Thank you, random stranger, for not filming me.   I know messed up. I know was wrong. Maybe it was in traffic, or perhaps it was at the grocery store. Maybe on the sidewalk, or in the park. Perhaps I didn’t pay attention to someone in need, or said words that hurt someone. You saw it. You were there. And I know—it wasn’t a good look.   That’s why I say thanks for not filming me. Because it had probably been one of those days. The kind of day where work drained every drop of patience I had left. The kind of week where a loved one’s illness gnawed at the back of my mind. Maybe I was quietly walking through high-functioning depression—outwardly capable, inwardly almost falling apart. Or I was grieving a loss, wrestling with guilt, feeling invisible, unheard, overwhelmed.   These are not excuses for my behaviours -- I admit I could have done better. But it helps to explain what was going on. I acted outside of what I believe is correct. I didn’t think clearly. I missed the ma...