First of all, this column does not reflect the views or opinions of this publication. For the past 12 years, this weekly column has been (and continues to be) a means of evoking and expressing my own personal thoughts amidst the wanderings and reflections of my existence.
And that’s how it was last Sunday. Early afternoon. The sun was blazing and I was able to jog a few miles. Alone with my thoughts and actions. I jogged through the historic Frog Level District, as I have done hundreds of times in the 12 years I’ve called downtown Waynesville home.
Drenched in sweat from a jolly jog around town, I returned to my modest apartment near Russ Avenue. As I drove down Boundary Street along the railroad tracks, I heard shouting from up ahead. F-bombs and arms waving in the air.
It was a homeless couple in their thirties or so. Man and woman, with the woman berating the guy for not sharing his drugs with her. Apparently the guy in question had a secret stash and wasn’t telling his partner about it. I set my eyes forward and walked past them slowly and without judgement, my hopes beaming out to the universe that they would soon find comfort and healing.
In the final quarter mile of the run, it was amazing how many rich and complex memories and feelings ran through my mind as I reflected on the duo I had watched. Feelings of compassion and concern not only for the pair, but for the countless other faces we have all seen along our respective paths on the often bumpy road of life.
First, I thought of numerous people in my own life and travels that I have met with serious addiction issues, most often the result of trauma in childhood, adolescence or adulthood. I think of loved ones whose funerals I have attended who died too young from drugs and alcohol or suicide. Too many to count. Each lost or troubled face is as unique and different as the means and paths that led them into these troubled waters of emotion and consumption.
As these images flashed through my mind, I also remembered the quote from Jack Kerouac, the late writer who first sparked my interest in the written word, adventure, and human interaction. Recently, as I re-read The Dharma Bums, the seminal 1958 novel (for the 100th time), I kept thinking of a quote from him in the work I’ve carried with me for nearly 20 years: “Practice charity without having any ideas of charity in your head, for charity is, after all, just a word.”
In short, be kind for the sake of being kind. And do so without expecting any rewards or expectations. Reach out to those around you and cheer them up with what little you have to offer. A dollar bill or change. A bottle of water. A can of soda. A can of soup. Leftovers from that nice dinner you and your partner just enjoyed after a night on the town. Maybe even a car ride if you feel confident enough in your instincts.
Personally, I believe in helping your fellow human beings and not ignoring the homeless or people who are considered “crazy” by society. Most people in these situations just want to be seen and have their existence acknowledged by others in passing. Don’t look away. Again, if the situation is safe and secure, make eye contact and smile. That’s a different person, damn it.
Don’t get me wrong. If the situation seems unsafe, get out of their way and give said people enough space to be left alone. But in many of my encounters where a homeless person has said hello or something, I say a genuine hello back and say, “How are you, my friend?” They usually perk up because you “see” them. And I usually give them a dollar or buy them a meal nearby.
It is what it is. Why do I do it? You need it more than I do. Granted, I don’t have a lot of money and such, since I’m a full-time writer who lives financially off the words you’re reading right now. But I have more than that person who needs a dollar for a candy bar or a box of my leftover chicken and pasta from a nice dinner at Vinnie’s in North Asheville. Give what you can, even if it’s just a nice conversation with a human who needs what we all want – to be loved and heard.
At this point in the column, I realized I’ve been rambling on about something. But I think with all the chaos and confusion on this rock hurtling through space called Earth, we can at least help others. In my extensive travels from coast to coast this summer, I’ve seen many couples and solo travelers like the railroaders at the beginning of this article.
From Whitefish, Montana, to Portland, Maine, to St. Augustine, Florida, to Minneapolis, Minnesota, and beyond, the situation and sentiment on both sides unfortunately remains the same. In this election year, my hope is that no matter who wins the White House, we can come together as a country and help each other, whether it’s the people living on the streets who I feel compassion for, or all the incredible people who want to help others – counselors, social workers, teachers, police officers, etc.
Of course, you can scoff and say I’m just another naive optimist in a world that’s gone too crazy and beyond saving. But I disagree with you, because what other purpose is there in our lives if there’s no hope for a better tomorrow? If you think everything’s going to go to hell, you might as well give up, right?
Well, my brothers and sisters, it is never too late to practice kindness, no matter who you meet or where you do so. Remember the quote from Kerouac from an earlier paragraph. Keep it deep in the front pocket of your heart and soul. Hopefully it will come in handy someday.
Life is beautiful, everyone go for it.
