I had plans to next interview someone homeless. Grandly thinking that they could give me a unique slant on life. I ponder how I will value their opinion and what they have to say. When I think of this homeless individual (often it is a man) I envisioned someone whose life is less cluttered than most. In yoga it is believed that when we let go of the barriers of distraction then we can get down to the essence of life and who we really are. What better way to release distractions than to get rid of our attachments. To live with just our basic needs as our focus. I remember my mom’s words when dealing with someone shallow “they probably haven’t suffered enough.” and of Nietzsche's“He who has a Why to live for can bear almost any How.”
Suffering doesn’t always make us deep, but it can. Of course I am also making the assumption that someone who is asking for money on the street is homeless, has suffered enough and has depth. I guess that is the premise I was working from today.
So as I was laying in Savasana during yoga this morning, I was dreaming of the perfect homeless person that I would find here in DC or that would find me. I envisioned sitting with them and setting up my phone voice memo and hearing their story. Maybe they will want to use a fictitious name instead of their real one? Will they let me take their picture, perhaps a silhouette shot? Will I pay them for the interview? An exchange for their time?
I leave the studio hurriedly as I make my way out the door and down the steps out into the street having put all of this out of my mind temporarily as I almost run towards home, straight into a homeless man.
Wow that was quick, I think. Is this the right person? Is now, the right time? I stared long enough that he repeats his question.
Nameless Man: Can I have a dollar for a sandwich?
Me: Yes, if I can interview you?
Nameless Man: Interview me? He points to his broken teeth
Me: I shake my head that it doesn't matter. Yes, you. Can I interview you?
Nameless Man: What time is it?
(Is he stalling?)
Me: I don’t know? Hmmm…(I go to check my phone)
Nameless Man: (He tells me) It's about 1145a. I need to meet someone at Starbucks.
Me: Oh. Well I can walk with you. (smile)
Nameless Man: You want to interview me?! I don’t want to give my name.
Me: We can make one up! (I am excited to think that he may be open to this.)
Nameless Man: I don’t want my picture taken.
Me: Oh, but it would be nice to have a picture of you! It is for my blog-site. Do you know what a blog is? I like to write about people's stories.
Nameless Man: (He mumbles) Yes, I know what a blog is!
No pictures you can’t trust anyone! The Government, the CIA, the FBI
Me: Ok no picture, (I reassure, oh dear, he might be delusional and I am upsetting him). I reach into my wallet compassionately pulling out dollar bills. No longer concerned with interviewing him, just helping him get some food.
Nameless Man: He doesn't seem that interested in the the money as his eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
Me: (I answer simply) “I am Kris.”
Nameless Man: “What do you do?”
Me: “I am a nurse.
Nameless Man: His eyes narrow even further, “Do you work with the mentally ill?”
Me: “Yes.” (I get excited once again.) “How did you know?”
Nameless Man: (He stops walking and at this point seems purely exacerbated.) “Well who else would stop and talk to the mentally ill??”
(I laugh loudly) He then mumbles. Maybe you can meet my friend and talk to him.
Me: (he is trying to pawn me off on his unsuspecting friend!) I chuckle thinking this as we approach the entrance to Starbucks. I start to go in planning on buying him coffee and breakfast.
Nameless Man: (He eyes me again.) You’re going in for coffee?
Me: Yes
Nameless Man: Well I will wait out here then.
Me: I walk in and after I do I look out and notice that he is gone. And at this moment I think that maybe I am the crazy one as I stand there laughing at my own foolishness.
Post Note:
Last night when my son got home I told him about the interview (that wasn’t) with the older man on the street.
Liam: Oh…(compassionately spoken and translated to that poor man)
Oh mom. You aren’t a good interviewer. You have to be subtle.
Me: I am not subtle.
Liam: No. You have to just get to know him slowly. Like, “how are you?” Not, "can I interview you."
Me: Thanks, Liam
Suffering doesn’t always make us deep, but it can. Of course I am also making the assumption that someone who is asking for money on the street is homeless, has suffered enough and has depth. I guess that is the premise I was working from today.
So as I was laying in Savasana during yoga this morning, I was dreaming of the perfect homeless person that I would find here in DC or that would find me. I envisioned sitting with them and setting up my phone voice memo and hearing their story. Maybe they will want to use a fictitious name instead of their real one? Will they let me take their picture, perhaps a silhouette shot? Will I pay them for the interview? An exchange for their time?
I leave the studio hurriedly as I make my way out the door and down the steps out into the street having put all of this out of my mind temporarily as I almost run towards home, straight into a homeless man.
Wow that was quick, I think. Is this the right person? Is now, the right time? I stared long enough that he repeats his question.
Nameless Man: Can I have a dollar for a sandwich?
Me: Yes, if I can interview you?
Nameless Man: Interview me? He points to his broken teeth
Me: I shake my head that it doesn't matter. Yes, you. Can I interview you?
Nameless Man: What time is it?
(Is he stalling?)
Me: I don’t know? Hmmm…(I go to check my phone)
Nameless Man: (He tells me) It's about 1145a. I need to meet someone at Starbucks.
Me: Oh. Well I can walk with you. (smile)
Nameless Man: You want to interview me?! I don’t want to give my name.
Me: We can make one up! (I am excited to think that he may be open to this.)
Nameless Man: I don’t want my picture taken.
Me: Oh, but it would be nice to have a picture of you! It is for my blog-site. Do you know what a blog is? I like to write about people's stories.
Nameless Man: (He mumbles) Yes, I know what a blog is!
No pictures you can’t trust anyone! The Government, the CIA, the FBI
Me: Ok no picture, (I reassure, oh dear, he might be delusional and I am upsetting him). I reach into my wallet compassionately pulling out dollar bills. No longer concerned with interviewing him, just helping him get some food.
Nameless Man: He doesn't seem that interested in the the money as his eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
Me: (I answer simply) “I am Kris.”
Nameless Man: “What do you do?”
Me: “I am a nurse.
Nameless Man: His eyes narrow even further, “Do you work with the mentally ill?”
Me: “Yes.” (I get excited once again.) “How did you know?”
Nameless Man: (He stops walking and at this point seems purely exacerbated.) “Well who else would stop and talk to the mentally ill??”
(I laugh loudly) He then mumbles. Maybe you can meet my friend and talk to him.
Me: (he is trying to pawn me off on his unsuspecting friend!) I chuckle thinking this as we approach the entrance to Starbucks. I start to go in planning on buying him coffee and breakfast.
Nameless Man: (He eyes me again.) You’re going in for coffee?
Me: Yes
Nameless Man: Well I will wait out here then.
Me: I walk in and after I do I look out and notice that he is gone. And at this moment I think that maybe I am the crazy one as I stand there laughing at my own foolishness.
Post Note:
Last night when my son got home I told him about the interview (that wasn’t) with the older man on the street.
Liam: Oh…(compassionately spoken and translated to that poor man)
Oh mom. You aren’t a good interviewer. You have to be subtle.
Me: I am not subtle.
Liam: No. You have to just get to know him slowly. Like, “how are you?” Not, "can I interview you."
Me: Thanks, Liam
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