Today I got a glimpse of the homeless life. It’s not one I’d want to live. And my experience wasn’t bad. At all, really. I still had ample clothing, plenty of money, a vehicle (albeit a vehicle in the shop – more on that later), and a hotel room waiting on me. We had to walk 1.6 miles to the hotel and another 1.6 miles back to the tire shop, all on a busy road in Williamsburg, VA. In early January. Thankfully it was unseasonably warm, about 60 degrees. I had a backpack on, which contained my most important valuables – wallet, some cash, ID, debit card (linked to about $1300 cash). I was healthy enough to be walking and wore comfortable Nikes. Attached to my wrist was a leash which at the other end connected to a golden retriever – Billy. And I had a personal bodyguard – my husband Richard.

Our hiatus began when we decided to flee to Williamsburg for the night to escape the fumes of epoxy on our bathtub. Richard had applied a few coats and the resultant fumes were too much to breathe overnight. We were barred from using our shower for two days. We figured a little trip to Williamsburg with the pup would be fun. After an hour drive, we got out to explore Freedom Park, an area of trails and other outdoor activities.

As Richard gathered some things out of the truck, I took a minute to inspect the tires on my 20-year-old truck. Oh boy. I realized there was hardly any tread on my front tires – “balding” was the word Richard later used for this. I had failed to notice this before. Yeah, I’d looked at the tires just a few days earlier but apparently hadn’t looked at them close enough. The lady at the tire shop would later tell us that my tires were a 9.5 out of 10 for the worst she’d ever seen. Richard was shocked when he looked at them too. And yes, a few weeks earlier we had tried getting some new tires from Costco but they didn’t sell the ones I needed and couldn’t even order them at the time. They said to try back in January. My tires were 7 years old. Richard was dumbfounded that we’d even made it to Williamsburg without the tires exploding, that’s how bad they were. Thankfully, after calling around a few places, we learned that Firestone could in fact replace both front tires (and give my truck a front-end alignment) the same day. So, we opted for that. We dropped the truck at the shop and decided to make the 1.6 mile trek to the hotel on foot. Our belongings were left in the truck – my laptop, Billy’s food, our clothes and toiletries for the night. We felt like nomads as we walked down Richmond Road with a golden retriever in tow. We were just a few inches from the deadly traffic. I prayed that the drivers weren’t texting.

Richard and I hadn’t eaten since that morning and it was going on 3:30 pm. My stomach felt empty and I started to feel a little weak. I was thirsty too but didn’t have water on me. I didn’t want to drink too much because I figured it’d be hard to hit a bathroom. With a dog, we couldn’t really walk into a restaurant. We finally got to the hotel and checked in. We still had no food or clean clothes. We had a place to relax for a minute – until the fire alarm went off and we decided to leave in a scurry. Some people had decided to light up a bunch of marijuana. It reeked horribly throughout the halls. Poor Billy, his ears must have really hurt from the screaming alarms.

We had no vehicle so we made the 1.6 mile hike on foot back to the car shop (they had called already a little earlier to say that the truck was ready). After picking up my truck, we headed for Cracker Barrel. Of course, Billy wasn’t allowed inside. Richard headed in to get us a table and I hung behind to feed Billy. This is where I really was struck with the feeling of what it must be like to be homeless. I had to rummage through two backpacks to set up his dinner. I didn’t have a bowl, so I improvised by using the lid to his water bottle. I emptied some dry dog kibble into the lid and then a splash of water and mixed it up. Then I cracked open a can of Blue Buffalo Lamb (higher-end pup food, and one of Billy’s favorite flavors). I had no dining utensils so I used a medium-sized Milkbone as a makeshift knife to scoop out the wet food and into the pseudo-bowl. The substitutes didn’t seem to matter. Billy was hungry. I held the lid in my hand as he licked up the food. He sat patiently (and adorably) in the back cab of my truck as I fed him his dinner. It was hard to see during this rendezvous as well. The feeling of vulnerability swept over me. What if someone snuck up behind me to rob me or hurt me? My beloved Billy isn’t exactly a guard dog. Thankfully, neither of these things happened. I told Billy I’d be back and went inside to eat dinner with Richard. Of course, the whole time in there, I was concerned about Billy. What if someone stole him? I’d left the windows cracked enough for him to get some air; they were also cracked enough for someone to reach in, unlock, the door, and take him. I did sneak out of the restaurant once to go check on him and he was fine.

Dinner was great – we mainly filled up on biscuits and cornbread. Fresh water was nice and it was great to sit in the warm, unbusy restaurant for a moment to relax and refuel. Plus, it was nice to use the restroom. Richard got the meatloaf; I ordered the pot pie with sides of collard greens and broccoli since they were out of side salads, another tragedy in this story. By the time my pot pie arrived, I was pretty full on all the other tasty foods. We took the pot pie to go and it was eaten partially later that night and then again the following day. None of it was wasted.

We packed up and went to our hotel for the night. It was lovely to hang out and relax in a warm, clean room. The price tag was about $70 for the room. I enjoyed a hot bath as well. We were in bed by 8:40 that night but had difficulty sleeping because of the people across the hall. Their parents didn’t teach them about consideration for others, or maybe they forgot those lessons. They were in and out of their room till about 3 am, and were sure to slam the door each time they came through. Upon the door slamming, their two manic dogs would yap for a few minutes. This in turn would cause Billy to sit up in the bed and bark back. I wonder what the story was behind the neighbors. I wonder if they were the same people who set off the fire alarms. I wonder if they were homeless and had nowhere to go.

Anyway, after lying in bed for about three hours, I finally fell asleep. And Richard fell asleep after about six hours. Sleep was sweet when it did come. Thankfully we didn’t have to worry about being awakened by police because we were settled beneath an underpass or on a public bench somewhere. We didn’t have to think about how long we could stay where we were or where we’d head to next, nor did we have to worry about how we’d even get there. We were too concerned about whether the hotel coffee  the next morning would be to our liking. We also were preoccupied with researching our next personal vehicles since the tire thing was another reminder of how unfortunate our lives are.

When we returned home the next day, I was profoundly thankful to be home. To walk around in my socks and sweatpants with the heat set to my preferred temperature. To eat real food and as much as I wanted. To not have to deal with rowdy neighbors. I’ll take the mentally unstable man on the corner of the street who occasionally makes a nude appearance and has been known to light his house on fire. I’ll take the couple on the other corner who occasionally has an argument that can only be heard if you’re on the sidewalk in front of their house. And the yappy yorkie trio across the street – their master is quick to dispel their fun when they threaten to wake anyone. It’s true what they say, there is no place like home. How grateful I am to have one.

I pray for those without a home. I often wonder what the stories are behind their circumstances. Cancer, perhaps? Maybe it’s the result of insurmountable medical bills despite living in a first world country. Lack of education? Domestic violence? Drugs. Alcohol.  I can only imagine the convoluted stories behind each reason. I wonder how much of it is the result of poor choices and how much of it is the result of things beyond one’s control. You can’t pick your parents or a lot of the happenings of childhood. Abuse—physical, sexual, verbal—happens sadly to so many. Divorce, unemployment, crime, trauma – some turn to the ostentatious remedies of unfit boyfriends, drugs, cigarettes, drink, gambling; or worse, they reproduce the horrors that were inflicted on them.

Homelessness is a complicated issue. Last weekend’s expedition was in reality nothing but an exercise in thought for me. But it did indeed get me thinking. I thought about what it’d be like to be homeless and how people end up there. I also think about how hard it would be to come out of homelessness. Talk about an uphill climb. To have no roof, little clothing, no shower, no phone, no transportation. And some have no family, no friends, no one to call on for help. How hard it would be to escape that.

I wonder mostly now, how can I help? I guess I’ll start by cleaning my own house and making my own bed. I’ll do my best to not become homeless myself – taking care of my finances, avoiding debt, staying as healthy as I can. I’ll support the Union Mission and other organizations that are adept at serving this population through job training, counseling/spiritual care, meals, showers, and shelter. I’ll do what I can each day to prevent homelessness – by being kind to hurting people and by encouraging people to make good choices. ~