My question to a homeless man: What do you want?
Photo: Pedresimos7 on flickr
By Nan Luma.
There are a lot of homeless people inhabiting the city of San Francisco.
At first, coming from New York City, I was surprised, not only at the sheer volume of people without homes, but also by their unabashed willingness to interact with just about everyone who walks by, sometimes to the point of invading people’s personal space.
This was new to me.
In my six years there, I’d heard nary a peep from the homeless in New York, which, admittedly, made it easier to turn the blinders on. But when I came to San Francisco, I had no other option but to notice. The blinders were forcibly removed. It didn’t matter where I was — downtown, across town, bay side, ocean side.
Everywhere.
It was like the shame and guilt I’d been carrying around by ignoring the homeless, and the way it had seemed universally accepted to do so, was now staring me in the face.
I was finally confronted and didn’t know how to be. This disturbed me. And it still does.
What am I supposed to say to you [and you, and you, and you] when you ask me if I have change to spare?
From where I’m standing, my spare change ain’t gonna help you. I know they say “every little bit helps”, but does it?
That’s not going to give you what you really want and need. What you really need is a place to stay, don’t you? Or, has it become so far gone that the street is what you consider to be your place to stay?
Do you ever imagine yourself in a home? What would you do if someone gifted you a place right now? Would you live in it or come back to the streets? How did you get here? What do you eat? Are you going to buy drugs and alcohol with this change, like society tells me you’re going to?
These are the thoughts in my head. Still, I drop my change in the cup, and carry on.
I’m disturbed by who I am in the face of this…chaos. What is this? How did so many people end up on the streets?
I live downtown and I do a lot of walking and biking to get around. Every day, I see the same homeless guy on my block , at least once a day. Before I leave my building he’s on my mind — “I’m totally gonna see the bearded guy right now. And I’m totally gonna be weird.” When I’m coming back to my building, he’s on my mind, “I’m so sure he’s gonna be walking up the side walk. Maybe he doesn’t see me as much as I see him? No. He totally knows when I’m ignoring him. He’s so aware. He sees right through me.”
Shit. Eye contact. I don’t have any money. Who know’s what my face is doing right now. Ugh…this is so awkward!
Wait…this is awkward…For whom?
Enough with this “hi” and “bye”, passerby. Who are you?
There I am, walking up to my building, and the Bearded Man looks me in the eyes. I stop. He doesn’t ask, but I say, “I have a dollar!” I told him last week I’d get him on the way back and he wasn’t around at the time I came back, so I kind of strangely felt like I “owed” him. Or more accurately, that I didn’t honor my word. I’m happy to be in a position to help, in this moment.
I pull out two singles from my wallet, do a double fold, and hand them to him. He tucks them away into the right outside pocket of his tattered jacket, zipping the pocket. “It’s not gonna help my name — which I never made one of myself.”
I’m now curious; perhaps too curious. I stay, standing on my steps, arms slightly akimbo. I’m dying to know this man’s story. Why do I freeze when I see him?
“What happened to you? Why are you here?”
He looks at me. I feel no threat, no feeling of me being better or him being less than. No separation. Presence.
“I will never have the answer to why I was born as me and not someone else. I was in love with a fantasy,” he confesses.
“But, I didn’t stand a chance. When the people around you are feeding you cigarettes, alcohol, and the worst food on the planet, how are you to know any better? Did I make some bad choices? Yes. But even if I had a chance, this would still be my destiny.”
He runs his fingers through his oily hair, and down to the tip of his grizzly beard.
“Have you always been here, I mean, in San Francisco?” I ask, not knowing what to say.
“This isn’t San Francisco. This is Hell. I don’t exist. This is infinite death, and it’s not fair…I have every disease there is, and probably some they haven’t even given a name to yet. That’s what I have to look forward to.”
He went on for a while, and I listened. I wanted to.
“What do you consider the rest are doing here?”
“The only word I can think of for what you and the rest are doing is: Living. And you are the creators. I’m a slave.”
<<WOW>>
“Sooo….Do you have a name?”
He shakes his head no, “doesn’t matter anyway.”
“What do I call you?”
“Whatever you’d like to call me.”
“Ok, Brian. Thanks for sharing that with me, I know you probably didn’t want to get into all of that.”
“All I have is time.”
He shares some more and I’m realizing the conundrum of me having to go because I am…short on time. I still have one more thing I’d like to ask.
“I can make assumptions, but…what is it that you really want?”
“What I want will never happen?”
“What do you want?” I probe.
He stares off into the busy street, a few people pass by, shaking his head in resignation, “To be loved.”
*****
Born and raised in a small town in upstate New York, Nan always knew she was destined for city life. Six years in NYC gave her grit, strength and poise, as well as a motley crew of loyal friends. While climbing up the corporate ladder (gaining a ton of adtech skills), Nan knew there was more to life than happy hour and excel. Observation and introspection led her to create GUIDANCE gospel, a safe space online to share and tap into your spiritual self. Sensing opportunity out west, Nan now calls San Francisco home and is ready to make an impact in the Bay Area. When Nan isn’t striking up a conversation with the neighborhood barista, you can find her adding obscure music to her Spotify playlists, throwing her head back in laughter over dinner and drinks with friends, or voraciously researching the latest thing to have piqued her interest. You can connect with Nan on Twitter and via email at nan@guidancegospel.com.
*****
{We’re not so different after all}
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