The Blame Game...

Misconceptions

All homeless people are people of color. Homeless people come in all colors... I have an equal amount of white clients as I do of color...

Most homeless people are single men. Actually, women make up the world's poorest population. In San Francisco however, I do mostly deal with males, and most of those men are single.

All homeless people are drug addicts & alcoholics, and that's how they got to be homeless. Last week on the street, I picked up a flyer for a documentary on homelessness in San Francisco whose slogan was, "If you don't have mental issues before you become homeless, you will get them when you become homeless."

The majority of my clientele are people who have turned to alcohol or drugs as a result of their homelessness. In a cold winter's night, with no money, and with physical and mental pain, the only way to get some peace of mind is often through a joint, or a beer.

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It's simple for everyone to blame everyone else. It is easy for the privileged to point fingers at the unprivileged for becoming that way. It's THEIR fault. THEY did drugs, THEY are responsible for getting this way. Whatever makes us feel better about giving less. Whatever makes us feel more secure. "If we follow the right steps and make the right decisions, we will not get that way"...

For the underpriveldged, it's easier to put the blame on society's barriers and on the upperclass. "Take your money to the grave with you..." a man at Subway yelled at me today when no one would give him money for a sandwich. Many of them claim they were robbed, or taken advantage of, or cheated by the government...

Taking responsibility or just accepting something is beyond your control is much more difficult than just blaming someone else. It is easy for us to blame each other for our fortune and misfortune. Who's controlling this blame game? I'd say it's fear. Fear to accept that some things are really out of our control, and that goes for both sides. There is not always a path to success or security- making right choices does not always lead to safety, and it is a scary thing to realize.

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Homelessness, while it has been the result of poor choices for some, has occurred by chance for many, many people. MOST of my clients were destined down the path of homelessness since childhood- either through abusive and unstable familial relationships, or through early traumatic experiences leading to a life of extreme mental disability. MOST of my clients are trying to get help- trying to get an education, constantly looking for resources, trying to get into treatment. MOST of my clients have serious goals and dreams that may seem absurd to you, like being 45 years old & homeless, yet insisting that you WILL be a doctor someday. Their dreams and faith keep them in treatment and keep them working toward a better life, whether or not they ever achieve that M.D.

I had a client who's mother was addicted to cocaine during her pregnancy with him. He was BORN an addict- went through the foster care system to be placed with adoptive parents who literally tortured him for his entire life... forcing him to sleep on the garage floor for years, given dog food for meals, and his feet were placed in pots of boiling water causing 3rd degree burns...

this boy, now a man, never had a chance of living a normal life.

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I challenge all of you reading this, that next time you see a homeless person on the street, do not look away. Be just and acknowledge his presence by looking at him. Don't brush him off and assume he's just a dirty drunk who made some bad choices--- he probably has an incredibly painful story, and he may even have a college degree, to your surprise. Recognize your privilege, but also, acknowledge the presence of a common thread of humanity that resides in both of you...

The homeless come in all shapes, sizes, and colors... homelessness is caused by a variety of reasons, not just the ones you believe...

let's start breaking down these stereotypes that plague us all and only prevent homelessness from being addressed seriously.

Ewa.

Every so often, I meet a client who's outlook on life, given their circumstances, humbles me completely. It's a rude awakening- like a splash of cold water on the face...

Ewa is a pleasantly plump, mid 50s Russian woman, complete with a thick accent. She could easily play the role of Mrs. Claus in a local play. She was assigned to me for help with her medical insurance. She barely speaks English, so the language barrier makes reading the simplest sentence a huge mission. With my obvious lack of proficiency in Russian, we have a fun time playing charades. Most of the time, I'm just trying to convey something simple, like the fact that medi-CAL is just switching her provider and she has nothing to worry about, or that, her premiums are going down. No big life-changing news...

Ewa shows up unannounced... usually with a letter from Medi-CAL that she needs me to translate for her. I'll complete the task, and when I am done explaining, Ewa will reach over and pull a gift out of her black bag for me.

She NEVER shows up empty handed. No matter how small the task is for me to complete, our meetings never end without a gift, a card, a huge hug, and a kiss on the cheek- sometimes complete with a lipstick stain.

What's the big deal, right?

Well, Ewa makes around $900/month. She's mentally disabled, and she lives in a tiny single room in a subsidized "hotel." Regardless of all of these circumstances, her ability to give selflessly... affectionately & monetarily- is incredibly humbling. Her gifts are no small gesture either- from Valentine chocolates & a heart shaped card, to a full-on Easter basket, complete with fake grass. The cards are always written in English, and in cursive, with a "Miss" in front of my name... must've taken her hours.

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How can someone who has so little give so much?? My work for her is so insignificant and so small, that it does not merit the kind of gratitude she has.

No matter how many times I tell her to stop spending her money on buying me gifts, she always just laughs, smiles, and says, "Darling, you have no idea how much you help me. I am so thankful."

I usually give her a hug and sit back at my desk for a minute just trying to process her amount of generosity.

People tell me I have a care-free attitude... some call me a free-spirit... optimistic, by others. At times I'll believe that I am doing my part through this year of service to give to others. I generally agree, and then I meet with Ewa and feel kicked to the very bottom of an endless pit. She's winning the generosity race by dozens of miles...

The truth is, none of us in the middle to upper social classes can fully comprehend what it's like to be completely generous because we never give all that we possibly can. We get caught up in our busy lives, stressing over the state of our dire economy, worried about what's going to happen to our money. We'll make a monthly contribution to a Church, or even commit to a volunteer program for a year, and feel satisfied with our commitment to service, our levels of generosity...

The true givers are those who have nothing and give all... it is through Ewa's giving and my receiving, that I am challenged to do more. Give more. Smile more. Appreciate more.

If someone who has no one and lives in poverty can give of themselves completely, and project a face of happiness to others, how can the rest of us who are fortunate not?
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I don't know when I'll see Ewa again, and I like the mystery.

She shows up unannounced- like a little trick of fate, the universe telling me I need another jolt of her electricity...

Our next unscheduled meeting will as usual take place on a day where I will be running around, amid the stress and bustle of my everyday, and in desperate need of some perspective...

I can't wait.

Do you have a moment?

Why is it so difficult to find a moment to stop and relax amid our busy and hectic lives? Even when we set aside time to relax, we usually spend it stressed out.

Let me relax for an hour and schedule a facial. Finish work early. Drive through traffic. Running late. Show up. Try to relax for 40 minutes, as the facialist picks away at your face. She'll put a mask on you and let you just be for 10 minutes. What do you have to do after this?? I have that paper due! Oh, I also need to pick up my prescriptions. Maybe I'll do laundry tonight.

In "Eat, Pray, Love" Elizabeth Gilbert writes about how the New York Times wrote a piece on a team of neurologists who wired up a Tibetan monk for experimental brain-scanning. They wanted to see what would happened to a transcendent mind during moments of enlightenment. In the mind of a normal person, all of our thoughts that whirl around constantly register on a brain scan as yellow and red flashes. The more impassioned, the redder. Mystics across cultures hae described the stilling of the brain during meditation as a blue light. Sure enough, she writes, the Tibetan monk monitored was able to quiet his mind so completely that no red or yellow could be seen. All of his energy was collected into the center of his brain into a small blue light.

It obviously takes years to get to the point where you can silence your thoughts and impulses so much, but, we don't exactly go around trying to reach that point either.

My "relaxing" weekend consisted of plenty of rushing to get ready to be out the door on time, imbibing, getting to bed late, and recovering the following day, only to do it all over again. Great time? yes. Relaxing? not so much.

I propose there to be a set of days from the week, labeled as "pre-week," preferably taking place on Sunday and Monday. Our work schedule should be from Tuesday through Friday. During the weekend of Friday and Saturday, we have our chance to go all out and live out our college selves. During the pre-week, we stay still. Do nothing. No noise. Just be. Collect yourself, to do it all over again.

If any culture is remotely attuned to this sort of thing, it's the Italians, my kind of people. They use the phrase Il bel far niente to convey this emotion... literally, "the beauty of doing nothing" is ingrained in their minds daily... from 3-hr long siestas to, as one mechanic told me in Rome, closing for business on a random Tuesday just "because! it's too hot outside today!"

I'm thinking we should adapt the same concept in America. Let's add a pre-week, maybe people would be less stressed out --> healthier --> happier --> less obsessed with materialism & greed --> end of financial crisis we're in.

Anyone have Pres. Obama's number? I may be onto something...

The Name Game.

Two days ago I stood in line for my guiltiest pleasure-- ahem, Starbucks--and as the "barista" (as they like to call themselves) asked for my name, Rosemary slipped out of my mouth before I could think.

No, not the spice.

I actually said my name was Rosemary. Why, you ask? Why the hell would you give a fake name? Meh... I've been Melissa all my life. Why not for one moment be known as someone, something else? Let the virtue of another name encompass me for a brief snippet in time...

"Rosemary. 1 Skim Caramel Macchiato," the barista called.

When all eyes turned to me, and I realized I was Rosemary-- whoever she was, I became caught up in her world.. in what she was into, what kind of qualities she possessed... I decided Rosemary was a conservative librarian. She's an old soul... lives alone, with a cat. She's kind of a cat lady, but she's got some real wisdom...she's obsessed with books. Reads a ton. Likes to be covered up.

What's in a name anyway? Do our names affect the people we become? Are we predestined depending on what names we're given? Would George Washington have been as great had he been named Billy Mack? Would Britney Spears be Britney if she was named Victoria Guggenheim?

(So Willy Shakespeare would disagree after his whole "What's in a name? That which we call a rose" rant... but, I hereby challenge old Willy)

Who would I be if my name was Kelly? slut. Dawn? earthchild. Naomi? strong. Nancy? old.

It's weird that certain names carry certain connotations- at least to me they do, and hey it's my blog, so what I say goes.

That day at Starbucks, as the barista called my name and I thought about Rosemary, I realized I could never be her. The name didn't fit. And maybe it's because I'm really NOT Rosemary.


BUT, what if.. what if I can be someone else? Maybe a Nicole, or a Michelle? Who knows. I'll try it out next time I hit up Starbucks. Maybe I'll find one that feels more comfortable than the one I own... or maybe I won't. Who knows? Who am I anyway? AH.. that's a whole other post.

Fred.

Fred is my first client I had at the office. On my first day, they basically handed me his file and said, "Get him on a fixed income." I spent the first week grueling over the mess of forms and applications for Social Security that were hard to understand, trying to prepare for my first meeting with him.

When the day came that we were going to meet, I remember being really nervous... antsy even. How would I talk to a homeless person? Would they be aggressive? Curse alot? Smell bad? What if they are really abrasive? I had created in my mind this otherness about "them". (The need for us to define ourselves by pointing out what we are not is a nasty habit- but meh, I'll leave that for another post.)

The day came, and this short and kind, caucasian man in his 40s, walked himself very slowly over to my cubicle, and said, "Hi Ma'am. Nice to meet you."... and my journey with Fred began.

Fred and I spent months preparing his application as he bounced in and out of the hospital for his disabilities. We spent our meetings getting work done and checking in, at times we'd joke around together and have a good time. Eventually, he was approved for benefits- my first approval which was definately needed to reawaken my motivation.

Today, a few months after our last encounter, Fred walked into my office looking weak. His friend had kicked him out. He needed a place to stay for the night-desperately. Those of you who don't know, San Francisco has about 5,000 homeless people every night. Getting into a shelter at 3 PM in the afternoon is pretty much impossible.

I looked at him and he began to cry... "I just need to rest." I asked him to wait in the waiting room as I decided I would try to call each shelter and see if there was anything that could possibly be done.

An hour of intense advocacy and hounding later, 2 shelters called me back to confirm that they would have a bed for him for the night, and a meal.

I jumped up from my chair, exclaimed "YES!" and ran over to tell him. He smiled, and thanked me, and left the office.


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What's the value of one bed for one night?

A bed for one night does not seem like much to us- and by us, I mean people who've never had to worry about where they'd spend the night.

It doesn't seem like a big deal, definitely not something worth feeling great about. After all, he will be homeless again tomorrow...

Throughout the beginning of the JVC year, I struggled with my ideas of social justice and how I felt like I wasn't really achieving any justice for my clients. A fixed income? Whoopie-- A $900 check each month hardly seems just. I got someone an apartment? great-- they live in the ghetto where their rooms are infested with bed bugs. Then, I started thinking about the grandiose scale I had placed social justice on. I imagined social justice to mean having an unfair law amended, or saving 1000s of people from genocide. I forgot about what social justice could mean to one of my clients. I was looking at it through the wrong lense...

Ask yourself what a good night's sleep could mean for someone who's terminally ill and been sleeping in the back of an open truck for a couple months, in the dead of Winter. Social justice comes in all shapes and sizes- a bed for one night may seem like nothing to you, but it may be what one person wants and needs.

Tommorow's a new day, and Fred & I will figure it out... we'll jump through the hoops and hurdles as they come along, until we get him into long-term housing. Together, we'll figure it out and try to make his life better... using HIS scale, not mine...

...but for now, for tonight, he'll rest and get the sleep he needs and deserves.

the raindrop of JVC

I've embarcked on a strange journey this year... surrendering myself to a year of service, living communally with 6 other volunteers (whom I didn't know before I got here), on a monthly stipend of $85. It is very much a spiritual journey- one where my personal relationship with God is pulled and pushed, twisted, morphed & transformed... all with the hope of ending the year with a relationship that is stronger and newer than ever before.

The rollercoaster began in August.
1, getting on a plane to California
5 seconds later, meeting 70 other random volunteers, including my new housemates
10..., moving into my new apartment
and so on, time has continued to fly.

My job is focused on helping mentally disabled homeless people through social work. I help them find housing, get on a fixed income, access treatment, etc. Fun stuff. My thoughts on social justice have changed in the middle of all of this work--

At times, I sense my cynicism towards homelessness growing:
i.e. Homeless person: "I need housing. I just got clean. I have no money."
me: "okay well, there's subsidized housing available for very low prices in the ghetto."
homeless person: "no im not going to the ghetto i'd rather live on the street."

Other times, I find myself constantly on their side:
i.e. homeless person: "I have child molestation charges on my record, im suicidal, and im sorry i did it. I need help."
I find myself talking to them about having faith, getting into treatment, and taking care of themselves...

With this inner conflict I end up finding compromise at some point:
social justice issues that I see this year are but a tiny, tiny mark on the spectrum of issues that are occurring globally. My job is a single raindrop in the early stages of a tempest. While some may try to cheat the system, and others feel entitled to receiving free services, many of them are indeed looking for help for the right reasons. In the end, both groups have nothing; all they are trying to do is survive.

I wouldn't want to live in the ghetto either.
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I hesitated with creating this blog earlier in the year, it seemed like too much work. Lately, I've been somewhat peer pressured into blogging; Blogging is everywhere- my boss blogs. my housemates blog. boys blog. my favorite singer blogs. I figured I should keep up with the trends (for fear of feeling old or outdated), and see what can develop from this craze that seems to be infiltrating my life from every end, calling me so desperately to participate...