Homeless or Unhoused They’re Still Sleeping on the Streets!

When will we really care enough for things to change?

Anyone who has been following my stories, particularly about my writing life and the tips I provide, you know I decided to take my own good advice, and go on a last minute getaway trip to the beach.

I happen to still be on my three day mini-vacation (as of this writing), but I felt compelled to interrupt my day’s agenda and return to my room to write.

If you read this story to the end, you’ll see why it was so important for me to stop and write.

Arrival on the Beach

When I first arrived at my hotel located just a stone’s throw from the beach, it was late evening.

I was totally content not to do too much, other than walk down the boardwalk, and grab something to eat, before returning to the room.

I discovered not much was open, so I didn’t go too far, but I went far enough to notice there were just as many transients as tourists in the area.

It didn’t bother me because I live in South Central Los Angeles, and I see all kinds of people, every day. But I was surprised about the unusual lack of distance between the two above-mentioned groups.

I don’t know why, but I felt some kind of way about it, but only for an instant, and I didn’t allow myself to analyze it or dwell on it. At least not then.

Since it had gotten dark, what I was seeing wasn’t even the half of the situation. That’s what I realized the very next morning.

Things got weird for me the next day, when I went to the cute little sidewalk café, with a blue canopy. I was seated outside, and prepared to enjoy a meal.

I waited on my order of OJ and the “original breakfast” of eggs, hash browns, bacon and toast.

I watched as blond skaterboarders whizzed by and, mellow easy listening music to match the beauty of the sunny morning played softly in the background.

Sounds wonderful right? Well here comes the part that made me feel so weird — and I only use the word weird because honestly, I can’t define exactly what it made me feel.

Just ten feet away from where I sat in my comfy little cushioned seat, were homeless encampments literally lining the boardwalk.

There they were, rows and rows of invisible homes that only a select few really see; like the ones who have an eye for spotting pain and despair, mixed in with the distractions of beers, and lattes, sunny days and beautiful views.

I saw them. I only glimpsed them the night before, but today I saw them.

The sick uneasy feeling that I didn’t realize had developed the previous evening, had decided to take root, and forced me to be conscious of it, even if I couldn’t quite identify what “it” was.

There was absolutely no way to deny what I was seeing right in front of my eyes, even though they tried to be tricky with the whole heartless situation.

The “they” I refer to is not the “unhoused” or homeless or however you choose to refer to the countless human beings forced to sleep on the streets (for whatever reasons).

No, the “they” I refer to as being tricky, is the establishment. The man. The ones who want to bring in the condos and more retail shops to revitalize the area; like that’s exactly what’s needed.

So what they are doing out on the beach, is trying to cover their shame, and attempting to camouflage the obvious.

The “unhoused” and the homeless encampments were mixed in, (and quite nicely I might add) among the various hard working street vendors and artists who struggle to make a living on the boardwalk.

The blue tarps and scatterings of popup tents, in many instances, appeared to be “decorated” with other artsy, blankets and coverings, giving the area a kind of bohemian feel to it.

But make no mistake, in spite of the look of things at first glance, anyone who actually looked at what they were seeing, knew full well what they were looking at.

As I began truly scoping out the situation, I was barely able to touch the food when it arrived.

I had the server bring me a container and I put the breakfast inside, minus the bit of scrambled eggs I sat aside, and the one piece of bacon I swiped.

I sat for a few minutes, suddenly feeling guilty for enjoying the freshly squeezed orange juice that was brimming with pulp.

Never in my life had I ever felt, or thought I would feel as “privileged” as I did in that moment.

I won’t say I felt “blessed” because to me, that would imply that the people living on the streets don’t have the Creator’s blessings, and I know that’s definitely not true.

I glanced around at the other cafe patrons, happily eating, chattering and enjoying their meals, and apparently their lives.

They all seemed completely oblivious to what was going on right around them — hell, right in front of them!

Up and down the boardwalk, people strolled, stopping to buy trinkets and souvenirs of water color paintings, and various beach themed items.

I couldn’t believe what I was watching. Pretending a situation doesn’t exit doesn’t magically make it go away. Social injustice is real and it comes in many forms, poverty being among them.

I guess it’s easier for society to live in denial, than to acknowledge when something is wrong, especially if they may actually have to help do something about it. It’s a sad reality, but it’s a fact of life.

Numerous homeless, unhoused people are living on California beaches and have become invisible to society. But at the same time, society is screaming for social justice and social change.

This contradiction in our society is what enables a homeless, unhoused lifestyle to exist. When will it change?

How much longer can we live alongside those who are hungry or live in poverty, or who are always on the wrong side of justice in this world?

We superficially “notice” them, but maybe we could actually “see” the humanity in them, if we look beyond the dirt and grime they’re covered in, from the hard cold streets they live on.

I wondered if the people having such a good time living their lives, knew that many of those vendors they were smiling in the faces of, were the same unhoused, homeless people that they turned their noises up at, or worse yet, just plain old refused to see.

After thinking about the question for a while, I answered it for myself, as I stood up to leave. “Of course they know. The real question is, do they care? And if they did, what difference would it make?

Before heading back to my hotel room to right this story, I stopped and handed the breakfast I packed, to the first unhoused person I saw, sitting on a bench.

He smiled and thanked me. I smiled back, and left, feeling within myself that there was so much more I should be doing.

The TAKEAWAY

Life can sometimes deal us a bad hand, no matter who we are, or what walk of life we come from.

You never know when your situation could go from bad to worse and you find yourself unhoused.

That’s why we should never judge or look down on those less fortunate than us, but rather, do our best to lend a helping hand, if for nothing but the sake of good Karma.

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Thanks again for stopping and allowing me to share this story with you. I hope you develop self-awareness from my personal essays, and valuable life lessons for your everyday relationships. I also challenge you to try my effective writing tips and advice, that are designed to help you be a more productive and creative short story Medium writer.

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