Why is this guy on my tail?
My father’s voice conveyed equal parts concern and annoyance.
We were cruising down the Florida Turnpike somewhere south of Orlando in a Nissan 350Z rental. Orange groves were flying by us on the sides of the highway as we traveled well over the posted speed limit.
And yet, no matter how fast we went, a Jeep was effectively on our rear fender. The Jeep’s driver was practically demanding us to go even faster. He was threatening to run us off the road.
Finally, the driver decided to leave us alone. The Jeep cut into the next lane and passed our rental sports car. As it did, my father and I glanced into the vehicle, trying to put a face to what had menaced us.
The speed demon looked no older than 20. Neither did his passengers.
College kids, my dad remarked. Figures.
I felt a bit conflicted by my father’s agitation. I was a senior in high school and would soon be a college kid myself. I was all about having fun and playing loose with the rules.
But this seemed excessive and dangerous. I got where my father was coming from.
No longer fearing for our safety, we let the conversation drift to a new topic.
But about 15 miles down the road, we saw some flashing lights up ahead. We slowed to the speed limit as the Florida Highway Patrol cruiser came into view on the shoulder.
Just ahead of the cruiser, the Jeep that had pestered us was now at a standstill. A state trooper was leaning into the open driver’s side window, likely to hand out a speeding ticket.
My father smiled.
Karma, he remarked to me, Karma.
Do the right thing.
That mantra has been lived rent free in the back of my mind for years.
Whenever the temptation has arisen to act inappropriately, those four words have emerged. And I’ve maintained proper decorum.
Many have complimented me on this trait over the years. But I’ve always demurred.
I’ve given credit to my parents for how they raised me. Or I’ve explained that I didn’t have the heart to stray from the righteous path.
But neither of those explanations are quite correct.
Indeed, it’s that experience on the Florida Turnpike that has defined my actions to date. Seeing karma delivered so swiftly on that highway that day I was meaningful.
I was convinced that those who did the right thing would enjoy the sunshine of good fortune. And those who did the wrong thing would meet swift justice.
How wrong I was.
Nearly a decade later – and 300 miles up the road – a college student was getting national attention.
Jameis Winston was a freshman quarterback for Florida State University. In his first season of college football, Winston led the Seminoles to an undefeated season and a national championship. Along the way, he claimed the coveted Heisman Trophy as the sport’s top player.
As I saw this all unfold, I seethed.
I was already an alum of the University of Miami by this point. During my college years, I’d watched holier-than-thou Tim Tebow lead the rival Florida Gators to two championships. Now, the hated Florida State Seminoles had one too. My nightmare was playing out in slow motion.
But the next season, the tide started to turn.
Winston kept getting into trouble. First, he yelled something demeaning to women from the center of campus. Then he was accused of sexual assault in a separate incident. And in the midst of all this, he got caught shoplifting crab legs from a local supermarket.
Meanwhile, on the field, Winston wasn’t as masterful as he’d once been. He had resorted to playing hero ball – tossing the ball up for grabs down the field without checking to see if his receivers were open first. Many times, the opposing team would snag the football instead. That team would then put up points – leaving the Seminoles with big deficits.
I became giddy – even gleeful – as these twin catastrophes enveloped Winston and Florida State. It seemed that karma was around the corner. Order would soon be restored.
And yet, the other shoe never dropped. The Seminoles kept winning football games, earning a bid to the new four team playoff in the process. And Winston avoided any significant consequences for his off the field shenanigans.
Florida State got humiliated in their first playoff game, ending their season. But Winston entered the National Football League draft and got selected first overall. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers gave him a $23 million dollar contract and made him the face of their franchise.
Winston was hardly worth the investment. In five years in Tampa, the team lost 60% of the games he played in. He threw nearly as many interceptions as touchdowns. And the team never sniffed the playoffs, let alone a Super Bowl.
Off the field, the controversies continued. Winston was accused of groping a rideshare driver. And he continued to make zany comments whenever a microphone was placed near him.
Yet, Winston never faced real consequences for any of this. He continued to earn his millions as one of 32 starting quarterbacks in the NFL. When the Buccaneers eventually replaced him with Tom Brady – the game’s greatest signal caller – Winston found spots on teams in New Orleans, Cleveland, and New York. And as time passed, people came to celebrate his shenanigans, rather than simply ignoring them.
Karma wasn’t coming for Jameis Winston. And that meant he had no incentive to do the right thing.
He wasn’t alone.
These days, society seems to be filled with Jameis Winstons.
That’s not to say that there are plenty of people whose occupation is Pro Football Quarterback. Or that there are scores of folks stealing crab legs from local supermarkets.
But from coast to coast, there are plenty of people who do the wrong thing, time and again. And they keep getting away with it.
Karma, it seems, is not the great equalizer I once thought it was. It’s filled with false promise.
This lack of a boogeyman leaves us with a choice.
Do we continue to do the right thing, the decent thing, the selfless thing – even if the universe doesn’t seem to require it? Or do we push the endless bounds of what we can get away with?
Many might choose the second path. But not me.
The memories of that Jeep on the Florida Turnpike are too fresh, even decades later. And beyond that, my sense of right and wrong is too strong.
So, I make sacrifices. I put up with the boorish behavior around me, while refusing to acquiesce to it myself.
I know I might not get rewarded for following this path. And I know that others might not follow in my footsteps.
But I can hope.
I can hope that the shadow of karma isn’t the only motivation people will follow. I can hope that right and wrong still matters.
That hope matters. It’s my North Star.
And I’ll continue to follow it.