Why I prefer uncomfortable places

 

One of the truest things is how, in spending time with people, stuff comes up that you're not sure you want to deal with. My volunteering at Daybreak brings me in contact with people I'm both familiar and uneasy with. I don't know if I should be proud of it but I admire my own comfort with the crazy and drunk and the plain weird, and their comfort with me. 

In talking with one of my regulars, I'm always checking in with her about her safety. She carries all her belongings in a large rolling solid plastic suitcase, a development I've noticed a lot of people also use. It's unwieldy and limits her ability to move quickly. But she doesn't move fast to begin with: in her early 50s and a grandmother, she already has osteoarthritis, is pudgy in the way homeless people often are, and short. 

I've sometimes suggested places I've seen on my walks to her as places to stay dry and safe, but she's turned down each one, and I've come to see why. She prefers to stay under the railroad trestle where a lot of people gather, both a noisy and a cramped and damp place. But she's also found a dryer spot inside a tunnel a bit further down the road. When I asked her about the tunnel, she said she only stays there when it's raining hard, "otherwise I'm too lonely." 

And there it was. There is something to be said about the safety of being with others, becoming less a target, and I understand that. But what it pricked up in me was the realization that, in all my time on the road, I rarely bedded down where others did. I always sought out the lonely places, far out in the woods or abandoned houses or off the paths and out of sight. I like to be around people but on my terms. It might have been because it was easier to tell myself I was camping out than homeless  but even at Rainbow Gatherings, I'll pack up my tent and find a place more hidden away.  I prefer my solitude both when sleeping and relaxing. I don't think it's for physical safety--I've never been attacked or hurt when sleeping and don't think much about the possibility when I'm choosing a spot--but it is a more comfortable situation. 

There's a fellow I notice when I drive to Daybreak who sleeps in the doorway of an otherwise abandoned office building. Near as I can tell, he spends most of the day there. The concrete must be cooler in the heat as I see him lying there staring out at the world in the middle of the day. And each time I note that, if it was me, I'd walk the next block where the multistory parking garage is also empty. It would be easy to climb the wire gate and hoist my stuff in, scramble up and then be set for the foreseeable future in the cool of the covered second floor. I would be alone.