What A Homeless Man And A Shirt Taught Me

I was having a bad day.

What is a bad day?

To me, it is not anything that rises from the external, but an upwelling of a tide from within. Bad things can happen in a day; late for work, a bad cup of coffee, too much to do in the day, or a sore arm when I wake.

To me, a bad day is the surge of the pain I feel from within. The loss, the grief, and the angry words I use against myself.

In all of that was the voice of someone who loves me in my ear. She was not close, but miles away and yet could see deep into my eyes and feel the pain that had overwhelmed me. The sound of her voice pulled me out of that darkness, yet on that afternoon it only held the demons at bay, not slay them.

She told me to walk, to just go and walk.

There is something about walking that heals. I will figure out the why one day. I think it is the changing images that move before your eyes or the heart fueling the body to move. Each step leaves behind the breath that was locked in your lungs and draws in new air from the next step. However it is, walking heals.

So I walked.

Grabbing shoes, I hit the streets of the city and found the pavement moving beneath my feet. I walked, with little care of direction or surrounding or anything.

North of where I lived is where the homeless go. I went out and walked by them. I had been one of them.

Quiet and loud, and hurt and free.

The late afternoon turned to night and I grew cold. The air still held the bite of the recent passing of winter days.

The cold froze those demons in the walk. The breeze blew their stench from my mind. I walked alone, quietly and the world held me. When the pain had slipped enough away and the images had come to my eyes, I found myself colder, yet miles from home.

The night was falling, and the walk back would be both long, and through some interesting streets.

A transit station was ahead and provided a quick way back along my path. With no cash or wallet, I slipped through, skipping the fare. At this time and this hour, there was not much enforcement of fares. I sat down on the seat, shivering and looking at the images roll past.

In front to my left, a homeless man was going through a black garbage bag of clothes. He verbally exclaimed with each find and discovery. One of the local organizations took donated clothes and gave out these bags. Giveaways from people and treasured by others. This man certainly was a happy recipient.

He looked around happy with his discoveries and luck. His eyes settled on me. I was still shivering from the long cold walk. The train was not much warmer. Then the man spoke.

“You are cold. Take this one,” as he reached out a long-sleeved shirt to me.

“Thank you. I am good. “ I replied quietly.

There are times when the world opens up. It speaks to you and you listen. I cast my gaze out the window as the tears slipped from my eyes.

I live in a world of plenty. A world of so much. I eat when hungry, no longer going without. I sleep in my home, a place where my pictures are on the wall, not a cold piece of ground. When I hurt, someone loves me, and tells me to walk and heal.

Here is a man on a train. His happiness is a garbage bag of used clothes. In the world, he is seen as less, treated as less, and is the person, people cross the street to avoid.

Still, he sees me, cold, there next to him. I am cold but dressed well. I come from the world of plenty and it shows to anyone who has been without. Yet he sees a fellow human, cold next to him, and he offers him his newly treasured shirt.

I watch his reflection in the window as he continues through the bag of treasures. He is pulling out each piece and trying them on. He is building layers to keep himself warm.

My stop comes up and I move to get off the train. He sees me leaving and stops his rummaging through the bag. He looks up and speaks.

“Get someplace warm buddy.”

“I will friend,” I reply as I move off.

A last glance back at him shows that he is putting on the last layer of clothes he will use to keep himself warm for the night. It is the best shirt in the lot. It is the shirt he offered me.

I lack words and revisit this scene in my head often, and repeatedly. I have had some amazing teachers and yet, in the beauty that is humanity, this teacher speaks loudly.

I don't know how to describe an act of a human who has less than nothing, and still at his moment of simple rich bounty, instantly looks to give his best away.

I hope I can honour the lesson from that night. I collect little, and live simply, yet have so much. I hope I can walk through my life and give away my best shirt at the moment when someone may just need it.

Maybe that shirt is a moment of time, maybe it is a smile, or maybe a piece of all that I have in plenty.

As summer nights get colder and fall looms, I hope you have someone who will give you the warmest shirt in the bag.