Tiny thought: Malleability
I got on the subway at 68th street yesterday and as the door closed and everyone in the car settled into their positions sitting or standing and holding onto the rails with one hand, while scrolling down the screens of their devices with the other or listening to whatever was playing in their headphones, a man took to the center of the car and told everyone he needed help.
He had lost his job and was homeless and had been on the streets for the past 6 months and would take anything that anyone was willing to give — a dollar, something to eat, whatever. It was humbling, he said to stand before all these strangers and ask for their help and it was quiet in response to his plea and I had barely made out what he’d actually said because I had my headphones in too. No one would make eye contact with the man, I suspect so that they would not have to confront, as is so often demanded in a city like New York, the callousness with which we learn to ignore a plea for help.
The woman sitting next to me was looking at her emails on her phone and without breaking eye contact from her screen, pulled a few dollars out of the front pocket of her backpack and passed the money to the man. “Good luck,” she said as the exchange was taking place and I felt something visceral happen in my body, a sort of opening and oozing that compelled me to double-check my pocket and though I did not have cash, I did have a bag of my daughters’ unopened granola bites.
So I pulled them out and as I was doing that another woman from across the car called the man over and handed him a dollar and then another gave him a protein bar and to my right, a gentleman waved a $5 bill to get his attention then handed it over as I gave him the granola bites too — and it struck me that for all the time we spend focused on how disconnected we have become in the information age of hyper-connectivity with necks rubbering down into the screens on our devices while we stand next to each other but never look up, how grisly we act, how bad it has gotten, as we cogitate intensely for hours and days and years on end about what we should do to resurrect the spirit of cultural camaraderie, the beginning of an answer is so obvious and in the tiny moments when we do look up, it is also right there in front of us.
All it takes to crack open a closed heart — to see through from even the meekest corner, is to be brave enough to expose your own.
Living in Boston, I found myself becoming as cold and self satisfied as that town can be. The low: On the train one day, pre-pandemic, I heard myself mumble (ALOUD!) "fucking move." When I moved to Miami, my mental health palpably changed. And I also told myself I could reinvent and get back to the best of the girl I once was. Something shifted inside and I have. I make and give out packages to individuals who appear to be without housing (water, orange, sunblock, advil, granola bar, starbucks card, lip balm). I look people in the eye and say good morning, this is for you. I assume the best and not the worst. I feel a million times better and more hopeful, even when world events leave me feeling overwhelmed. Thank you for sharing this story. XX
Hi, a few weeks ago I oppened my car window in a busy crossroad in Tel Aviv, to give a few coins to a young man that was passing between the cars, asking for handouts. I was in a hurry, waiting for a green light, but he smiled, asked me to wait a minute and pulled a flower from his pocket, handed it to me and wished me well. It was clear that even in his poor state, it was important to him to be able to give something back. The flower is dry now, sitting on my dashboard, reminding me to remember we are all humans, and how important keeping our dignity is.