it brought to you on a platter.
Even when justice is served, it frequently comes out cold, lumpy, and slightly congealed. Essentially, it’s not really gratifying. It doesn't provide emotional sustenance.
For the most part, I’m a pretty good person. If I do something wrong and there are consequences to my actions, I accept that. I think “hall passes” should be few and far between.
There is nothing that burrows into the core of my being more than seeing somebody act in a manner that is inherently bad and then seeing them skate right by. And let’s be honest. This happens all the damn time. There are people for whom laws of common decency just don’t see to apply.
I feel no shame in openly admitting that I wish ill on these people.
