naked notes

This year, remember one thing: You’re no different than the homeless. On second thought, that’s a near thoughtless statement and I take it back, because you are different. At least a little. You have a roof over your head, you’re not completely starved, your bed is warmish and you even have a job, or two, or three. But let me tell you why this year, you got a thing or two to learn from the homeless.

If you’re like me, then it’s possible you went home to your parents for the holiday season, tail between your legs, feeling as broke and pathetic as you looked. “You’re 30.” They say. “Why don’t you have your shit together?” My parents originate from another country, a place that’s more a refugee state at this point than a prosperous nation. Where they come from if you managed to get into “University” (and they say it as if there was only one in the whole country), then you were a doctor by 21 and married by 23. At my age I’m considered a failure for producing no children, no wedding ring, and no successful career to speak of.

“Why don’t you have your shit together?” is what every question about your wellbeing seems to infer. If only you had a dime for every time you asked yourself that very question, you’d be a rich woman you tell them.

Ha Ha, they mock.

“Why can’t you be a teacher?” Your mother asks in all seriousness.

If you’re a girl, this might be the point at which you burst into tears. Being broke after all is a sensitive issue. If you’re a guy, this might be when you throw your bowl of oatmeal at the wall and storm dramatically out of the kitchen. They’re tryin’ to break my spirit you think to yourself. You scowl. Your ego hurts.

All you mother really asked was why you didn’t consider teaching to make money. All you heard was “When are you going to get your shit together.”

But this, I tell ya, is no time to lose your cool.

This is the time to hustle like the homeless do. You live in New York after all, where the craftiest of hustlers reside. You’ve studied the New York Times published poet that cops a squat in the 14th Street Subway—looking all poetic and forlorn—you’ve heard countless speeches from beggars on the subway that have lost a job, lost an apartment, can’t get no work, impregnated a girlfriend… You know the speech: Ladies and gentleman, if I could just have a moment of your time, I’m not a drug addict, I just need to get my (insert survival item here), etc. etc. God bless you and have a good day. You’ve traversed corners of the city where the homeless clean car windows with newspapers and fake Windex and where smelly and crooked-toothed as they are, they can still charm you into a smile when you walk past and they say, Hey girl, let me be the cream in your coffee…(What? That doesn’t charm you? I’m alone on this one?)

But they’ve got you, you feel bad for them, your heart softens for a moment and then bam! They walk away with a little spare change and the other half of your hard-earned turkey sandwich. You might be hard as nails, but even your broke ass gave them a buck or two because of your superstitious belief in good karma. Maybe you did it because you have a sense of empathy; despite the hustle, it’s hard to be down and out. But if you look closer, you’ll notice something subtle. The most beloved and the best of the down and out have mastered the art of charm.

If they can put on a performance, humble themselves in the face of those who think they should be doing better and work them for a little spare change, who are you to get all defensive when your parents call you out. Try this instead: when you go home, make sure to wear your tattered clothing, don’t bother gussying yourself up, let your hair go a little ratty. Look as pathetic and tired as you really are. Don’t get defensive; humble yourself in your time of need. Feel no shame in your struggles, just admit that you’re struggling. Miracles will befall you for one simple reason: honesty is charming. If you’re lucky like me, your father will pull out his wallet and spot you a little cash. Your mother will take you shopping for some pants that fit and you’ll eat hearty while you’re at home. You might even get a going away present that’ll ease you back into the life of suffering that awaits you in the city that you keep telling your parents offers you so much opportunity. My mom knit me a scarf! When the hell did she pick up knitting?

The homeless deal with their lot in life. You’re just dealing with rough times to make it through to better ones. I keep reminding myself of this just like I keep reminding myself that not everyone who looks homeless actually is. I’ve got more to be thankful for and I’ve got people that feel more than a little obligated to help me out now and again. You do too: They’re called family. Take the help when they offer, hard as it is. They live to make your life miserable, but you’ve got to grow up and learn a thing or two about grace. If you’re brave enough to be as down and out as you really are they’ll let up if only for a moment. Despite their nagging and love of you-bashing, they’re funny that way.

Category: Uncategorized

No Comments