My Surprising Insights from Meeting 3 Homeless People & Ralph Fiennes

When we look into another world, we find ourselves.

The deranged. The down and out. The better-dressed-than-me. The entertainers. The shifty and the long-suffering. Quite a cacophony of characters. How you do feel when you see a homeless person?

While living in NYC, I mostly avoided them. To feel OK about myself, I did the do-gooder thing. Put money in the blue and white paper cup, a moment of “there but through the grace of God” blah blah, and scurry on.

Meanwhile, on my self-constructed life lesson path, I began to toy with a couple of ideas.

One, the world is reflecting what I need to know about myself.

Two, we are all connected. There is no I and You. There is only Us. The Us included everything on the planet, but I thought I’d start with humans to narrow the field. And I am more at Us with a tree or a bird than a human. So it would be tougher to do.

Per usual, my lessons arrived in an unusual form. The homeless started talking to me. Then things got very real.

Lesson 1: A collision of worlds

First came a shabbily dressed man, gentle energy, always on the same bench on Central Park West. We had little exchanges and I decided I would REALLY help him. I gathered some clothes and carted them off to the bench.

He looked from them to me and said, “I can’t take them.”

Fighting back irritation, I asked why.

“Because they’ll be stolen in the shelter. I could use socks and underwear though. Easy to wear more than one.”

His reality smacked into mine. The sharp edges and elbows of his daily existence were another stream of life altogether. Having to wear multiple layers of socks and underpants. The image was honest and heartbreaking.

I knew nothing about what his life was like. My preconceptions stopped at — it’s an addiction problem, a mental health problem, a slipping out of the norm problem. I saw the problem, not the person. Time to step out of my protective blanket. Time to see each person with their gifts, pain, and a story of their own.

I gathered together my philosophical response.

“OK. I understand. Socks and underwear.”

I delivered them and one day shortly after he disappeared. I never saw him again.

Lesson 2: Finding an answer in no answers

On another bench, on another day, a downtrodden, 60ish woman sat next to me. Her story fell out of her like jumbled skeins of wool. Lost her job, health issues, stayed with her parents, parents died, now she’s on the street.

I offered some money but she didn’t want it; she wanted someone to listen, that’s all. We had several conversations on the bench with each step of her descent recounted in detail. It was no one’s fault but here she was.

Anything I could come up with seemed woefully inadequate. Socks were not going to cover it this time. I know, they didn’t the first time either, but she encroached closer into the realm of what could happen to me. Life after falling through the net of false security.

But maybe I was doing what could be done. She had a place to put her troubles. It might give her enough space to find a solution or the courage to approach someone who knew of more resources. I don’t know. But at least I listened this time. Minor progress.

Before I found answers to offer, if there were any to find, she stopped coming. I landed in limbo, like with gentle Mr. Central Park West.

My learning from her? Never take anything for granted. Not to fearfully clutch at it, keeping it ‘safe’. This goes nowhere. I grew up living with a huge fear of loss and we had everything we needed, No. Enjoy, live, share what’s here now.

Lesson 3: How similar we can be

Then came Rasta man. Massive dreadlocks. He was given to talking to himself, but he also was clear about his mission. The first time I tried to hand him money, he stopped me cold.

“First, I have to give you something.”

“OK,” I say, not clear if I want to touch whatever it might be. Old habits die hard.

“Have you heard of Eckhart Tolle?”

Surprise!

“Um, yes, I have actually.”

“How about Joseph Campbell?”

“Love him. Fascinating stuff.” Now I felt like a jerk. Why didn’t I say no and let him off the hook?

Rasta man dug deeper. His face lights up.

“Amma!”

“No, I have not heard of him.”

Big Rasta Smile shining a few missing teeth. “SHE gives hugs, pure love. She comes to the Universalist Church.” (This is well before she made appearances in Madison Square Garden.)

“I’d love that. I’ll find out when she’s coming.”

“The fall, Amma always comes in the fall.”

We concluded that exchange and continued having them until he, too, disappeared. He knew a lot, Rasta man. I’d have never seen it without him pushing me into it. Which is, I imagine, why he did it.

Here the mirror was direct. He was on the same quest as me: to open spiritually, to offer what I know to others. We just had different haircuts. And I suspect he’s reached more people than I have. People will definitely remember him.

All these people had something to show me. Understanding, connection, humanness, and Amma. No label of convenience — down and out, addict, drunk, mentally disturbed — could keep their uniqueness under wraps. But I had to see past my illusion of separateness to get there.

Then came the ringer. If you haven’t discovered this, be prepared for plot twists while on any spiritual quest.

Lesson 4: It’s never over until you look at it from the other side

Walking in London one day, I spotted a seedy, beleaguered-looking man on the next corner. I pulled out a couple of pounds from my pocket, ready to see where the encounter would go. Maybe just coins in the cup. Maybe something more. I didn’t try to figure it out, I stayed open.

As I came to the corner, the man turned around. I found myself standing in front of Ralph Fiennes.

Oops.

I kept walking, but I shouldn’t have. Why make the distinction? Perhaps he needed to connect with someone at that moment. The incongruity of my two pounds may have been just the thing.

But I didn’t dare. My preconceived notion was he would look down on me, find me ridiculous, or a nuisance. I did not belong in his world. The reverse story but the same dynamic of my other encounters. I made him ‘other than me’.

Yep. Right when you think you’ve learned something, you get the screwball pitch. I swung and missed.

It’s about seeing through the veil. Grace and flaws. Connection. Taking down the walls. Theirs. Mine. Ralph’s. How similar we all are. Similar even in our uniqueness.

So what’s my takeaway…?

It’s about creating a web. There isn’t a you, me, Rasta man, Ralph, wool lady, or sock guy. There is only Us. The people on the street are a window into Us. It’s easier to see it with them because they’re right there. Not engrossed in their phone (usually) or barricaded behind their ideas. They need help from people, so they are more available to them.

It’s not about saving them but seeing them. I’m not minimizing their difficulties or romanticizing them. There is great difficulty and pain, flaws and nastiness for sure. But there’s also funny, touching, and knowledgeable. I did know their names 30 years ago. Time has erased that, but I remember their faces and how they felt.

Well, that’s what I learned. Your experience may be something else altogether. Next time you pass someone who is asking for money, see the person, not their situation. Give some money if you want. Money is just energy. It opens the door. If nothing else, maybe now they can buy lunch.

Exchange a glance, a smile, and maybe an experience. Then ask yourself — why did my path cross this person on this particular day? I’m sure the answer will be worth the time.

Would love to hear about your experience. Email me at [email protected].