The place I worked when I was ‘homeless’ where it was ok to show up barefoot. The bamboo grove and hammock are still out back.

This morning a fellow writer asked an out of the blue question about when I was homeless. What did I eat? Where did I sleep? How did I survive? I, in turn, asked my husband if saying I’ve been homeless is legit. He said stuff like that happens to everybody. Minimization and globalization are survival tactics. You have a fight with a parent. You couch surf. Maybe sleep in your car. I didn’t have a license till I was 29. I didn’t own a car till I was thirty something. But I did live on an island where it was acceptable to show up at work barefoot, braless, basically naked and still get paid.

I was screamed out of my house by a stone cold sober parent wearing nothing but a sundress. I was wearing the sundress. He was wearing shorts and hurt feelings. We’ve long since made peace with each other but you sort of don’t forget being stomped out of your, albeit flea-infested, safe place. I stuck my thumb out, out of habit, once I got to a main road and never once looked up at the driver; just stared at my dirty feet and blurted out an address hoping to be let in when I got there. No such luck but his mom fed me two slices of lasagna which I probably regret to this day. Moms and carbs are always complicated.

I ‘slept’ on porches, under a kitchen table, in a hammock by a grove of bamboo, the beach, an attic…mostly for that month I didn’t sleep. I did math in my head trying to calculate how much I still might have to pay to the warden who’d kicked me out and the registrar who’d be waiting to collect when I attempted to go back to school. Spoiler alert, when I showed up with my trash bag of laundry, fresh off the boat and Greyhound bus, I was $350 short and found myself ‘homeless’ for an additional five hours while I called relatives to beg for money, which I’d have to pay back ASAP, so the school would unlock my dorm room door.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Before sweating it out on campus (have you ever been holding your life in a Hefty bag watching people carry brand new bushels of Apples?) I spent one uncomfortable night at the very fancy home of an acquaintance who made it all too clear I was an inconvenience she didn’t want to deal with. All the summer people are rich people. Wrongly projected assumptions feel like superimposed madras shorts; heinous, almost infuriatingly awkward. I wasn’t a drug addict or crazy; those are the convenient labels we tend to slap on people who can’t afford to hide their humanity behind status symbols, gated communities and Xanax. I’d simply spoken the truth in a place where it wasn’t allowed; like skateboarding in front of a library. The rest of the time I spent at work, where I appeared to be a spoiled island girl who had it all. You get to live here! Ugh. You’re so lucky!

The shower in one of our lucky island houses. For the record, I’d still rather be poor there than anywhere in the world. In spite of this bummer part of the story, the island is pure magic.

One of my brothers showed up with my wallet, a handful of clean underwear, an apple (the regular kind that grow on trees) and an apologetic face. Don’t come home. I already knew that but had forgotten how much I loved him and simultaneously wanted to fix everything for him in that moment. Dude, it’s fine. Don’t worry. He’s just having a bad summer. It’s all good. Ok?

I showered at work and wore the clothes I unpacked, steamed, hung on the racks, dusted and evenly spaced. One of the many compulsive habits I have to this day is spacing the matching hangers in my closet which is now full of clothes I own, which I bought with money from a job that requires shoes (and an expensive degree I’ll be paying off till I’m 175 years old). I have shoes now. More than one pair. They’re fantastic. And underwear, bras and socks. Lots of socks to go with all my shoes. I even have more than one towel and eight pillows! Ten if you count the two throw pillows on my couch. I have a couch. It’s eight years old and from Ikea. I wash it every three weeks and marvel at it every single morning when I brush my teeth. I have a toothbrush. I buy a new one a few times a year when the bristles show signs of being withered, tired and no longer capable of scraping popcorn kernels out of my gums. Sometimes I even floss. I have floss. It’s waxed and tastes like mint. Not to brag, but I also have Q-Tip brand Q-Tips. The real deal. Have you ever tried cleaning your ears with toilet paper? Futile. Q-Tips are the height of luxury.

I’ve been living this high life for the last six years. Before now I was sleeping indoors but for about two months lived with one of my bosses so I could save up for my own place. This is sometimes called ‘situational homelessness’ which I’ve experienced twice. I’m saving the details for the book but basically it’s a polite word for broke and sometimes comes with a side of trauma, like volatile drunken rages and house fires. Those both suck.

I eventually upgraded to a mattress on the floor in my very own studio apartment. After that, little by little, I got a car and all the other things that make you count as a real person in the mainstream world. Heated seats rule but expensive beauty products feel like jars of deceit. Pandora and Oil Free Neutrogena for Sensitive Skin are much more honest. Here’s a cloud of locusts, some honey and fragrance-free dimethicone. You still have forehead wrinkles but after the wrath comes metaphoric hope. What? For the dermatological afterlife? If this prosperity thing keeps up, I’m getting laser resurfacing.

When I remember we’re living on a pale blue dot in an ever expanding galaxy, in an unexplained universe full of black holes, exploding nebulas, zero gravity and stardust, I tend to think we’re all homeless.

The edge of the west coast universe.

I’ve loved this jam for many moons.

ps: Many thanks to Petru for asking the question-look what you started! I thought about it all day, and to my fellow hope bloggers, Louise and the gem of all gems, Niki. And to q and Sue for teaching me the art of editing.


28 thoughts on “Homeless

  1. “When I remember we’re living on a pale blue dot in an ever expanding galaxy, in an unexplained universe full of black holes, exploding nebulas, zero gravity and stardust, I tend to think we’re all homeless” — Amazing way to bring it home.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. As soon as I saw this come in, I read it. As usual, every line spoke to my soul. It was great reading about your journey. I love the way you write it. Then I got to the last one and burst out crying. Had to compose myself before returning else this would have been unintelligible. Thank you, E. If hearts could smile, then mine is beaming <:)3 and a bit melty.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. ❤ this. As is usually the case, a piece of writing that asks good questions is preferable to one that thinks it has answers! 🙂

    I once spent two weeks situationally homeless in my early 30s because a verbal tenancy agreement fell through at the last moment when I was travelling. A friend's grandmother happened to live in the town I had travelled to and let me use her downstairs apartment while I looked for alternative accommodation. That was lucky or I'd have made an enormous dent in my savings staying in a motel. I had too much stuff with me to use a backpackers, because I was on a working holiday – and interstate where I knew noone… it's not a good feeling when that happens and when you think seriously about sleeping in your car. I needed an address to get an address, though – you know how it is. Otherwise I'd have had to pack up and go home, end of travels… thankfully I got three more years of exploring the continent before I headed home voluntarily. 🙂

    Great music choice there! I love this song of theirs especially:

    Liked by 1 person

    • In the absence of a safe, supportive or otherwise accessible family we’re all liable to end up like Ayla; have you ever read Clan of the Cave Bear? Jean M. Auel. My sponsor recommended it while I was doing codependent recovery work. Such a good story.
      I could’ve stayed in hotels too but the money I’d save was the cash part of my tuition, of which I still ended up being short. So I pretended I didn’t have it. Also, hotels on the Vineyard can devour your stash in less than week.
      High five us. We survived.


  4. So sorry I missed this post at the time. I got kicked out of my house around that time and was frantically looking for another one – jeez, maybe I asked a prophetic question? I did consider just walking off into the sunset except it was raining … just kidding. And I had serious internet connectivity problems.
    Of course I know Ladysmith Black Mambazo – they’re fantastic. Did you get to hear of them through their collaboration with Paul Simon?
    Lounging on my need-to-be-replaced double bed, cat’s snoozing in a cupboard somewhere and am wondering what I’ll have for supper.
    🙂 🙂 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh no Petru! Ugh. Are you safe and housed now? Damn rain, always ruining perfectly good exits. 😉
      I learned about Ladysmith Black from the store I worked in (the one I’m standing in front of). I heard their independent performances and their collaboration with Paul. The shop owner has great taste in music.
      I wish that 2020 brings you a secure roof, a wonderous new bed, many more naps and all the delicious food you and your cat can eat. ❤️


      • Safe and housed. I mention safe because I nearly had a heart attack from shock and grief. Never been so disliked by one, really two people in my entire life and I’ve been around rather. Very unhappy where I am but looking out for something where I can get away to. Just going through your posts of October now and see I visited the one before and a skip and a one after the Homeless post! Don’t know how I missed it. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      • I’m glad you’re safe and housed now Petru. Sorry it’s been a rough time lately. I wish we could all get away to someplace we’re happy and free.
        No worries on catching up. I’m working on doing the same. ❤️

        Liked by 1 person

    • Oh dear. Do we feel like the freedom of truth is worth the risks and sacrifices? I think the answer is different for each of us.
      How do you become a freelance writer?


      • It’s ideology. Conviction of what’s right. You know South Africa’s history I assume? Racial bias in this town is working up to boiling point! A cracker went off the other day and I jumped with fright, that’s how volatile things have become. Think American South. One has to make a stand. Make the statement. It’s a small regional newspaper I wrote articles for and they published an article with a strong racial bias and I resigned – decisively. The editor was going to ‘give me a second chance’ and I declined. It didn’t pay much, it being such a small paper, earned pocket money really. Proper freelance writing can be lucrative, but a difficult niche to get into. One is left at the mercy of editors and sub-editors. Cast around for magazines you like to read and phone or email them and offer your services. It could be as easy as that or else one walks into a wall. I see your latest post is about not giving up (what’s that about?), but that’s what one has to do if that is what one wants to do I suppose. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      • Yes. I learned trauma theory from a professor who was raised in South Africa. She’s studied global social trauma for her entire career. Brilliant woman.
        I’m also very aware of the American South. I have family there and the few times I’ve visited was an education unto itself. I applaud you for making a stand. That takes guts.
        I’ve heard freelancing can be great but tough to get into. Aren’t we all at the mercy of one kind of editor or another? Literally and metaphorically speaking.
        A dear friend of mine has been knocking on doors of publications for a while now. Her writing is excellent but unless our ideas fit into some predetermined cookie cutter mold ??
        As for not giving up, I guess I spent the past week fighting with myself. I was really aiming for a week of rest and self care but all these feelings and thoughts showed up demanding to be seen, felt and heard. So I listened and then politely asked them to go on their unhappy way.


      • I will never forget her name. Dr. Priscilla Dass-Brailsford. I was a graduate student at Lesley and she was a guest professor (fellow?) at Harvard at the time. She came to Lesley to teach an elective course on trauma theory which is where I heard the word ‘resilience’ for the first time. It was also when I realized how very different I was from the majority of my peers. I remember feeling both validated and completely exposed. But I threw myself into her coursework. It’s the only grade in my entire educational history that I care about.
        Here’s to giving all the unhappy thoughts a shove 😁


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