Next Time...

I walk out the back door of my apartment building. As I push open the door, I am met with a rush of brisk air. It is cold. There is a man rifling through the building's dumpster--I assume looking for cans and bottles that can be returned for their cash deposit. I walk by; he doesn't look up at all. Just after I pass him, I stop.

I have ignored my neighborhood can-collectors too many times.

I turn around and tell him if he wants to wait a minute, I can run upstairs and give him the few cans and bottles I have. "Sure," he says, after realizing that I am not going to chastise him.

I come back down, hand him a small bag of bottles, probably worth less than a dollar, and I say, "it's not much but..." He replies with, "That's OK, every little bit helps. Thank you very much." I say, "You're welcome," and go on my way. I start off on my morning run. I can't stop thinking about him, feeling like I didn't do enough. And I can't stop recognizing that every time I start to think I'm poor, I get hit over the head with a dose of reality and realize that I am not. I am wealthy, in so many ways.

I think about how cold it is, how many people are without homes, without food, just simply without. I think about how I enjoy seeing the same street people on a regular basis in my neighborhood. Then I think about community. People talk and talk and talk--incessantly sometimes--about community. But I don't think it is regularly considered that people such as this man are also a part of our communities.

As I carry on with my run, naturally my thoughts drift to other more self-centered topics. At this point, I don't even know what I spent the time thinking about.

Toward the end of my run, nearing home again, I'm passing through the park. I'm daydreaming about when I can possibly make my next trip to Europe or elsewhere, and bam! I see a shopping cart. I immediately recognize his shopping cart for some reason--its green tarp carefully wrapped around, securing all his belongings. I look beyond the cart and I see him--the man I gave the cans to--sleeping on a bench.

Too many times I have ignored these people.

I go home and make him a sandwich. I put the sandwich and a couple pieces of fruit in a bag, planning to go back and set it on his cart while he sleeps. I arrive back at the park to find him awake, standing among the trees--either gazing at the park, or lost in his own thoughts. I don't know which. My plan to drop the food quietly is foiled. I approach him and say, "Hi, it's me again," to which he replies, "Oh, hi." I extend the bag of food and say, "I saw you again and thought you might be hungry." He replies, "Oh, wow, thank you so much. You're very kind." I say, "You're welcome; have a good day," and quickly turn away and take off.

My thought was that I did not want to make a scene of it. I didn't want to make him feel like it was a big deal. I simply wanted to give the man some food. But immediately after taking off, the guilt set in. Again. Maybe what would have been more valuable than just handing him the food and walking away--is if I actually interacted with him. Acknowledged him as a human being--rather than an entity, or a machine that needs to be fed.

Yeah, maybe that would have been much more valuable.

After mulling over my feelings about this situation, I acknowledge that I could have done better. But I also could have done worse. Doing something is better than doing nothing, but there is always room for improvement. Next time I will try to do better.