This was his first living situation off the streets in over five
years. All he had was his sleeping bag and a backpack if I remember
correctly. Maybe a few books and a razor or something small like that.
I had never really talked with the guy, except for a few hellos here and there.
My friend Jody was the real matchmaker in this drama. I just happened to have an extra room that I was keeping open for situations such as this one.
I was in Colorado when he moved in, so I didn't get to see his first sigh of relief when he sprawled out on the couch or read his first book in peace. I wonder what he felt like getting to close the door to the world outside, knowing he didn't have to sleep with one eye open . . . finally.
Anyways, the plan was to get home from Colorado, have a little talk with 'em, then take him to the best place I know of for oysters on the halfshell. I figured being from Washington State he didn't know what oysters were (aside from the occasional conversational piece about their Rocky Mountain siblings), much less fried catfish and shrimp.
So, we headed out for his inaugural night of food drunkenness - the best kind of gluttony there is.
We sat down, peered over the menu, and I asked question after question. I wanted to know every detail on what it was like to be homeless. I wanted to know how to fix it, how to prevent it, how to do a better job hanging out with the homeless, and how not to help homeless people. I grilled the poor guy. He probably just wanted me to shut up and let him scour the menu some more.
I got up to go to the bathroom, and a sudden panic shot through my chest as I looked at the handwritten sign on the door. "Shit!" I screamed in my head. "I don't have any CASH ONLY!" I figured by the time I walked to the bathroom, took a piss, and walked back to the table I would have a plan of action.
So, I told him, I promise I didn't pull a quick one on ya', but I totally forgot this is a cash only restaurant and I don't have any cash. I'm gonna run over to the ATM across the street real quick.
He responded, No, no. Don't worry about it! You've done enough for me already. Let me pay.
Do you have the money? This place isn't exactly cheap, I explained.
He laughed and replied, I have the money. Don't worry.
Regardless, I felt bad, but I don't know if the feeling bad was because my plan to be the hero failed, or because I didn't know how much money would be left in his wallet after this meal.
The total bill ended up being about forty five dollars, not including the tip. I didn't even have the tip.
Have you ever had a situation like this one, where you were completely planning on treating somebody to something really nice - maybe it was a girlfriend, or a mother, or a dad, or a sick friend. You thought you had everything ready.
It was like one of those times when you put the blindfold on the other person, because you don't want them to have a clue to know what is next.
And then, as you're off by yourself, giggling inside out of the excitement of knowing that you're serving someone else tonight, you see the sign on the door that says CASH ONLY.
And in about one second you go from excitement and bliss to panic and survival mode.
There should be a definition for this somewhere. In a book I read recently, the author did have a definition for this. He used an acronym to define it as HpTfTu - or, the high propensity to fuck things up. Isn't this something we experience as humans?
No matter how great our intentions, how innocent our plans, how fantastic our motives - it gets fucked up.
We try and try and try to be nice people, to do good things, to say the nice words, to console the hurt friend, to play the peacemaker, to give the money, to give the time, and eventually there's that moment where we realize that we are helpless, digging around in our pockets looking for the cash that we know's not there.
And we become the receivers. The ones who need the help. We get taken care of by the ones we were planning on taking care of.
And the feeling is foreign because we soooooo never thought it would happen this way. So, our legs move around under the table out of uncomfortable restlessness, and our words make it sound like we're used to accepting gifts. But, inside our heads, the voices scream at us, telling us Don't let this happen again. Don't let this person help you. You can do it on your own, you idiot!
What's a better word to describe the process that happens when we seek to do good, then it fucks up, then we end up on the receiving end other than humility?
I've always wondered if humility is something we can actually do, or if it's something that randomly happens to us. God knows I love my pride.
I hear the word all the time used in a directive like Be Humble. Like it's a billboard that all of us pass on the way to work, and we're supposed to be reminded to do what we really aren't able to do, which is follow the directions on the billboard.
I like the line Be Humbled better. This way, it supposes that there is some kind of outside presence, or force, if you, will that is required to interact with my current state of fucked-up-edness, and produce this foreign, uncomfortable but somehow correct, form of behavior.
So, my advice for you today is, don't try to be humble. Believe me, you'll fuck it up.
Rather, be open to being humbled. When it happens, don't try to fix it, because chances are you won't have another experience like it for some time. Let the drama play out, and you'll have a great story to tell later. Just feel what being humbled feels like for a little bit.
I had never really talked with the guy, except for a few hellos here and there.
My friend Jody was the real matchmaker in this drama. I just happened to have an extra room that I was keeping open for situations such as this one.
I was in Colorado when he moved in, so I didn't get to see his first sigh of relief when he sprawled out on the couch or read his first book in peace. I wonder what he felt like getting to close the door to the world outside, knowing he didn't have to sleep with one eye open . . . finally.
Anyways, the plan was to get home from Colorado, have a little talk with 'em, then take him to the best place I know of for oysters on the halfshell. I figured being from Washington State he didn't know what oysters were (aside from the occasional conversational piece about their Rocky Mountain siblings), much less fried catfish and shrimp.
So, we headed out for his inaugural night of food drunkenness - the best kind of gluttony there is.
We sat down, peered over the menu, and I asked question after question. I wanted to know every detail on what it was like to be homeless. I wanted to know how to fix it, how to prevent it, how to do a better job hanging out with the homeless, and how not to help homeless people. I grilled the poor guy. He probably just wanted me to shut up and let him scour the menu some more.
I got up to go to the bathroom, and a sudden panic shot through my chest as I looked at the handwritten sign on the door. "Shit!" I screamed in my head. "I don't have any CASH ONLY!" I figured by the time I walked to the bathroom, took a piss, and walked back to the table I would have a plan of action.
So, I told him, I promise I didn't pull a quick one on ya', but I totally forgot this is a cash only restaurant and I don't have any cash. I'm gonna run over to the ATM across the street real quick.
He responded, No, no. Don't worry about it! You've done enough for me already. Let me pay.
Do you have the money? This place isn't exactly cheap, I explained.
He laughed and replied, I have the money. Don't worry.
Regardless, I felt bad, but I don't know if the feeling bad was because my plan to be the hero failed, or because I didn't know how much money would be left in his wallet after this meal.
The total bill ended up being about forty five dollars, not including the tip. I didn't even have the tip.
Have you ever had a situation like this one, where you were completely planning on treating somebody to something really nice - maybe it was a girlfriend, or a mother, or a dad, or a sick friend. You thought you had everything ready.
It was like one of those times when you put the blindfold on the other person, because you don't want them to have a clue to know what is next.
And then, as you're off by yourself, giggling inside out of the excitement of knowing that you're serving someone else tonight, you see the sign on the door that says CASH ONLY.
And in about one second you go from excitement and bliss to panic and survival mode.
There should be a definition for this somewhere. In a book I read recently, the author did have a definition for this. He used an acronym to define it as HpTfTu - or, the high propensity to fuck things up. Isn't this something we experience as humans?
No matter how great our intentions, how innocent our plans, how fantastic our motives - it gets fucked up.
We try and try and try to be nice people, to do good things, to say the nice words, to console the hurt friend, to play the peacemaker, to give the money, to give the time, and eventually there's that moment where we realize that we are helpless, digging around in our pockets looking for the cash that we know's not there.
And we become the receivers. The ones who need the help. We get taken care of by the ones we were planning on taking care of.
And the feeling is foreign because we soooooo never thought it would happen this way. So, our legs move around under the table out of uncomfortable restlessness, and our words make it sound like we're used to accepting gifts. But, inside our heads, the voices scream at us, telling us Don't let this happen again. Don't let this person help you. You can do it on your own, you idiot!
What's a better word to describe the process that happens when we seek to do good, then it fucks up, then we end up on the receiving end other than humility?
I've always wondered if humility is something we can actually do, or if it's something that randomly happens to us. God knows I love my pride.
I hear the word all the time used in a directive like Be Humble. Like it's a billboard that all of us pass on the way to work, and we're supposed to be reminded to do what we really aren't able to do, which is follow the directions on the billboard.
I like the line Be Humbled better. This way, it supposes that there is some kind of outside presence, or force, if you, will that is required to interact with my current state of fucked-up-edness, and produce this foreign, uncomfortable but somehow correct, form of behavior.
So, my advice for you today is, don't try to be humble. Believe me, you'll fuck it up.
Rather, be open to being humbled. When it happens, don't try to fix it, because chances are you won't have another experience like it for some time. Let the drama play out, and you'll have a great story to tell later. Just feel what being humbled feels like for a little bit.
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