Yes we can. Make a difference.

Posted on by

They are three men, lined up along a brick planter box at the edge of the building where I’m consulting for an agency in downtown Calgary.

They are three men I recognize. From the homeless shelter where I used to work.  They are not ‘visibly’ homeless. They are not under the influence of alcohol or mind altering substances. They are simply three men, sitting on a planter box outside a downtown building, on a busy avenue on a cool, cloud covered May afternoon. Chatting. Laughing. Watching traffic go by. Watching people pass along.

As I walk by one of the men says Hi! I know you!

And I know you too!  I reply.

And I stop and we chat. About the shelter. The people. The happenings in their lives.

Yeah, says the man who greeted me. I’m still working on getting out of there. It’s just so damn hard.

And I remember. Alcoholic mother. Absent father. Foster care. He’s never known ‘stable’. He’s never felt, unconditional love. This place, this life, this viewpoint from living in a space where uncertainty edges up against anxiety about where to next, what next, why this now, riddles your thinking with the impossibility of change, the defeatedness of being stuck, making seeing ‘better’ or even ‘other’ a far and distant possibility.

You can’t see what ‘better’ is if you’ve never experienced more than ‘this’. This life of grinding poverty. This place of hopelessness and despair. This place where escaping into the fog of alcohol or drugs is the only place you can go to get away from ‘the life’ that is bringing you down, not because you expect more, but rather, because you’ve never had a place to know what it feels like to experience more than this without fear of losing it.

And I realize, they aren’t under the influence of anything other than the beaten down experience of homelessnessness.

“Do you miss the place?” one of the men asks.

“Not the place,” I reply. “I do miss the people.”

“You wouldn’t miss them if you had to live with them every day,” one of the men replies.

And it hits me.

In their world of ‘lack’, people are abundant. In a place where 1100 people share the same roof every night, there’s no getting away from people. You can’t just walk into an empty space, a calm room. There are no quiet corners, no hidden places where you can just chill out, on your own to get in touch with you, yourself and I. Chaos. Noise. Activity. A fight erupting at the table next to you. An argument heating up in the bunk on the other side of the bunk that separates you… all these are in abundance in a shelter. What’s not abundant is peace, quiet, tranquility, calmness.

What’s not evident is personal space to grow silent so you can experience the grace of time and space to plan for, what next.

As I turned to walk away, one of the men called out, “I like your… what do you call it?” and he motioned to the vibrant red shawl I wore draped around my shoulders.

“It’s a shawl, dude,” one of the men replied. “Louise always wears them.”

And that was the moment that made the difference.

He remembered my name.

I did not remember his.

And that was when I realized, I can’t just walk away from homelessness. I can’t just walk away from people who’s names I may not remember but whose stories resonate within my heart. I can’t just walk away from the pain and suffering of others. I may not be able to do something about what is happening in their lives to keep them in that place where they cannot see, or find, the way out.

I may not remember their names. But I can remember their stories. And sometimes, all we can do is hold someone’s story until they find whatever it takes to create a new one.

In my remembering, I can speak up, speak out, speak against the things that drag us down. I can keep doing one small thing everyday that makes a difference in the world to open up possibility that says, “Yes we can. End homelessness. Yes we can. Stop abuse. Yes we can. Make a difference.”

15 thoughts on “Yes we can. Make a difference.”

  1. I often think of the psychologist i have worked with and wonder if they remember me as a person or if i was just a “case” they were dealing with. Reading your post now makes me happy to see that you remember the person for who she is. Thank you

    Like

    Reply ↓

  5. Louise, this is so beautifully written and felt. I got tears in my eyes when he said your name. Even before I read the next sentence. The fact that you saw him as an individual, remembered his story, that he wasn’t just another homeless person to you made you memorable to him. That is what makes a difference for someone who lives as part of a crowd; being known.

    Like

    Reply ↓

  6. Louise, I have several comments today.

    1) I follow a lot of blogs and do a lot of reading. I want you to know that even though I don’t read every post of yours, your blog and this subject matter make it one of the most important blogs I keep tabs on. What you’re doing is wonderful and I appreciate the effort you have put into taking the time to write about it.

    2) This particular post was very well written and compelling. A very nice piece! A couple of lines stood out to me: “You can’t see what ‘better’ is if you’ve never experienced more than ‘this’.” That is such a true statement and one I have personally experienced. It’s that moment when you realize that “terrible” is your “normal” and you have to change your normal in order to get out of terrible. It’s difficult for other people to appreciate your circumstances, but you recognize it – you GET it – and that makes you special, Louise. Also, this line: “And sometimes, all we can do is hold someone’s story until they find whatever it takes to create a new one.” Oh, that line made me go, “Mmm, mmm, mmmm, so good!” Great line and insight, honestly! Sometimes, there are no ways to help but to be supportive, be a listener, an encourager, and to hold the person in our hearts until they have a new story to tell.

    3) You will be getting a special blog award from me someday. I just went through another list which will be on my Woo-Hoo next Wednesday, but I want you to know that you deserve something more special than to be lumped in with a list. I hope to give you the recognition you deserve someday. You are on my list ;0)

    Keep on writing. It’s a special gift for all of us to see the world of homelessness through your words.

    Like

    Reply ↓

    • Sigh. Smile. Warm rush of feeling. Smile again…. Okay. Composed now. So, Cindy… you have touched my heart and I am grateful. it is a lovely feeling to be embraced in the reciprocity of hearts touching and ‘seeing’ one another and knowing — we are all connected.

      Thank you. I really appreciate your words, and your acknowledgement. I appreciate your being present and your light.

      And…. I appreciate your blog. You make me smile — a lot! And that’s a good thing to do.

      Blessings,

      Like

      Reply ↓

      • I forgot to say that it is the Versatile Blogger award that I’m passing on in next Wednesday’s Woo-Hoo – there will be a link to you and other deserving bloggers, but few have such an important platform as you ;0)

        Like

Your comments create a beautiful circle of reciprocity. Please do comment.

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.