Quit Your Whining, Melissa

Again, I have found reason to shut my pie hole and stop worrying about things that are quite inconsequential in the grand scheme of my life. Complaints about traffic and annoying neighbors seem so trivial. Bitching and moaning about politics and social policy is a luxury. Getting a not-so-great meal in a restaurant? I can afford a meal in a restaurant now and then - I should be thankful.

An article in the Washington Post today opened my eyes, once again, to the problems in this country that are real. Yes, politics affects us all and generations to come will deal with the policy decisions that are made today (oh boy, don't get me started on the daughters of this nation and what they will have to endure). Sure, environmental issues need to be addressed to ensure the health of our planet not just for us, but for everyone. Interest rates and financial protocols will have an impact on industry across the board. But what about daily life? What about just living well enough to shower when you want to and go to your kitchen and have a snack when you're hungry? How about wearing clean clothing and having a place to call home... which means a permanent address... which means you can fill out a job application and maybe get hired... and earn a paycheck.

This article explores the growing problem of homelessness - and not just homelessness, homelessness in the affluent suburbs of our nation's capitol. The county discussed in particular is one I lived in for a number of years while in the DC area. Fairfax is pretty wealthy by most standards. Middle class, lots of single-family homes, good school districts. And yet, the men featured in this article are homeless. They don't have an apartment to go to, they have no bed of their own to get a restful night's sleep. One man usually sleeps behind shopping centers. Shopping centers I've probably patronized. Chances are good that I've bought a picture frame to lovingly house the most recent picture of my family or friends in a store that this man sleeps behind... alone.

What strikes me most about these men is not that they look rather like my father - pretty clean-cut, middle aged, kind-faced - but that they seem fairly stable except for their homelessness. What I mean by that is when I'm in the city, I've grown accustomed to ignoring the homeless. Not because I want to. Not because I don't see them. Not because they're not human just like me. But because I've had a handful of frightening experiences with homeless people in DC who are obviously mentally ill, as are so many of the urban homeless population. I ignore these people in a strange attempt at self-preservation. I donate money each year to a homeless shelter in DC that provides food and clothing to anyone who asks and also to an organization in New York that feeds people who are hungry every morning and evening at a community center in Brooklyn. Those donations are how I justify not looking these people I see everyday in the eye. That money (it's never as much as I want it to be) allows me to not feel crippling guilt every time I pass someone on the street and don't empty my pocket change into their cup, when I know they need it much more than I.

I don't even really know what I'm trying to get across with this post. I suppose I just want people to know that there are members of their community who are invisible. They are invisible because we let them be, we make them that way, I refuse to acknowledge them. You don't have to go to the inner city, the big metropolis to find homeless people. Chances are, after you go to your warm home from the grocery store and put your food away in your well-stocked pantry there will be a man or woman sleeping in the shelter of the dumpster behind that store.

I am a lucky person. We all are. I can write about this on a computer in the office where I work and earn a paycheck that keeps a roof over my head, food in my belly, and nice clothes on my back. I am so fortunate. I am not invisible.