(24 Hour Challenge) Homeless

Image provided by @mihaly_koles.

As part of the 15th Anniversary celebration for Natetheworld.com, I am hosting a 24-hour writing challenge. Starting in January 2024, readers began submitting essay prompts. My goal is to tackle as many of these prompts as possible in a 24-hour period.

I will never forget my first time volunteering at the Oklahoma City Rescue Mission. Based on the media I had consumed, I found myself afraid. I didn’t trust homeless people.

I will never forget visiting Chicago in February. It was in the teens, and the windchill made things feel much worse. As we exited the restaurant and made our way back to the train, we found a man asleep on a sidewalk vent. The rush of warm air was all that kept him alive on that night.

I will never forget the first time I met two teenagers experiencing homelessness. They were both 13 years old and standing outside the King County Library in Kent. One had been kicked out of his house because he was gay. The other had been forced to leave because an abusive father discovered he was trans.

I will never forget the time spent with moms exiting homelessness at Kent Youth and Family Services. Their stories were powerful. In their short lives, they had overcome more than I could fathom.

I will never forget the first time I walked through the Skid Row area of downtown Los Angeles. As I walked the streets with a fellow employee who used to live on those very sidewalks, I was stunned to find myself standing in the epicenter of homelessness in the United States. All around me was total misery and countless systemic failures. My life changed at that moment.

I will never forget the first time I was around someone who was chronically homeless as we welcomed them to their new and forever home. As they were handed their keys, they were overcome with emotion, and so was I. The relief and trauma written across her face is something I will never forget.

I will never forget the sweet elderly lady who camped outside of our office in downtown Los Angeles. We sort of adopted her and made sure she had everything she needed. We brought her water, food, clothes, and personal items. One day, I was outside talking with her when I noticed rows and rows of names written on the inside cover of a discarded pizza box. I saw my name and asked, “What are all the names for?” She told me, “This is everyone who has ever brought me something. I pray for them every day.” As I walked away, I was baffled that someone in her state even had the time to think of others. The experience humbled me in ways I cannot even begin to quantify.

I will never forget my first week at The Center in Hollywood. The staff there wrapped their arms around each person who came for morning coffee. They were ready and willing to help, listen, and be a friend to a group of people that society often does its best to ignore.

I will never forget working with those same clients to tell their stories for a wider audience. I have always believed that if people could just understand the myriad ways in which a person falls into homelessness, they might be more willing to help lend some of their time, talent, or treasure.

I will never forget attending my first National Homeless Persons' Rememberance Day. Together, we honored and paid tribute to the countless people who die on the streets of America every year.

I will never forget hours spent in soup kitchens, building tiny homes, packing food, advocating, and serving this community. When people see my schedule, I am often asked, “How do you do it all?” My response is always the same, “I am doing it for them.”

I will never forget writing an article for the newsletter at the Senior Center of West Seattle about how we should interact with our homeless neighbors. I will never forget the ugliness of a woman who disagreed with everything I wrote.

I will never forget assisting with the opening of my first new community at Mercy Housing Northwest. Realizing the potential of that place filled me with pride and joy. I was so honored to be a small part of something much bigger than me.

I will never forget these experiences spent in the presence of those who are experiencing or have experienced homelessness. They have shaped, molded, and changed me in ways I will never fully understand. While I am just a storyteller, they have filled me with determination. I will do everything I can to bring them home.

Be good to each other,

Nathan

Battle for Los Angeles

On a sunny afternoon in downtown Los Angeles, I was at work sitting at my desk. At the time, I worked for a permanent supportive housing provider focused mostly on the Skid Row neighborhood. As I mindlessly entered donor information into our database, it dawned on me that Los Angeles would be hosting the 2028 Olympics.  

At first, I felt a rush of excitement. Living in a city that would one day hold the title of center of the sports world filled me with joy and pride. I even allowed myself to consider which Olympic events I would attend.  

As I fell farther down this rabbit hole, I was snapped back to reality. Looking around me, I began to think of our work to house LA’s chronically homeless adults. I then considered how those attending the Olympics and those experiencing homelessness might intersect. Thinking of all possibilities, a wave of embarrassment and sadness washed over me.  

The day this Olympic-sided thought dawned on me, Los Angeles was a decade away from hosting the event. Now, they are a mere four years away. I no longer call myself a citizen of LA, but I cannot stop thinking about the next four years. I keep wrestling with thoughts about the Olympics and the unhoused citizens of Los Angeles County.  

Soon, the whole world will fix their eyes on Southern California. Your television screen will be filled with images of the Santa Monic Peir, the San Gabriel Mountains, sandy beaches, towering palm trees, and the iconic Hollywood sign. What won’t fill your screen is a battle Los Angeles has been waging for decades.  

In 2018, when I worked in LA, more than 50,000 residents of Los Angeles County experienced homelessness at any given point in the year. At the time, this was an astonishing number, but there was hope. Massive investments were underway throughout the city and county, and from the state, to tackle the challenge. According to the Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority homeless count, the population of people experiencing homelessness has ballooned to 75,000. This number is a 9% increase from 2022.  

Los Angeles County is losing the battle. While monumental and admirable strides have been made to house people, too many people continue to fall into homelessness. All the initiatives to build more housing have been successful, but they have failed to keep people from falling into homelessness. The challenge before Los Angeles is a challenge of affordability.  

Soon, the whole world will have their eyes fixed on Southern California.  

I cannot help but wonder what the next four years will have in store for those experiencing homelessness in Los Angeles County. As we draw closer to the Olympic games, I fear the government will buckle to pressure and attempt to hide the problem, rather than solve it. I also fear the homeless population will continue to grow. When the Olympic torch finally reaches Los Angeles, I expect 90,000 people (about the seating capacity of the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum) may experience homelessness on any given night. That is staggering.

For those who choose to attend the games in person, how will they judge, not just Los Angeles or California, but the United States as a whole? How will they judge the wealthiest country in the history of mankind?  

I can only imagine those painful conversations. I can picture the memories they will make and the stories they will take home with them. For many, I assume their perception of the United States will be shattered beyond repair.  

Thinking of those potential moments of shock and horror, I find myself filled with embarrassment, shame, and rage. It didn’t have to be this way. All American cities, coast to coast and all points in between, could have written a different story. Instead of pursuing unbridled capitalism at all costs, we could have ensured that the rising tides of success lifted all boats. We could have long ago retired the myth of trickle-down economics. We could have treated addiction and mental illness with the grace and kindness they deserve. We could have stopped displacing people. We could have ended the racist policies that kept/keep people from enjoying the fruits of a booming economy. We could have treated homelessness like a crisis on par with any war we have waged in my lifetime. We could have created the world’s greatest safety net and ensured no one fell behind.  

We chose a different course. And we chose wrong. The evidence is all around us.  

While no one deserves to feel the sting of homelessness, we deserve to feel embarrassed and ashamed for what we have allowed to happen. My only hope is that it enrages us toward action. When the Olympic torch flickers no more in Los Angeles, I hope the next day is a new one for America. On that day, I hope we finally get serious about solving the humanitarian crisis in our backyard.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan   

Homeless

These are American refugees.

They are the personification of systemic failures.

Crowding city sidewalks, under bridges, and the sides of highways, they are everywhere.

Every neighborhood is Skid Row.

With the passing of each year, the numbers swell.

The system is far from fixed.

Urban problems are becoming suburban challenges.

We can all define poverty now.

Attitudes are changing.

Tolerance and willingness appear in a closing window.

There isn’t much time.

There never is.

Patience feels like lightning in a bottle.

It is nearly impossible to capture.

Homelessness in LA is a generational challenge.

The electorate expects overnight results.

We were supposed to be better than this.

This city can be of no good unless it is good for everyone.

Be good to each other,

Nathan

On the Fringes

As we debate approaches to solving the complex challenges of homelessness in American cities, what is often missing from the conversation is empathy. As the middle class continues to shrink, many of us are a single financial disaster from housing instability. This calamity can come as job loss, foreclosure, repossession, medical emergencies, or a thousand other ways a financial system such as ours can bleed you dry. Couple this reality with our poor approaches to mental health and substance use treatment, and you discover anyone of us could become homeless.

Walking out of a subway tunnel on a cold Chicago night, I stepped over a man lying on a vent blasting heat from the ground below. The temperature was approaching zero degrees outside. Tonight, this would serve as his only form of heat and relief. Walking through Seattle’s Pioneer Square neighborhood, a woman with a disfigured face approached me. Desperately, I looked away from the face before me, ravaged by drugs, abuse, and a system that has ignored her. Walking Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles with a formerly homeless man, I was stunned by the sheer volume of people packed tightly together on the sidewalks of America’s second most populous metropolis. On countless corners to countless highway overpasses, I have read signs screaming for help or a moment of kindness as I averted my attention and made myself busy while waiting for the light to turn green.

In every single one of these instances, I have thought long and hard about what it would mean to be homeless. After working for three years in permanent supportive housing in Los Angeles, I became consumed by the thought of what it would mean to be chronically homeless in the wealthiest country in human history. This essay is an attempt to put myself in the shoes of someone else. If you are up for it, I implore you to attempt the same exercise.

For you to become homeless, what systems would need to fail you?

If I were to become homeless, I would assume several things did not go my way. I would assume I lost my job or found myself in an extended period of unemployment. After spending the first 11 months of the pandemic unemployed and frantically searching for a job, this thought is not inconceivable to me. My savings would be depleted, and I would max my credit cards out. Unable to pay rent, the owners of our apartment would evict us. Unable to pay back the loan on my car, it would be repossessed. If the sadness and extended period of depression I felt in 2020 were to return, I could see my mental health rapidly deteriorating. I am a social drinker and have always been cognizant of overindulgence in the wake of trauma, but that does not mean I would not turn to alcohol as a coping mechanism in the face of my life falling apart.

As my life spiraled out of control, I would find myself reliant on a convoluted housing and support system filled with roadblocks, barriers, and dead ends. In this thought experiment, an extended period of homelessness based on systemic failure is not inconceivable to me.

For you to remain homeless, who would fail to show up for you?

We must all be responsible for our own actions. We will get to personal responsibility in a moment. Falling into homelessness often means your support network failed to show up or could not show up forever.

As I spent 11 months looking for work, we remained housed. Brandon’s parents allowed us to stay in their guest room. Their home became my own. For nearly a year, I had food to eat, clean clothes to wear, and a roof overhead. No one asked me when I was leaving or to pay my part. I was a guest in their home, but it is easy for me to fathom the loss of this safety net.

Working with housed and unhoused individuals for more than a decade now, I have heard countless stories about families and friends who grew impatient with someone’s extended stay. My heart has broken as I listened to LGBTQ+ kids describe being kicked out of their homes because of who they are and who they love. I have lost count of how many times I have heard tales of loving people unable to handle the challenges of addiction and mental illness. Bridges burn, doors close, and then people facing homelessness are forced to make tough decisions. When there is nowhere else to turn, homelessness becomes the only option.

How would you fail yourself and those around you?

Let us be very clear and honest with each other. No one chooses a mental health disorder. The coping mechanisms of our choices usually find us at our lowest point. I also believe no one chooses to be homeless. Those wanting to live “off the grid” are not calling highway overpasses and street corners home by choice. Failure to rise above these challenges often speaks more of a lack of resources than it does personal failings, but there must be some personal responsibility.

At my lowest point in 2020, the depression and anxiety I felt about the future were uncontrollable. I desperately wanted to be happy and hopeful about the future. I wanted to feel as if better days were before me. In my heart of hearts, I knew this to be true, but the evidence before me was telling a different story. In these moments, I searched for healthy outlets. I read, ran, watched movies, or played video games. I did everything I could think of to keep myself from obsessing over the financial damage extended unemployment was doing to me.

My depression could have led to some dark places. It might have meant suicidal ideation, or it could have opened the door to substance use. From here, the potential path is murky, but it is totally possible that these decisions could have led to me losing my housing.

How would it feel to be homeless?

Interacting with unhoused people is an unfortunate part of living in a major American city. As we walk the city streets, they might ask us for change or something to eat. Stopped at a red light, we read signs of those seeking help. We might be forced to step over someone sleeping in a doorway or to shuffle past a tent on a sidewalk. For many of us, these are minor inconveniences and a part of life. These interactions never last long; a couple of seconds and life returns to normal. But not for them.

With my own eyes, I have watched people totally ignore homeless people asking for change or food. I have even seen unhoused people harassed for asking for help. I have pretended to be busy to avoid making eye contact. On multiple occasions, I have crossed to the other side of the street to avoid confrontation. I have watched homeless people verbally berated and physically forced to move along, and I have seen encampments torn down. In these instances, I have often wondered what it would feel like to be homeless.

All of us are guilty of trying to avoid confrontation with homeless people. We avoid eye contact and will not smile in their direction in fear that the simple gesture will open the door to an ask. We ignore homeless neighbors and often fail to even acknowledge their presence. They are modern-day lepers who we avoid at all costs. How must this feel?

How must it feel to be at the lowest point in life and at your most vulnerable? How must it feel to seek kindness and refuge from your fellow human beings, only to find no help? How does it feel to have a system totally ignore and fail you at every turn? How does the constant fear of longing for food and shelter feel? How does it feel to be constantly on guard and unsafe? How does it feel to be unwanted and treated as less than? How does it feel to be seen and treated as if you are unworthy of love? How does it feel to know there are solutions to your challenges, only to discover neighbors who fear your presence and assign characteristics you would never assign yourself?

Standing in a place of empathy, try answering all these questions for yourself. We all assume we have the resources and network to avoid such a fate. If that is true for you, please consider your privilege. If you are honest, you will soon realize homelessness can happen to anyone. It knows no race, creed, religion, political persuasion, gender, or sexuality. Anyone can be homeless, and everyone is.

Understanding the truth and placing yourself in the shoes of others should change the conversation. For me, it did. I hope it will do the same for you. The solutions to these challenges are right before us. Solving them will require empathy, courage, and political will. It will mean retiring cliches and long-held beliefs. It will mean education and spending time with people experiencing homelessness. As you begin this journey, I implore you to keep an open mind and prepare to have your worldview shattered. In that space, we change our communities for the better.

Be good to each other,

Nathan

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