From safe in my warm room

It was Sunday night, and we sat at the window that looked over the street downtown as we had a few drinks. Conversation gradually stalled as we began hypnotically watching the scene below, which was somehow made all the more dramatic by the pouring rain outside. As there tends to be most nights, the "down and outs" of the city were going about their business-- this was nothing new to me anymore.

When I first moved to the city from a fairly idealistic small town, I was overwhelmed by poverty and destitution. Each plea broke my heart. I gave to panhandlers, despite the protests from friends. But I, as nearly everyone does, slowly became jaded. Although I would argue when people made such ridiculous claims that "they like living this way" and "they make better money than I do" and tried to at least look them in the eye when I mumbled "Sorry" to their requests for change, I also found skepticism creeping in. Perhaps it was the few times I was singled out by someone who fit within the category of homeless and subjected to blatantly sexual taunts. Perhaps it was the stories my friend, who started out more idealistic than I, but took that idealism to a homeless shelter where it was crushed, both by the "system" itself, and the cruelty of those who he was wholeheartedly trying to help.

Although it may be easier than continuing to take it all in, I don't like being this jaded and judgmental person. It's sometime hard to balance naivete with being world-wearied.

It's also a lot easier to judge when it isn't your reality. One of the biggest reality checks I ever had is when I saw a man I knew growing up, a man who dated one of my best friends, a man who was my ex-boyfriend's best friend, a man I used to visit and talk with, a man who used to be spirited and full of life... sitting on a bench downtown, looking so empty. It's hard to realize that these people we choose to ignore or merely glance at from the corner of our eye do come from the same place as we do.

And as we sat in the bar last Sunday, we watched a man spin around. This man had so many blankets piled on him that you couldn't see his face. He looked like an overexagerated version of a nomadic creature. He stumbled around in circles and swayed, just looking so lost. It was pouring rain, and Radiohead's Creep came on the radio, which suddenly seemed more forelorn than it ever had before. I had this foreboding feeling that we were witnessing something awful unfold, and I felt so miserable and guilty. Here I was, drinking some cocktail, and watching, detached, from a second story window, safe, warm while someone's life might have been falling apart in front of us.