Yesterday I bought a van. Not just a van- a home. I have been dreaming of living a nomadic lifestyle for years, but it has continued to be a far off fantasy-until now. I traded in my beloved Subaru (Sue Beatrice) for a hardy, white Ford Transit 250. My heart has been pounding for days. I haven’t been able to sleep or eat just thinking about it all. The melodic sound of my pup snoring in my ear, that usually lulls me to sleep, just hasn’t been able to do the trick. My heart, body, and mind are all fighting for my attention. I did it. I EFFING DID IT. I am ecstatic, freaking out, nervous as hell, and pretty sure I’m gonna wake up from this dream at any given moment. I expect to face many challenges along the way, but the payoff will be more than worth it. If you know of any chronic illness facing, homeschooling, remote working, single mamas out there living on the road- please hook me up. Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Here we go!

I find little comfort inside these four walls.

Behind my dead bolted front door lie

screens that burn my eyes,

dirty bland walls that disgust

me with their lack of effort,

carpet to match worn by years

of complacency and habit.

Broken blinds only present

to allow the teasing of the sun.

I can barely hear the crickets call

between the open and shut of a seemingly

revolving front door.

I think they’re calling for me.

They know my name.

Before you read, please know that this is not a cry for praise. This is not a place for shaming others. Any of us could have been or even may have been any one of these individuals. This is a desperate attempt to start a conversation. An endeavor to encourage us all to ask difficult questions, have uncomfortable dialogue, and take time for self reflection. This is me cracking open the door to my own vulnerability.

Last night I went out with some friends for a drink. We were all sitting outside of a bar in the alley enjoying our cold beverages and the absolutely perfect summer breeze while chatting about beautiful music with subtly crude lyrics, hang gliding and the fear of heights, and stolen bowling shoes that weren’t actually stolen. In the midst of our laughter over who knows what, an older black man crept down the alley with a slight limp and a cardboard sign. He was super timid and quiet and softly began approaching everyone in the circle. With every encounter he put emphasis on his handmade sign by nervously lifting it up to bellybutton height just to be sure it wasn’t overlooked. I never was able to read the sign, but I heard him asking politely for money or food or anything we could offer him. Of course, everyone said no and quickly turned their heads. Some people actually pulled out their wallets and opened them just to show him that in fact, they were empty. He never actually spoke to me directly, most likely because my friend sitting beside me had already turned him away, but I couldn’t help but focus all of my attention toward his every move. After multiple failed attempts, he made one more. This is when he suddenly became much less of a human than he had been when he first turned the corner and stepped into that alley. A young guy who was sitting on a bench catty cornered from me began commanding “get outta here, man,” literally shooing him away with hand gestures like some would shoo away a stray dog. I think this is the moment that my heart sank deep into the pit of my stomach.

I am absolutely no saint. I have turned my head, avoided eye contact, and told dozens of strangers that I have nothing for them. To be completely honest, I have probably ignored and turned more strangers away than I have actually taken the time to help. And all without ever asking any questions or even attempting conversation. But this one moment made me feel more insignificant than I can truly ever remember feeling. I felt as if I were dematerializing, fusing into the brick wall behind me.

The man finally left as quietly as he had come. But this time walking much quicker, yet with the same limp. He had two backpacks on his back. One hanging from each shoulder, a small dingy colored one that had clearly once been white covered with bright pink flowers and another, a vibrant red that reminded me of a first aid backpack we keep at work that has been sifted through again and again over the course of many years, nothing left but expired burn creams still untouched.

After he disappeared around the same corner from which he had appeared moments before, I became numb to everything and everyone in my presence. For what felt like hours but was more like 30 seconds, I fought the urge to chase after him. All of these tangled thoughts began churning around in my head and I couldn’t comprehend any of them. Like, why is it so difficult for us to have a conversation with this man, be he a stranger or not? Why couldn’t any of us just talk to him, invite him to sit with us, even if that’s all we had to offer? I had befriended plenty of strangers that night and had absolutely no issues inserting myself into their conversations and learning more about the people around me and the stories they had to tell. But when someone had actually mustered up the courage to approach a complete and utter group of strangers to ask for help, we all fell silent. I no longer had a clue about what the topic of conversation was in my newfound group of friends. I no longer cared. I had suddenly become an outsider. I stood up and quietly stuttered out something along the lines of “I’ll be right back, I’ve gotta take care of something” to my closest friend next to me. Before I could address the confusion plastered on his face, I was halfway up the alley. I realized I should at least make an effort to look like I actually have something to “take care of.” So I rushed and pulled out my phone and put it to my ear, with silence on the other end.

Once I turned the corner and was out of sight, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and started to scan the area for this gentle man. When I didn’t see him, I also realized that I didn’t see anyone at all. I was all alone on MLK searching for a strange man I knew absolutely nothing about. A tiny bit of fear crept in, followed by an even stronger emotion some of us know as “WTF am I doing.” However, both were overpowered by my intense desire to prove that we are all still capable of compassion. And when I have something to prove, all else becomes irrelevant.

After walking around the block and making myself hyper aware of my surroundings, I found him alone by a trashcan sitting on the curb. I approached him with my heart in my stomach and my tongue tied in knots. I hadn’t really thought about what I was going to say or do when I finally faced him, it was all so impulsive. I approached him with faux confidence, startling him with my presence. I proceeded to introduce myself, shaking his leathery hand. Tim.

Tim had a cousin named Marcie and she was absolutely delightful. I remember thinking to myself, “What a choice of words.” Still uncertain and just winging it, I simply asked, “Are you hungry?” At this point it’s around midnight or after and the only place that I know of that is still open is a corner store a block away. I told him I had no money to give but if he was sincerely hungry I would walk with him to the store and buy him some food. So we walked.

On the way there, Tim made a shy effort to strike up a conversation. He asked me my age and when I replied with 26, straightened up a bit before he told me that he was the same age when he got married for the first time. He looked like he was going to cry, I even think I saw his eyes start to swell, but I didn’t push for details. I still wasn’t quite sure what it was I was doing. We walked into the empty store and the owner rushed around the counter to let me know they were actually closed and he had forgotten to lock the door. But by this time Tim had already started racing around the store faster than I’ve ever seen anyone do, grabbing anything and everything in sight to eat without even glimpsing at what he was reaching for. I begged the store owner to please just let us make our purchase, promising we would be quick. Begrudgingly, he reopened the cash register and allowed us to finish our shopping. Once we made it to check out, orange juice and Cheeto puffs delicately cradled in Tim’s arms among the other items spilling over onto the counter, I saw him eyeing the cigars behind the young, seemingly annoyed cashier. I asked him if he wanted one of those too. He said with a natural and respectful southern drawl “aww no mam, no mam. Haha, a cigar would be nice. But maybe some Newports?” And of course, I said yes. After we checked out he held the door for me and thanked me over and over again with a slight tilt of his head each time. I shook his hand once more and watched him walk away standing a little taller, still with a slight limp and hopefully feeling a little more human than he had just twenty minutes before.

I walked in the opposite direction back down the block and around the corner to my friends still sitting in the dimly lit and, what I had thought of being before, inviting alley. I made a quiet reentry and sat back down where I had been happily sitting before without uttering a word. But I didn’t want to be there anymore. My anxiety had kicked in full force. I had run out of laughter and any desire to have another drink. I sat silently for a few more minutes, the rambunctious conversation nothing but white noise. I couldn’t sit any longer. Goodbyes were said, excuses of an early morning were given. Half-heartedly smiling and waving to friends new and old, I walked back to my car, somewhat hoping to run into Tim again so that I could ask him all of the questions I had been too afraid to ask minutes before. As soon as my car door slammed shut my pipes burst and I began sobbing uncontrollably. The entire eighteen miles to my front door I cried and cried, but couldn’t understand- why now?

I don’t know Tim. I don’t know his last name. I don’t know his past or what his future holds. I don’t know if he believes in a Christian god, a multitude of gods, or no god at all. I don’t know if he has any family or where he sleeps at night. I don’t know if he abuses drugs and alcohol or if he would have even purchased food had I given him cash. But honestly? I really don’t care. Because what I do know is that he is as human as you and me. We are made up of the same matter. And regardless of where any of us are in our journeys, we have all made decisions and mistakes that could have easily landed us in circumstances similar to Tim’s. What if everyone turned their backs to you? What if everywhere you looked people scoffed and put you out like a pile of garbage? What if you had just asked the man a simple question- what can I do to HELP you?

Maybe you would have gotten an answer deeper than your assumptions.

I want to take a moment to talk about anxiety. 

It wasn’t until I started experiencing it for myself that I understood what it was. I used to have the mentality that it was just a common phrase people used to express a feeling of stress. I have learned the hard way that it is so much more than that. My state of mind can go so quickly from being exuberant with life and having an incredibly invincible mentality, to feeling as if the world is caving in all around me. Sometimes there are triggers; A room full of people, a stressful task nearing it’s deadline, a time of grief and sadness, and so on. Other times there is absolutely no explanation. The fear and doubt are always uninvited, but sometimes show up unannounced as well. 

Sometimes having anxiety means not being able to breathe. Sometimes it means not being able to communicate. Sometimes it means being extremely irritable. Sometimes it means being numb. Sometimes it’s a wave of inexplicable sadness that consumes us. Sometimes it is fear. Sometimes it is doubt. A lot of times it is ALL of these wrapped up in a giant gift from the psychological gods. I have no explanation. And it’s so easy for some to say, “Oh, but you seem so happy.” or, “But you have so much going for you.” Let me tell you before you give me this advice (or anyone experiencing anxiety), I know this, I think we all know this. I will forever be grateful for all of the hundreds of reasons I have to be happy. And there are HUNDREDS. But somehow, even knowing this can’t change this state of mind.

This “disorder” keeps me from doing the things I LOVE. I can’t be around people, but I don’t want to be alone. I can’t communicate, but I want someone to listen. Family gatherings become terrifying, being there for your friends becomes painful, listening to the other side of the conversation becomes impossible. I’ve been told some sort of strange gaze shows up in my eyes. A feeling of misplacement consumes me. A mask of distraction covers my face.

The fact is, anxiety is real. It may not be present in your life, but it’s more than likely present in life of someone around you, even if you aren’t aware. But when someone you love brings light to the fact that they’re feeling this way, have patience. I have never experienced any emotion before that was as impossible to talk about and explain as the ever looming monster that is anxiety.