I've been thinking about Phil Collins' song "Another Day in Paradise" a lot lately.

She calls out to the man on the street
"Sir, can you help me?
It's cold and I've nowhere to sleep
Is there somewhere you can tell me?"
He walks on, doesn't look back
He pretends he can't hear her
Starts to whistle as he crosses the street
Seems embarrassed to be there
Oh think twice, cause it's another day for
You and me in paradise
Oh think twice, cause it's another day for you
You and me in paradise

I can remember hearing and singing along to this song many times as a kid. Never did I think I'd actually live it.

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People gathered around the entrance to a shelter downtown on Saturday morning. It's common to see people sleeping in doorways all over the city.

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In fact, there is a whole laundry list of things I've learned and experienced by being homeless that I couldn't have foreseen. It's difficult to know where to even begin in sharing such things. Harder still to find the right words to convey them. But I shall try.

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There are so many tidbits of practical information about the homeless life I've either had to learn through trial and error, or pick up from interaction with and observation of others. And in Seattle, there is definitely no shortage of un-housed people. It seems like there are enough homeless people in this city to constitute a sizable minority group, akin to those based on ethnicity. Simply put, I don't go a day without running into others in situations similar to mine. That can be both a positive and negative thing. More on that later.

Anyway, one of the most basic, yet essential, subjects I've had to learn about is dealing with your stuff.

I've never been one to carry around much stuff with me. Prior to my current situation, I'd very rarely be seen with even a backpack. This is mainly due to my issues with anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder that cause me extreme fear of the possibility of losing things while out and about. Of course, without the luxury of having a place to leave my stuff, that fear is something I've been forced to deal with. Both the physical and mental aspects of this have been significant. Carrying around one's life is no easy task -- it's a balancing act between utility, comfort, and security.
On the streets of Seattle, one will see many people carrying objects that often indicate their homeless status: large, unwieldy duffel bags and hiking packs, sleeping bags and blankets, beaten-up shopping bags, luggage, and even shopping carts and tenting equipment. Walking around with and loading and unloading these items from buses all day is certainly exhausting. Especially when you factor in the rainy conditions and overcrowding that typically plague Seattle, successfully maintaining one's belongings can be a major feat in itself.

The only alternative to lugging one's possessions around everywhere is to find a place to leave them, which is often a risky gamble. I've met or heard from many people who have had their things stolen, usually by other homeless people. This happened to me as well. Luckily, it was nothing terribly important, but it was a discouraging event all the same. I learned how to assess people and situations for the level of risk involved in leaving my stuff unattended, even for a few minutes, and act accordingly.

Needless to say, it's tiresome and inconvenient to have to keep such close watch on my stuff all the time, and I don't even have nearly as much as many others. Sometimes I can let my guard down a bit in a select few trusted places, and occasionally I strike up a friendly conversation with someone in a public place who I feel I can trust to watch stuff for me, and vice versa. But every day, the worry and anxiety about the possibility of theft is just another thing weighing me down mentally.

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Smoke!?

-A random man with one leg, lying on the sidewalk downtown in the middle of the night.

Apparently, cigarettes are a prized commodity on the streets. If you ever want to feel like Santa Claus, go downtown and give out cigarettes to all the homeless people in sight.

But really, people on the streets really want cigarettes, all of the time. Anyone seen smoking, especially in the downtown area, is immediately set upon by people begging for a cigarette. I even see folks scanning the ground for any discarded cigarettes to pick up and smoke. I do understand the brief respite smoking a cigarette can offer from the misery of life on the streets, but I was still surprised by the level of obsession I've witnessed.

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The above-quoted Phil Collins song captures well one of the darker discoveries I've made about homeless life -- the soul-crushing, desperate loneliness that consumes one whole, as surely as a black hole devours any trace of light.

A typical night for me these days consists of plodding along the wet sidewalks at a slow pace -- killing time, as I have nowhere to hurry to. My back aching from another long day of constantly carrying around my belongings.

I scan my surroundings, ever vigilant of any potential threats. The late hour clears the streets of the usual traffic sounds, leaving a heavy silence to linger among the tall buildings. The eerie quiet is interrupted by the occasional wailing siren, or angry obscenities hurled by people huddled in doorways at subjects not visible. The cold breeze carries the consistent smell of cigarettes and wet garbage, with an intermittent whiff of weed smoke.

A group of sharply-dressed people exit a high-end downtown restaurant and walk towards me, taking up the width of the sidewalk. I move to the side and stop to let them pass. They don't seem to have noticed my presence.

I continue walking, picking up my pace, trying to look more purposeful, pretending I have somewhere specific to go. I approach a bus stop where a man with a sleeping bag tied to his backpack is waiting. We glance at each other, and I notice the same expression on his face that I feel on my own. A seemingly permanent grimace, along with an empty, tired stare. I internally hope that my eyes don't betray my feelings of vulnerability and utter defeat.

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Part 1 of this series can be found here.

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