Cold Hands, Flat Tire

It dawned on me, in the dawning light, that I'd left for my bike ride ill-prepared for the morning chill.  Not that a 50-degree morning is anything but "bitterly cool," still it makes for some uncomfortable riding, especially without gloves.  For a moment I thought of turning back, but my early-morning brain said otherwise, "Go on, you'll survive without them." And so I did.

About half-way up the hill on which my sites were set I noticed another all-too-familiar feeling: a flat tire.  Ugh!  There's something about getting a flat tire that forces a new perspective.  Suddenly there is no choice in life: stop and fix it.  In this case, no big deal--it was less than 15 minutes and I was on my way again (reminder to self: replace that spare). 

When I made it to the top of the hill I remembered.

See, I'd forgotten all about my cold hands.  The redirect of a more urgent problem took my attention away from the potential of discomfort.  And my hands weren't cold at all, just a little greasy from the tire change.

As I flew down the hill it occurred to me--how very much of my life I spend worrying about things that will never happen, making contingency plans for troubles that will never come to pass, and hardly ever noticing how little control I have or the glorious view I'm missing while I'm wringing my greasy hands over nothing.

"Consider the lilies.  They neither toil nor do they sow, yet..."

 

Well, Duh!

It wasn't one of those great "aha" moments--more like, "well, duh."

This morning I was walking home from "Consumer Cental" (aka, Target) with the symbol of corporate dominance of American life in one hand (my Starbucks coffee) and a turkey in the other (they were on SALE!!).  As I navigated the sidewalks toward home I passed by an all-too-familiar scene: while I was waking up to corporate-sponsored caffeine others were waking up to a very different reality--life on the street.

It's not that I haven't seen it before--heaven knows.  Those experiencing homelessness are as common as the many other symbols of our indifference, as common as the discards from our self-centered lives, our "I've got mine what's wrong with you?" response to the troubles we witness.  We see these people  like we see the trash that litters our streets, only occasionally wondering why some imaginary someone doesn't do something about them, as if they are a problem to be swept away.

But this morning it was a little different; a "well, duh" moment.  This morning as I walked on by, I wondered what I would do if I were to suddenly find myself without a roof over my head.  I wondered how I would answer the question that many are asked, "Don't you have anywhere else to go?"

I do!  I have a family.  I have friends.  I am connected to community.  I have resources.  My skin reflects the color of privilege--so does my gender.  If I were somehow to find myself without a place called "home" it would only be a phone call, wired cash, an invitation from family or friends, a connection to community, and all would be well again.

But what if...

And that's the "well-duh."  Because if I thought for a moment that the majority of people experiencing homelessness had any ONE of the resources I have--family, friends, community, privilege, power--I would just tell them to get up and go. 

Which can mean only one thing: the solution, the hope, the change, must come from somewhere else.  And on my early morning walk, with coffee in one hand and Thanksgiving turkey in the other, the only person I saw who was there to make a difference was me.

Duh.