Walking 22 miles in someone else's shoes

So, first- please don’t think that my writing this implies I really know what being actually homeless feels like. I’ve not slept under a bridge or in a car, or been without food for more than a day, or without a phone, or even a computer, for that matter. I’ve not ever tried to get a child ready for and to school with no running water or electricity, or even to get to job while lacking those things. But I did recently have an experience of being displaced from my apartment home that helped me to better understand the plight of someone who is truly homeless. I was only displaced to 22 miles away from my usual home in the home of a friend. So, no, I can’t speak to the sheer physical miseries of being out in the cold or the unrelenting heat. And no, I can’t speak to not having ample resources and cash on hand and no credit. But I can speak just a tiny-teeny bit to how disorienting and disruptive it is to not know exactly from day to day where you are going to eat, sleep, do your homework (I have homework for my job) and relax. And I’m also going to make further disclaimer here, that I really don’t fully know these feelings either because I have these gracious and wonderful friends, many of them who opened up their homes to me, plus I always had an end to my displacement (though constantly shifting) in sight.

What I’m here to tell you though, is that through my experience with all my relative comforts, resources, and advantages, I realize that I likely wouldn’t last a week in a true homeless state of being. ProjectHome.org has reported the following, “On a single night in January 2015, there were 564,708 people experiencing homelessness in the United States. Sixty-nine percent of those who were homeless were in sheltered locations and 31 percent were found in unsheltered locations (streets, abandoned buildings, cars, etc.).
Nearly one-quarter (23 percent or 127,787) of all homeless people were children, under the age of 18. Ten percent (or 52,973) were between the ages of 18 and 24, and 66 percent (or 383,948) were 25 years or older.” Let those statistics sink in. They make my spirits sink, especially now that I’ve had my displacement experience.

Now, first I want to tell you that my displacement was not at all or in any way my fault. That said, I don’t think it’s particularly helpful to any conversation about homelessness to assign blame to the homeless, and it’s silly to blame anyway, except in factoring in how much more difficult it will be to get out of the state due to certain circumstances. But regardless, it simply really doesn’t matter at all to this particular discussion why a person became homeless; I just want to share a little bit of what they may be feeling and the obstacles they face. This is my list of problems I faced being displaced that I think would be hundred fold for the actual homeless.

Confusion: As in “what day is it?” kind of confusion. “Is this the day I need my lesson plans or my data sheets with me?” “Where the heck is my deodorant, my car keys, my phone?” “Will I have time for lunch between job shifts today?” Where is the closest grocery store?” This kind of confusion constantly eats away at your energy level and your mental clarity. You don’t realize it would, but it does.
Fatigue: As in never really getting a good night’s sleep in a different place, fatigue. Day after day. As in waking up feeling like you never really went to sleep fatigue. As in, I wish I could just find somewhere to relax and close my eyes for 10 minutes this afternoon, fatigue. As in when I got a chance one day, I slept for 16 hours straight-fatigue.

Hunger: Ok, I never really experienced actual hunger, but I did have to spend much more money and energy on procuring meals. I couldn’t just run home at 2 and have my usual cottage cheese and tomatoes or my turkey sandwich. Where I was staying was 22 miles away from work and there wasn’t time to get there and back. And yes, I could have packed my lunch, and I eventually did after a few days when I got myself organized, but that did involve me having a kind friend with a refrigerator that I could put stuff in. But, even so, I certainly ate out a lot more than usual and at odd times as well. What I’m trying to say is that eating became pretty much a chore, rather than something I rarely think much about or when I do, I usually enjoy. So, a joy from my life, turned into a hassle would be the best way to describe this. And so when you think about criticizing the homeless for eating junk food or even for having a cigarette, for pete’s sake, think about this- do you really begrudge them something that makes them feel comforted or soothed for a minute? Really?

Frustration: So during the time of my displacement, I was having to deal with the apartment manager and the restoration of my apartment, the start of a new school year, and a slightly different job. If you’ve ever been in any kind of situation where you feel increasingly powerless and unsuccessful at getting things done, you’ll understand this feeling. And while my constant 3 week haggling with the apartment management over things not being done, and my frustration with not having enough time to complete my work tasks was considerable to me, I think it would pale in the amount of frustration a person might feel dealing with paperwork and policies of assistance agencies that are grossly understaffed and underfunded. It was frustrating to me to have to drive 22 miles to get my mail each day, and then have a postal worker chew me out for not coming to pick up a package sent to me in what he thought was a timely fashion. It was frustrating to me to wake up at 3 in the morning one night and suddenly remember that my car insurance and license plates both need to be renewed right away that month, and mind you, I had full access to the internet, a computer and a credit card with good credit. But I was frustrated because in all the confusion, it had slipped my mind, and who knows if I hadn’t been dreaming about it if I would have remembered. Plus, I didn’t have access to or memory for passwords that I use but once a year, and so I had to create new usernames and passwords. These small things frustrated me. It frustrates me that I was actually wasting my dreams on something paying for my car plates and insurance. And I can’t imagine being actually homeless and not having access to resources and instead having to stand in a physical line for the things you need.

Emotional Instability: So, I was very frustrated with the management of my apartment, and I was completely exhausted. But I really had NO idea how very tired and upset I was until one day while I was displaced, a friend called and was asking me how things were going. And as I began to tell her of the recent events, I began to cry. I want you to know that I almost never cry. And it came as a complete surprise to me that I had started crying while I was talking to her. I seemed to have no floodgate whatsoever on my emotions just right then. And I’m a person who prides myself on having very strong, very shored-up floodgates these days. I don’t even know how a person without such friends to ask them how they were doing in the first place, and who have to live without privacy and must cry in public, holds in their emotions.

Anger: As part of the emotional lability I suffered, I have to say that I was at times irrationally angry at the wrong people for the wrong reasons. I was really angry with the apartment manager, true, but I had to keep my cool with her. So instead, my anger apparently needed somewhere to go, and since I wasn’t getting my usual daily exercise because I didn’t have access to my apartment’s fitness center as per usual, I found myself either almost snapping at stupid little things people said or did, and even one day really snapping, in anger towards someone at work for an innocent mistake they made. No, I didn’t throw a fit or anything, and I was barely mean to them, but I also didn’t exhibit my usual patience with this person. I told her to figure out the situation herself. I later apologized and explained why I was having a bad day, and I hope she understands that I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I do think she does understand, but the point I’m trying to make is that anger easily came to the surface during my displacement. So, I’m thinking if you find a homeless person not exhibiting a sunny disposition when you walk by them, you might want to have some sympathy. Or at the very least, consider this person might be not only on edge, but on THE edge.

Inability to keep up personal appearance: Yeah, I’m not really a real girly-girl. I can and usually do take the quickest of showers and let my hair dry in the wind. I don’t like getting up in the morning ever, and the time it would take me to fuss excessively with my hair is better spent on precious seconds of sleep, in my opinion. I wear mascara, and a small amount of cover-up make-up daily that takes me about 30 seconds to put on. I trim my nails short, and I don’t usually wear nail polish. I wear minimal jewelry both because I don’t like a lot of jewelry on any person, let alone my person, and partly because I just don’t have a lot, by most girl standards. I dress simply. Either a dress and sandals in the summer or a t-shirt and slacks. That’s how I’m most comfortable. So, you wouldn’t think this would have been such a huge hassle for me during my displacement, but stupid things like not realizing I’d not packed more underwear, or being unable to locate my tweezers and my nail clipper or my deodorant, and having to get up a half-hour earlier each day in order to get to work on time got in my way. Plus brushing your teeth? Where the heck does a homeless person go to brush their teeth that isn’t totally disgusting? Now I can only imagine the hassle of not knowing where you can brush your teeth or shower, or even having enough underwear in the first place or anywhere to keep it in the second place would unhinge a person. I know now though, that it would unhinge me. I took these things for granted, and I’m willing to bet that you do too. But try to keep it in mind next time you recoil from a dirty, poorly dressed homeless person or think about them going to a job interview. It’s just not all that easy to keep up appearances when you don’t have a home.

Isolation: I mentioned before that I had/have very gracious friends. I also have a wonderful supportive family, although not in the same city with me. But even as sympathetic, empathetic, and genuinely helpful as they all were, I felt a real, searing isolation from people. I would imagine that if you’re actually homeless, you might seek out or just find other homeless people who know and understand how you feel. That’s if you’re lucky, I guess. But, on the other hand, maybe you’re not lucky to have your fellow homeless for associates. They may be in worse straits than you. They may be bad influences. They may be mentally ill. Please know that I’m not pegging them as bad people, but only saying that those who are homeless are probably not in a position to help you much. I am thinking you might feel completely alone in the world, and like no one really cares, really knows how to care, or really understands your situation. Mother Teresa is quoted as saying “Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty.” I can’t really think of a truer sentiment than that. And while my situation came about through no fault of my own, when you try to understand homelessness, you may also want to add in feelings of guilt to that feeling of loneliness. Some homeless may actually feel partially or all to blame for their state of being. Politicians certainly will try to make them feel that way if they don’t already. And so, add that guilt in and you get a double whammy of negativity and hopeless about your life and your circumstances.
As I said at the top, I in no way consider myself really able to understand the plight of a homeless person. But I will say that my displacement experience has certainly given me pause and cause to check some of my pre-conceived thoughts about the homeless community. I am hearing the lyrics of R.E.M.’s New Test Leper in my head right now as I’m typing. “Judge not lest ye be judged.” What a beautiful refrain….” “I am not an animal” subtitled under the screen.” “Call me a leper.” Yes, I’m being overly dramatic for my situation, but for a true homeless person, I don’t think I am. I’m not trying to be. I guess I’m just thinking something good should come out of my experience.

As a post script to these thoughts, I want to add that one day while I was still displaced and very upset, I was driving to my hometown to see my grandson in a baseball game, and I stopped at a Starbucks to get a cup of coffee. I was already late and was regretting my decision to get in the drive thru line because it was moving exceptionally slowly. But I had a headache from all the stress and I desperately wanted the caffeine to ease that and so I stuck with it, growing increasingly impatient and upset as the time ticked away. When I finally got to the window and stuck out my debit card to pay, the barista said, “oh, no charge, the couple in front of you, paid for your latte.” And I’m driving away, thinking that’s the nicest damn thing that’s happened to me in a month now and I’m very touched by their sweetness and pay-it-forwardness. Right up until I take a drink of my latte and it’s undrinkable. I have no idea what they did to it, but it was just awful and I couldn’t drink it. And I start to cry for how absurd the whole thing was. And then, I start to laugh- for the joy of it all. For how absurd life is. Life is absurd, it really is. So all I can say is this- when you have a chance and the energy to be kind- be kind. You never know when you’re not going to be in the position to be. And you never know what’s it’s going to mean to the crazy homeless person behind you in the red car.