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We're already connected. January 3, 2009
The question is not whether we have a
relationship, but how our relationships will take shape. (Craig Rennebohm, From the Street to Stability, p. 3.)
We share our
cities and towns with people who are homeless or in treatment for chronic
mental illnesses. But though these neighbors are generally ambulatory, articulate, and otherwise capable of a
diverse social life, most of us hurry past as if they were invisible. The
strength of our effort to avoid them testifies that we feel connected at
some level; the connection is a given, not a choice. What we make a choice
about is how the connection plays out.
I have a close relative with a mental illness who once was homeless for a
year. So for me turning away can be harder than pausing to share a word or
two - it's as if the person camped in a doorway or spare-changing on the
sidewalk is standing in for a member of my family. Others may find walking
away difficult because everyone is someone's daughter or son.
Of course, nobody should engage with strangers who seem the least bit
dangerous. And in the safest situations we can be too busy to stop. But
sometimes we don't reach out simply because doing so feels awkward.
For me, connecting with a stranger goes best when I can forget myself and
my needs: there's nothing I must prove about myself, and there's no goal
beyond acknowledging the presence and the worth of the other guy. If the
person growls at me or turns away - this rarely happens - there was still
that moment of human recognition.
Walking along my city's streets I pretend to be living in a village where I
know everybody even if they've forgotten my name.
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