We're fundamentally alone.
But we don't have to be.
When confronted with the opportunity to speak their mind, share of themselves, they became shy. The recipients of my Period Packs clamped their mouths shut. Were pushing their way to the back of the room, like lambs headed to slaughter.
Reserved. Incoherent. Silent.
I wanted to know what their lives were like on the streets. What it meant to be in need of clean needles. How tampons and warm socks made life happier. My aim to share some of the pieces of the unknown puzzle, with strangers in business suits, entrepreneurs, probable downsizing clients who have more than enough stuff. I want to encourage, (berate, if I'm being totally honest,) and inspire folks to declutter for GOOD. To help me help those who need a leg up.
My thoughts and ideas as to who "they" are, where "they" come from, how "they" became addicted or homeless or unloved are simply ideas, not facts.
Yet the facts are truly "their" thoughts as well. Where do we draw the line?
So, what (and where) IS the truth?
It evolves. Truth shines a spotlight on one aspect of the experience or perp, then turns into the shadows to highlight something else the next time the saga is told.
"It IS complicated," as Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin suggest.
I can't pretend to know, understand, relate, conspire.
Truth or consequences.
What I understand now, is that I have no relationship with either side. Not the people with too much, nor the army who live in and around the streets. Certainly not enough relate-ability to have them propagate, express their truth. Not without my upchucking a bit of my own past.
So I tell them. I regurgitate the Domestic Violent relationship I subjected myself to, all those years ago. I explain the single motherhood chapters in my life. I made good the interpretation of feeling lost and alone on a crowded island. I separated my Self from my family and friends, since they didn't understand my dreams. I let loose.
Then, their little mouths opened. In turn, they would explore their side of the street. They opened the door of shame, regret, hunger, isolation, and terror. And I agreed to be respectful and share the juicy parts that would encourage others to give, believe, and rejoice in giving. It's as detrimental to have too much as not enough.
We're now partners in this Period Pack Project; the homeless, addicts, singles. People who love, accept, and give in return.
One man commented, "You mean the RICH don't all suck?"
"Yep, that's what I mean."