Joe Bright – ��Ƶ

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Update — Changing the Game We’re Playing

Joe Bright — Thu, 12 Apr 2012 01:59:50 +0000

So it’s been a little while since writing. I’m happy that I can report that things have been going pretty well for me so far this year. The clinic has been busier than ever, I’ve been painting regularly, and I’ve even been considering trading in the Mobile Closet for a smaller car! (Gasp!!!) I know it would be a big step, but I think it might be time.

It’s hard to believe but it’s been almost a year since becoming re-homed. In general I have been enjoying my relative anonymity. Though I might not be rehashing it all in word there are plenty of ways it comes back. There are reminders of what I’m grateful for, like hot showers when it’s been cold recently! Plus there are numerous times that I listen to people in despair and it seems right to share a small portion of my story with them. Most of the time they are taken aback that it happened to me. And it’s tricky to share because I want them to gain confidence in themselves, not to have pity or remorse on my behalf. But it has a strong effect, so I do share when it seems safe to do so.

But I’ve also been grateful for the steadiness. In part it comes from a feeling of being invested in my life, my home. That investment is what is mostly missing from the homeless stories. If you recall, I wrote many times before about an underlying depression and heartbreak among people in homeless circumstances. I still reflect on that and how lacking so many people are in the most basic of investments: the belief that you are worth more than your possessions, or lack thereof. And to be honest with you I don’t see that this lack of belief is only found among the people with bags and shopping carts…

I still applaud the work being done by shelters, social workers, and the community in general to streamline efforts in providing services. But I’d like to offer up one reminder for all, and that is to keep reiterating the most basic of principle behind this all: we need to give people of homeless circumstance a reason to re-invest in the rest of us. We need to set the baseline of our actions in respect for one another and ourselves, and extend that by example as a form of leadership that just might inspire more than the people that already like us. Put aside notions of clout and systems and invest in being human. Even more than solving homelessness, we need to heal all the hopelessness out there.

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Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Wrap Up — The Secret of My Failure

Joe Bright — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 01:30:40 +0000

The time has finally come to wrap up this story arc of being un-homed and re-homed. I knew it would come but didn’t really know when until very recently. That was when something profound happened to me and I knew I had to let go of some things and clean up some others. The combination of factors isn’t important, just that I knew it was time.

I do think there are other things to be written, said, imagined, etc., so I will work more on my personal blog at . I suppose there will be more that can be talked about there that isn’t really news worthy. Although, it’s very likely that Civil Beat may have something they’d like from me at some point later.

With that I immediately want to thank the Civil Beat family, especially editor John Temple, who not only took a chance on an unknown entity, but also continued to believe in me through my ups and downs while sharing. Though it’s likely I’ll still write something for them from time to time, there is an inescapable poignancy to this wrap up. I thank them from the depths of my heart, and hope they know how important they have been to me in working through this all.

But for now, generally speaking it’s simply that there’s only so much to discuss about my grocery shopping habits, my fear of losing my keys, or any of several re-homed issues I face daily. Also, that there is little use in dredging up more from the un-homed phase in some effort to make more sense than has already been attempted. The story has been compelling, but I believe it has been told (and let’s hope doesn’t need telling again). And because ultimately this has been a bigger story than about my homed status: It’s been a story about failure and loss, about finally making space in my life for loss, and about finding my way through towards healing; it’s about forward momentum.

I feel I want to bring many thoughts together in closing this out. Namely how I feel that my life has been shaped by these experiences, of which homelessness was just one. But some of the thoughts are still elusive, just off the tip of my tongue, or somewhere in the back of my mind. Others are clearer and more fully gestated. Primary among the more complete ones is that I know far more about failure than I do about success. And I think I finally have begun to understand that aspect of my life to date. But, and not ironically in the least, the whole story arc is actually one of success. And so hand in hand these two conditions have inexplicably moved me forward.

I’m not really certain what failure means when you get right down to it. The word “failure” is one of those culturally contextual words that can strike fear in the heart. It’s like the word “cancer”: just uttering the word makes one worried that you’ve cursed yourself to be plagued by it. So it seems the perception of it is far more troubling, and potentially paralyzing, than any reality behind it. I figure it means that something didn’t go well. Is there fault attached? Perhaps there can be, but perhaps not on some occasions. So how I relate to failure looks to be the bigger factor in the grand scheme of things.

First off, I can see how easily failure can become an identity, and it is a tough one to escape when it comes along. The prevailing view of productivity and success that defines the modern American ideal is one that we’ve observed and been enforced on us since childhood. If we’re not living up to that ideal there must be something seriously wrong and deficient about us. Failure in business, personal, or life issues; any one category is enough to be a major setback. But what if you’ve bumped into all three at once? And when a circumstance like homelessness gets added on top of everything else, suddenly there’s a whole other layer of stereotype to combat.

I’ve written a lot about the identity of homelessness in this whole series. And the worst aspect I can see is how embedded that identity can become. When it is embedded then the danger becomes that we forget that we have choices we can make, such as choosing to sit still and wait or to move forward even if we’re not sure what direction to take. We can make choices to believe in the perceptions surrounding our “failure” or ask deeper questions about who we are, who we want to become, and so on. If we lose sight of these choices then the belief becomes that the identity is permanent. This can be true with any identity involving physical illness, being unlovable, worthless, etc.

Many times as I struggled I couldn’t escape one question that would arise: “Why in the mix of stories being written did mine have to be on the down side? I mean, I’m basically a good person! Right…?” This was the grand paradox for me, the ever-present conundrum: how could I simultaneously be the person that might help or inspire someone and yet be the poster child for what not to do? The story playing out in my life didn’t necessarily match the image I had of who I imagined I wanted to become. This created confusion and that confusion made me second guess myself, or at times ignore myself completely and what my instincts said I needed to do.

One thing that I tried to return to over and over while being un-homed was a simple idea: I am homeless by circumstance and not by identity. Sometimes it was a help to hear, and sometimes I had to pretend that I believed it. Along the way I had to grapple with what was missing in my mind: acceptance of what was happening. At the very least, during this past year of writing, I finally had some realization that the external contexts of my life were just symptomatic to what was within me to work on. On the inside was this struggle for identity, this struggle for acceptance, and trying to come to terms with loss. So more important than the place I was, or wasn’t, living at, was where I was in my personal life. For that was the beginning point in the agonizing process of cleanup.

The sense of loss is much clearer to define than failure. Things come and go outside of your control: important people appear with gifts of their presence only to disappear just as suddenly; our possessions may be lost or taken away by circumstance and feel like a layer of identity has been stripped away like peeling skin; or our ideas are challenged to the very core of our being, making us uncomfortable with some truth we didn’t yet know but that we now find ourselves face-to-face. It’s something no one can escape given a long enough timeline. And of course it’s one of those facts of life that we engage in a futile struggle to avoid.

Just what was my loss? I can’t speak to the detail of circumstances here. That wouldn’t be the right thing to do. But I can say that I became lost living within a world of my own making, a room even, and that room was small. It was built out of walls of denial, powered by the electricity of shame, and locked away by an inability to stand up for myself. All this in spite of having talents in the arts, medicine, business, meditation, mechanics, etc… You have to understand that this inner place is never affected by ability. But it is affected by a lack of, or an inability, to love oneself, or to love another, or to be loved in return. It’s a place totally closed down from the world. And it was in this place that I waited for someone to save me. And when no one appeared, not even myself, that was the source of my loss, my heartbreak.

When I look back at where my life has gone thus far, and it has taken many interesting twists and unknown roads, I see things that I am proud of, and things I feel ashamed to admit. Regrettably, until learning to pull up pride and confidence more, I, like so many of us, moved towards the shame. And it’s painful to admit that I ever gave the shame far too much power, but I see that it was a learned habit. It’s one that forms from out of the flow of stresses in life without having a grasp on the context of those stresses. It starts at a very young age and shapes our way of moving through our experiences with profound or sometimes crippling effect.

This is where I feel I’ve bumped into something truly important: regardless of reinforcement, or a lack thereof, this learned habit was based on perceptions of my life and not necessarily reality. But this notion has come slowly. And it came primarily through opening up to the reality of all the emotions and ideas I had welling up from within me: feelings of pain and loss, pride and vanity, confidence and terror. If I had been suffering loss through a deep sense of being ill at ease based on a perception, how was I really processing these pressures? And if I didn’t relish people treating me through their own perceptions of who I am, how was I feeling after treating myself through perceptions and not some kind of reality check?

When I gave shame and hurtful moments more power to my memories then I remained crippled and locked away in that room. Those became the pattern makers in my life. Staying locked reinforces the sense of loss, because even loving moments are fleeting glimpses of something outside that room. But it takes trust in our instincts to look beyond those walls, to begin to learn to handle loss in healthy ways. It took me a long time to look to my instincts with trust and belief.

To this day those instincts don’t always line up with outside views of things. And when confronted by that misalignment it sometimes takes all the strength I have to not flip out, to not move right back into a habit that I already know and feel isn’t worth it. Some days it feels like resisting a tidal wave and it’s exhausting. Other days it’s just a slow burn in the chest, like charcoal embers still putting off heat. But I know now that allowing the confusion to reign over my mind is just as exhausting, just as burning. The confusion never allows me to rest, whereas the tidal wave eventually subsides, and the embers do go out.

I know perceptions are inescapable, and do help shape our views and understandings. However, I saw that my balance of perception and my roots in reality haven’t always been in line with each other. I have a feeling that perceptions should start to be healthy reinforcements for your life and that acceptance of the gaps that may exist between the ideas of ourselves and the realities around us isn’t so paralyzing. The uncomfortable reaction to that gap is often not much more than a learned habit. But as such, now that I see this aspect more clearly, I start to see that I can choose to change. I finally saw that I was my own savior from a small world. I can’t claim any profound understanding of why this has been the path, or why things played out this way. I haven’t got the foggiest idea other than it just is what I had to work with. But out of this acceptance I have been left with a sense of calm regardless of whether things are going well or not.

And so this has been my story of failure, and the loss- at times a profound loss- that came with it. And it has been how I found within the grief and pain in that loss that I could eventually come to terms with the circumstances. What followed was like a sunrise, but from deepest within me. And it came with a voice that asked: “Are you ready to live again?” I think if you listen closely to yourself, you’ll hear that voice too, and it will patiently ask the same question, every day, every minute. That voice comes from your own heart, from the deepest sense of care you had long before any learned habits tried to displace it. Fortunately, living from within the heart cares not for the time that it takes to heal. The heart only cares that healing does take place. And that has been the secret to my success.

May you be well and always find your own success.

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Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Flashbacks

Joe Bright — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 22:47:46 +0000

I’m sure you know this feeling: a sudden and visceral memory that isn’t déjà vu, but like a re-living of a past moment at some cellular level. All at once, while you’re looking at something, or catching a scent on the breeze, feeling the shift in evening temperature, or any number of sensory moments, you’re transported to some other familiar time or place. It comes up and fades just as rapidly, but your memory has been sparked. So it has been for me of late.

In the past I’ve had flashbacks of NY days, those formative years when I was 18 years old and setting out into the world for the first time. I’ve remembered spring days or fall afternoons like they were recent experiences. Or I’ve had recollections of travels in other countries such as Burma, or China, or even Italy. What’s interesting about any of these moments is that they are unprompted and very potent. And there is really no limit on the scope of their arising. Age and distance are meaningless in the face of deep memory.

So imagine my surprise when I have them about homeless moments from this past year. And it’s especially surprising when they’re not aversive memories, almost comforting in fact. Closing up the office one evening, now that it’s darker outside, there was a quietness permeating the air. In that moment I could feel the pause of a similar evening last winter or in fact several evenings. Only then it was one that had no destination as I have now. That quiet was my home experience.

Or another moment of a chill, crisp morning and I had that feeling of mentally preparing for a cold shower at the Natatorium. It was familiar and there was a certain fortitude of mind, as well as a resignation. But it was a fleeting moment replaced by an appreciation of the hot shower I now possess. I can’t really say why these moments surprised me, but they did.

Now I can also put some additional thoughts to something someone recently asked me. It was a social worker at the conference I spoke at recently, and she had someone who was also recently re-homed. She said he was experiencing a great deal of fear now that he had this home and responsibility. Initially I suggested she remember the power of listening; something that can be far superior to “fixing” things for him. But later I thought about the flashbacks and had another thought: She could let him know that fear can be put to good use if it prompts him to appreciate his new circumstance. And it might give him the courage to fight for what he achieved, just as a flashback might allow me to appreciate my new destination, or that hot shower waiting for me.

In essence, I feel the flashbacks can be simple tools that re-connect us to where we’ve been, and who we believed we were before. In light of having made some progress it can be important to not lose sight of those factors. Why? Especially if painful pasts are involved? Simply put, I do believe that the power to push through present, and future, challenges is built on the experience of having been through tough times before. So those challenges can be blueprints to use when needed.

I could casually claim it as “learning from your past mistakes,” but it’s bigger than that. It’s something more aligned with a connectivity to ourselves, and ultimately those around us. It’s truly an always present lifeline.

As such, I hope that the connectivity and memories in your life, whether fleeting or deeply embedded, bring you some measure of joy and gratitude this Thanksgiving. Aloha!

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Re-Homed & Off the Edge: What does a Standing Ovation Feel Like?

Joe Bright — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 02:05:37 +0000

Well, now I know. It’s both moving and awkward at the same time. It didn’t help that I was already set to bawl my eyes out, so when that happened I couldn’t stop myself.

The circumstance was having been invited to speak at the annual Statewide Homeless Awareness Conference in Waikiki. One of the organizers (Thanks Holly!!!) had been reading this blog, and decided to invite me to speak of my experiences to the roughly 250-300 people in attendance. Pretty much all the large service providers, and more, attend to listen to updates and new ideas in their struggles with homeless issues. There were even people in attendance with past and still current homeless issues they were dealing with. To me this was both moving and even scarier to speak in front of them.

As with starting this blog, the prospect of speaking to a public about my life in duress strikes as an odd combination of wanting to help but also wanting to hibernate in silence. But I can’t help escape my nature of being a stubborn optimist and so I always help.

And this was no short 10-15 minute speech. They gave me a 45 minute slot. That’s a lot of thoughts to share. But I did it, and I think I spoke for almost 40 minutes. If you’re interested you can read the full written version of the speech . Naturally the spoken version included some slight changes in wording and emphasis, mostly because I was getting kind of emotional and would lose my place a bit. But I had the content deep within so I managed my way through it alright.

But back to the standing ovation. It just so happened that I’ve been feeling quite a bit of heartbreak over some personal issues in the week building up to the speech. I haven’t been able to eat so much and even my sleep has been interrupted. I’m sure you can all remember that I’ve written about homeless having a broken heart as one root of their circumstances. And in crafting the final components of what I wanted to share, that sense of heartbreak felt really important to express. So I can only guess that the very immediate feeling of heartbreak came through clearly enough.

There were a couple of times during the speech that I got kind of choked up. Definitely by the end when I exhorted everyone to not be afraid of a world in pain, I started to lose it. I quickly gathered my notes and stepped off the stage into the arms of Holly and started to cry a bit. She then whispered into my ear to turn around and look and that’s when I saw the standing ovation. Yup, I lost it at that point. I had to turn around and hide my face for a moment. Like I said, it was both moving and awkward.

Several hugs later and many tears shared, and the day was done. I still don’t feel like I can speak to all of the homelessness issues out there. And there are those who were, and continue to be, in far more dire straits than I was. But I think everyone got the message: just keep caring. They’re already doing the hard work by showing up, so I hope they keep their sense of inspiration for why they do the work.

Success in life doesn’t exclude us from feeling intensely, or from feeling low. We still have to process things in human terms and do the best we can with what we’ve got. I’m both grateful and relieved to have shared so much on Tuesday afternoon. I just hope the words ring true enough for a little while longer.

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Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Where Have I Been?

Joe Bright — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 01:39:20 +0000

I have to admit, it’s been rather hard to write lately, and for several reasons. One of the foremost has been that I’ve been painting for the past month, something that hasn’t happened for over a decade. The other is still the grappling with identity that underlines this whole period of ups and downs.

The painting has been fruitful, both in feeling a sense of normalcy and of urgency to reinvest in what is important. But it also keeps my mind in a visual way of looking at the world which is kind of contrary to the written lens I’ve been relying on for so long. Perhaps more importantly, on a deeper level it’s enlivened something within that has long been dormant.

To put it into context, it had been since 1999 that I had done any painting, an activity that had been so central to my life for quite a long time. And though I made more of a living as a freelance calligrapher and illustrator, painting was where my heart and soul seemed to reside. But 1999 was when several travel opportunities took me to other parts of the world: being a nanny in Switzerland; three weeks of meditation in a Buddhist monastery in Burma; and also when my tai chi teacher launched me onto the path of Chinese medicine.

So on one hand it was a time of new discovery and following new avenues in my heart. But on the other hand I had no idea at the time that there would be such a long delay before resuming. It wasn’t as if I turned my back on it either. Simply that I made life choices that took precedence in the moment, such as grad school, or starting a business venture. Plus there wasn’t the physical space to devote to the art.

All of the reasons were individual and nominal, but in the aggregate they became a long expanse of non-painting time that culminated in the circumstances that I’ve written about here in this blog. I don’t regret any of the decisions that I made that led to that set of circumstances. I always trusted the decisions in my heart and was willing to try something new. It just so happened that things didn’t go as scripted.

Of course I’m not under the illusion that some great renaissance is upon me and I’ll amass fame and fortune as an artist. OK, maybe there’s a little touch of delusion there, but hey it’s only natural. But it is a getting in touch with something deep within rather than something that I’m trying to market or sell. It’s reviving a dream to find the range of creativity where anything seems possible once again. I am an optimist at heart.

Feeling settled lately, I think about the general homeless situation and kind of feel sad. In my case I’ve come through a dark period and finally see some light. But how many of the others out there are still within the depths of their own personal despair? What will it take for them to see something that resembles hope and renewal? If I could lose sight of myself, and I had a generally solid background that “prepared” me for life, what about those that have less of a foundation to work from? How many lost dreams are there in their stories? And more importantly, will anyone ever really get to hear those stories?

I’m sure there are many homeless and un-homed who are lost causes for many reasons. But then again, many might just be a step away? Social services weren’t going to reinvigorate my interest in painting, nor were politicians and statistics on re-homing. No, my own heart had to do that. But it had to find some inspiration to do it.

So rather than compare desperate people to rats, let’s try to imagine ways to inspire the homeless to look for better solutions. Even if it takes a while it will be a better way forward. Just my thoughts as I re-find some of who I feel I am…

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Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Rats Really Are Everywhere

Joe Bright — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 06:32:56 +0000

So I’m sitting here re-reading Mayor Carlisle’s recent comments about homeless people being worse than an infestation of rats.

I’ve been trying to come up with something eloquent to say that sums up just how wrong this is, and I’ve got to say I’m stumped. Unfortunately, I can’t just start swearing here either. So you’ll just have to imagine your own string of obscenities on my behalf. Go ahead, it’s OK, as I’m sure I’ve thought it already.

I’ve also been wondering when being a moron became political clout, and when invective speech substituted for critical thinking. I wonder these things because not having met Carlisle I would have assumed him to be an intelligent man given his political post. But these words paint a picture of the worst kind of public servant I can imagine: callous and ill-formed thought as to the repercussions of his quick words. Of course I also had similar wonderings about Gov. Abercrombie after likening the feeding of homelessness to criminal activity.

Is it that these guys give so many speeches that it all becomes a blur? Do they forget where they are, like people in a restaurant who forget to use their “inside, quiet voice?” I can forgive that any politician endures the crushing weight of having to work with diverse views from the public realm, but come on!! This isn’t even in the realm of constructive in any language or culture. Our political leaders are supposed to be our inspirations, not our embarrassments.

What’s sad to me is that having spoken to so many friends who work for the city and state, so many of them tell me that excess and broken bureaucracies are the chief obstacles to success in many of the social programs out there. Drugs are definitely an issue, and so is mental illness, as causes in homeless circumstances. But the people charged with carrying out the solutions can’t go and become new problems.

The Mayor made this statement about cleaning up homeless debris: “…you had to wash for two days before you felt that you’d gotten all the stuff that you’d gotten all over you.” When I read this, I imagined a time when hateful speech like that would have gotten another type of washing… one that included soap and mouth. Maybe the Mayor will need just that after his foot is removed.

I wrote these alternative “9 Points” back when I was struggling with my own homeless identity issues and the Governor was putting some pretty lame statements out to the public. Now that I’ve been re-homed for a bit they seem even more poignant to ponder what a “home” means. I’d like to share it again to remind the Mayor of some of these ideas.

A home is:

Sanctuary – a place of refuge and retreat
Safety – a state of feeling secure and protected
Boundary – something that buffers the outer world as well as the inner
Memory – a place to store and build a life
Nostalgia – a need to return to a source, and the fulfillment of that need
Dignity – an innate right as a human being, flawed or not
Independence – a chance to be free within and among the rest of the world
Control – the chance to decide whether the toilet seat stays up or goes down
A state of mind – an inner recognition that can’t be simply enforced through dictate

Maybe it will be helpful for all those who are engaged in the realm of solutions to put thought to these points. Though there are many more you could put in, I can vouch for the fact that if you work toward these as goals, somehow people will follow you. If you can remain human, then people will respond eventually.

So to Mayor Carlisle I have this to say:

Remember that people in need are your constituents too.
If the people you seek to serve don’t trust you, then you’ll never be a help to them.
If you don’t have the capacity for compassion and care, and cooties are that icky to you, then I suggest you work in the private sector where you can post signs claiming your “Right to refuse service.”

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Re-Homed & Off the Edge: That’s Not Me Anymore

Joe Bright — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 03:48:38 +0000

Sorry for the long delay since last writing. Things have been kind of busy but basically steady. I even just paid my second month’s rent. I’m still adjusting to the new rhythms in my life.

I’m still not too good at grocery shopping on a regular basis, and I haven’t been to the Natatorium since becoming re-homed. Not even for a swim. It seems hard to imagine that my old safety zones of morning showers and park naps have been like a distant memory.

It’s not like I have an aversion to going over there, but I think part of my new situation is the instinct to hibernate through a slow gestation period. I’m still feeling things out, and being a little bit more selfish with my time lately. Although I’m feeling quite comfortable now, I’m remaining cautious on some things until I feel sufficient clarity in making decisions.

For example, I finally got a curtain for my bedroom window to lessen the hot afternoon sun. This wasn’t a simple thing as it sounds. I do have an artistic sensibility for things so I wanted a good color that would still allow the sunlight to shine through. But, I discovered, much to my dismay, that not all options for curtains are created equal. After all my careful, initial considerations and imaginings, I go to a few stores and find curtains too long, too dark or light, you have to buy two of them, they’re out of stock of the one sample you like, and so on. It was rough. Fortunately, I found a nice green one I liked and enjoy waking up to it each day.

Meanwhile, I’ve been continually pondering things regarding the identity of homelessness. I can tell I feel better thinking of myself as something other than homeless, but I don’t feel proud of where the root of that feeling comes from. Part of me says, “That’s not me anymore.” But another part of me is grappling with some lingering notions of shame for having hit such a low point. I know I’m trying to disengage from where things had been for so long.

Some of this is healthy, and some of it I’m sure is just my own kookiness. It does seem a bit of hubris to feel like that the last year is a finished episode. In truth, there is always that near crisis from unknowns, but I’m hopeful that next time it might come close I’ll be better prepared, whatever that might mean.

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Re-Homed & Off The Edge: Am I Home Yet?

Joe Bright — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 22:01:39 +0000

I’ve noticed that I’ve been occupying more of the apartment now. At first I definitely just hunkered down in the little bedroom, still somewhat sensitive to the possibility that this is temporary. But now I find myself lingering in different areas rather than just passing through them.

There’s still no couch or chairs in the living area, which is fine. I’m far from convinced of putting anything there just yet. Its part choice and part just kind of liking the empty space. It’s almost as if my mind might be able to be that empty too, and by empty I mean quiet and not grasping at too much at once. In the meantime I have sat there against the wall on occasion. It’s not a bad feeling to look up at the space and start to brainstorm what to put in there as time goes on. What can I say; it’s an experiment in progress.

I still ponder over the issues of identity and homelessness. It’s an important thing to consider since how we identify ourselves becomes a huge factor in what goes on in our lives. In some cases notions of identity come through pride, such as ethnic roots, cultural ideas, and even sports teams. You know that people wearing UH shirts or “Bloodline” shirts do so out of feeling connected to those identities.

But what about homelessness? I’d say that there is often a very strong identity there, just not a healthy or positive one. If people think of themselves as homeless, then that identity can sink in pretty deeply into the psyche. But in this case pride isn’t carrying the weight of identity forward; its shame, or anger, or frustration, and so on. Likely you won’t see someone wearing a shirt around that says “I’m homeless and proud of it!” Although, now that I think of it, maybe the irony of that might help break the stigma attached to the issue? It’s a thought…

In any case, I’m wrapping my head, and my heart, around who I am in my new space. It is slowly taking greater shape, and I feel no rush. I’m just enjoying my new home. And by the way, even though the 3-D Marilyn Monroe picture at Ross was super tempting, I passed on it.

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Re-Homed & Off The Edge: New Choices

Joe Bright — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 05:53:39 +0000

So my very nice and nosy neighbor, who has lived in the building for over 30 years, said to me the other day: “I notice you don’t have much furniture.” I stood there pondering what to say to that, mulling over various responses, when she went on to add: “That’s ok. Live light!”

And she’s right, without even knowing how much so. Going un-homed was an interesting process of whittling things down to essentials and necessaries. The acquisition of things takes a far-removed back seat to the keeping of simple rhythms. During that time you do realize how little one needs to survive, and more importantly how cavalier we can be in our choices when not pressed by circumstance.

By no means am I advocating a zen-like, monastic setting, but I am noticing that I don’t feel any rush to collect lots of furnishings and paraphernalia; or “more stuff” as comedian George Carlin would have called it so long ago. Although you go through life acquiring possessions and experiences, there is a point when you ask yourself whether these things are important identifiers of who I am. And it is interesting to come to a point of realization that the answer is “not really.”

So, on the one hand there are things that are familiar to me, such as the bowl that has managed to stick around for the last 20 years, or the old bicycle that I salvaged 12 years ago. But on the other hand I now have a new circumstance around which I get to make a whole new set of decisions. What kind of furniture do I even need, much less want? To be completely honest I’m not really sure.

I can say that I feel a bit more settled and less like this is a temporary stay. Naturally, the lessons of the last year dictate that these things can change, and very rapidly at that. There are always time spans that don’t line up with our sense of intention and plan-making. But other lessons dictate that I should make a life and not stress about the potential disasters that lurk around every corner. Living through that kind of fear is debilitating, and not a frame of mind I want to be in.

So in the meantime I’m in no rush to fill my new home with things just for the sake of it. I sit and ponder each new possibility with a sense of appreciation and discernment. I especially am allowing tensions to ease that built up from a year of being un-homed. They accrued so subtly and slowly that only once re-homed can they be noticed. My hope is that I haven’t allowed those tensions to become habit since they are largely creations of my own mind. It seems to me that was the part that came close to being un-hinged, and thankfully it didn’t. At least I don’t think so…

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Un-Homed But Not Unhinged: Settling In

Joe Bright — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 06:20:25 +0000

It’s been well over a week now in the new home. I have to say it’s a good feeling though it’s come with many ups and downs and has me hibernating quite a bit. Some of the initial emotions were surprising, as well as the challenge to let go of some of the tension that comes with the un-homed life.

The first week was kind of chaotic, both in too many things to do as well as the vibe in the air, including a sudden bit on the news. I have mixed feelings about that as it generalized a great deal of my experience. I said over and over that I didn’t feel qualified to speak to homelessness on the whole and that I was fortunately spared many of the other trends out there, such as addiction and disabilities. But I am thankful that they put the effort in to represent some of the important thoughts.

Some of the adjustments have been interesting: sometimes challenging, sometimes humorous. The very first morning I woke up in the new place was a revelation. The first waking thought was already planning out the trip down to the Natatorium thinking, “at least I’m closer to it now.” It took a full 5 minutes before I realized I could walk 10 feet to my own shower. It didn’t bother me that I didn’t even have a shower curtain yet.

I also started to enjoy the nice walk to work. Although, on the second or third day of walking I noticed a trend in my mind: I fully expected to get home and find my van, my faithful mobile closet for a year, broken into, or worse yet stolen. I realized I was experiencing some kind of separation anxiety for my van. Ironic that after having the bulk of my personal belongings in it for so long, now that it sits empty I was getting worried. So strange.
Fortunately, I think I’m over that one. But the next strange moment came along in the fifth or sixth day. I realized that in the back of my mind I was checking my time. It was like I was calculating how much time was left until checkout time. It was like a part of me felt that this was temporary, like taking a couple days for my birthday in a cheap Waikiki hotel. I wouldn’t quite call it an anxiety, but maybe just short of one.

I have made a couple of small forays to the grocery store for some oatmeal and garbage bags and such. I haven’t bought all that much partly because I’m in that zone of not knowing what I need, much less want. As I’ve written before it’s all about rhythms and I’m not in one just yet.

Unfortunately, all the added excitement, the sorting out of life issues and the stresses of a non-stop schedule has forced me into a break of sorts: I’m sick now. Yes, after seeing stubborn colds and flus all year with all sorts of patients and not catching any of it, I finally got knocked over the edge. I know it was partly the overwhelm and a certain amount of emotional breakdown that led to it, so there is no surprise there. Now it’s just time to ride it out and continue the hibernation.

So as I sit here and write this, fevered and coughing, one thing is certain: I am extremely grateful to be sitting on the floor of my own home than have to be hunkered down in the backseat of my van while feeling this way. In the meantime, many thanks to all who wrote kind thoughts in recent weeks. I appreciate it.

Previous posts in this series:

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Joe Bright – ������Ƶ

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Update — Changing the Game We’re Playing

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Wrap Up — The Secret of My Failure

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Flashbacks

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: What does a Standing Ovation Feel Like?

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Where Have I Been?

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: Rats Really Are Everywhere

Re-Homed & Off the Edge: That’s Not Me Anymore

Re-Homed & Off The Edge: Am I Home Yet?

Re-Homed & Off The Edge: New Choices

Un-Homed But Not Unhinged: Settling In

Joe Bright – ��Ƶ