Last night was like no other.

I usually have too much to say…too many words to write down.

But, this experience has affected me in a way others have not, hurling me into unfamiliar territory.

So, here I sit, speechless, before a blinking cursor that’s begging me for words.

I have spent my entire life looking away from the misfortune, hardship, and pain of others. I’ve found it too much to bear, so instead of dealing and feeling, I run away, back to my comfortable life.

What if everyone ran?

Last night, I surveyed young, homeless people. I gathered information for the heroes who run towards those without, rather than away from. Heroes who seek to better understand these young people, so they can help them get back up.

I was so nervous in the hours leading up to the count, my heart pounded through my chest.

I was nervous I wouldn’t know how to talk to them. I was nervous they would see me for what I am – someone who’s been given everything and lacks for nothing. I was scared they wouldn’t feel how deeply I feel for them, or how much I want to help them.

But, I forced myself to enter the shelter anyway, pushed through the doors with all of your beautiful words.

The first person who walked over to me was broken in so many ways; her soul was in pieces. I did my best to make her comfortable, letting her know she could say whatever she wanted, and hold tight to those things that were too hard to share.

I feared going into this that I’d break down right there in front of these young ones. Or, that I would detach too much, masking how much I cared.

But, sitting there in front of these beautiful humans, I felt at home. I managed to find a balance between being a sobbing mess and a robot.

Some shared very little of themselves. Some couldn’t let it out fast enough. One thing was evident – both hadn’t been listened to for a very long time, and have been swept aside by all of us…sweepers.

I shared with the ones who checked yes that I, too, had been to jail – for a DUI when I was 25. I needed them to know that bad choices don’t make you a bad person, and that they mustn’t define you.

I wanted her to relate to me, despite our different journeys.

I stripped my finger of it’s sparkly engagement ring, my ears of their small diamond studs, before heading over there.

I was desperate to remove the tell-tale signs of privilege, wanting them to see me for who I am underneath it all.

A fuck-up.

A failure.

An insecure girl, who has fought, and continues to fight, the voices that have told me my entire life that I’m worthless.

Fearful.

Lost.

A work in progress.

Someone who is just now learning that I’m worth so much, and more than capable of all those things that once seemed impossible.

A fighter.

A success.

I sat in awe before the 18 year old young man who’d been bounced around the system from the age of six months old, never having a mother, a father, or any family at all.

Despite it all, he wanted to be a counselor.

He told me he’d change the world.

And, he will.

With all that’s been handed to me, it still took me so long to find his kind of bravery. Sometimes, it still eludes me.

A young girl tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we could just talk.

She shared with me a life filled with pain and neglect…one void of love or kindness.

I finally asked her if she needed a hug (because I needed to hug her). She cried, and said yes.

I hugged her so hard I could have broken a rib. I was desperate for her to know that I loved her and believed in her, even if no one else ever had.

She asked me if I’d be back. I promised her I would.

I hope she’s still there for me to hug again.

Over the past few months, something has clicked for me.

The homeless epidemic that once seemed too big to tackle, now seems too big to neglect.

I’m tired of hearing people that come from trust funds say they’ve worked for all they have and resent those who “mooch” off the system.

I’m tired of others, that truly have worked for what they have, asking why everyone else can’t do the same. No two situations are alike. It’s absurd to compare hardships.

My problem has always been assuming that I can’t make a difference.

I’ve always thought to myself, “Why bother?”

Screw that.

We must bother.

We must try to be parents to the parent-less, sisters and brothers to the sibling-less, and friends to the friend-less.

We must do less judging and questioning, and more listening and loving.

We must remember that, one day, it could be us, our children, our parents, or our friends, that need a hand.

We must be softer.

And, most importantly, we must stop pretending that we aren’t part of the problem…or the solution.

Because, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

Why the hell else are we here?

* * *

Stay tuned tomorrow for Project: We See You – February!

Where to begin…

I’ve been trying to write this post for over a week. I have thoughts-a-plenty swirling around in my head, but not nearly enough words to express or do them justice.

But, I’ll do my best.

The night before the ceremony found me sitting on my butt, with so much left to do. The all too familiar procrastinators’ panic set in, and I kicked myself for not having managed my time more efficiently.

My dear friend, Zach, showed up at my door earlier in the week with a neon green bag of new underwear. Oddly enough, not the weirdest thing to happen since we’ve been friends.

Also, Ruben came through in the bottom of the ninth, over-nighting me fifty pairs of new socks. I would later learn socks are amongst the most cherished items for people living on the streets. And, not just during the winter months. In the summer, fungal infections of the feet are quick to set in.

Then, Kendra sent me packs of q-tips to complete our supply, and Claire, a very generous monetary donation.

The goodness train could not be derailed.

Finally, the pedicure kits arrived. I was worried they wouldn’t get in on time, so…phew.

I slipped on rubber gloves, complete with a loud SNAP, to freak my husband out. Much to his disappointment relief, I was just finishing up the shampoo details.

That morning, I went through the bags making sure each was complete, and separated them according to gender.

My dog was a huge help.

A few hours before set-up, it dawned on me how perfect it would be to slip $5 gift cards from McDonald’s into each bag. Angry at myself for not having thought of it sooner, I hauled ass to see what I could do with so little time left.

The manager, Yolanda, shut down an entire line to process the gift cards, running each through the register one by one.

After inhaling my Happy Meal, and screaming, ” WHAT THE HELL? I ASKED FOR THE GIRL TOY!” on my way out, I hauled even faster ass to FedEx to print out fifty copies of the letter I’d written. I wanted more than anything for those that received them to know they were not haphazardly thrown together, but that they came from a place of love and thoughtfulness….from all over the country.

Besides that, I wanted to apologize for the times I failed to treat them as my equal…as a human being.

I spent two, kid-free, hours at my coffee shop pouring everything I had into that letter. It was a rare moment of writing for me, filled simultaneously with the passion I always feel and the skill that often escapes me.

I saved it and slammed my computer shut, not bothering to turn it off.

Later that night after the boys were in bed, I sat down to edit.

But, the letter? Had vanished.

Nothing.

It was just…poof…gone.

Such a gut-punch.

And, although I remembered most of what I’d said, writing it based on memory, rather than the heart-words that had flowed so easily just hours before, felt regurgitated, robotic, and insincere.

But, with so much to do, I had to settle for writing a quick, more condensed version…something I’ve felt deflated by ever since.

If you’re interested in reading what I wrote, or you wish to learn more about how this all got started, you can do so here HERE.

Moving on to what’s important, though…

I mentioned I’d include a photo of a bag in it’s entirety.

So, here it is, minus a few things.

It was go time, so my husband and I loaded up our cars and headed downtown to the steps of city hall.

When I pulled up, a pack of friendly faces raced over to help me unload the loot.

I approached the area where the ceremony was held, and before me was a long, winding line of people, quietly waiting to get their mouths on a meal.

In a city with over six million people, I’m used to spotting the homeless everyday. But, even so, I was not prepared for this. It’s not until you’ve seen 500 homeless people, all at once, that you can truly grasp just how enormous the epidemic.

I swallowed my shock and sadness, shoving it deep down to be felt later on, and jumped right in.

They gave me the choice of simply dropping off the donations and leaving, but, hell no, this is not what the project is about. Dumping the bags and driving away was too easy and not an option. I needed to feel the discomfort that I’ve run from all these years.

So, I threw my whole-self in and began talking to anyone who would listen, extending my hand to those people I usually speed passed, because I’m in a hurry to make it to my oh-so-important pedicure appointment.

I had a lengthy conversation with an older man. I asked him how long he’d lived on the streets and what led him there. He told me he’d been an addict for most of his life, but had finally found his way to sobriety. Then, beaming, he pulled out a thick, folded-up, piece of paper from his pocket.

This is my new apartment lease, signed on December 10th. I have a home again. But, I cannot turn my back on all my friends out here. I have to remember where I came from, and all those who are still there.

He stuck out his hand and I bear-hugged him – an awkward habit of mine that often catches people off-guard. But, not him. He was all about the bear-hugs.

The bags were unloaded and placed behind a long, white table, to be distributed following the ceremony.

The many volunteers were busy setting up for the memorial – the reading of the homeless who’d lost their lives in 2012.

Nightfall came on quickly, but as the sky turned dark city hall fought back, glowing beautifully for the lost souls we had gathered there to honor.

I stood around for a while, not knowing quite what to do with myself, when one of the organizers motioned for me to go over. He asked if I’d like to read a few of the names.

As much as I hate the way my voice sounds over a microphone, of course, I said yes.

They gave me a list of five names. Five people I never knew existed until that moment. But, after reading their names over and over again, wanting to make sure I pronounced them correctly, I realized that I did know them.

They were someone’s son, brother, father, and friend. They were one of us.

And, even though they didn’t have a house, or much of anything else to call their own, it didn’t mean they shouldn’t been remembered and given a proper farewell.

After the last of the names were spoken, the bags and other donations were handed out.

I wanted to capture this moment, but without invading their privacy or making them feel like an object, so I quickly snapped a picture and walked away.

There was some minor squabbling from those that wanted more than one bag, and others who were too far back in line to even receive one.

This killed me, because despite all we did, it simply wasn’t enough to help everyone.

I said goodbye to those I had the pleasure of meeting, and headed towards my now empty car, once filled with the things I never think twice about having.

Before leaving, I bummed a smoke from someone (I know, surgeon general, I KNOW), and found a secluded spot to sit and process.

It was so cold outside, and a part of me felt guilty for getting back into my car. The car with the heated seats and toasty air, that would take me back to my warm, safe, and food-filled house.

I watched people, the bags slung over their shoulders, walk away…to nowhere…and I sat sobbing on the steps, knowing that something inside of me had changed that night. I would no longer bitch about what I want, instead I’d be more appreciative that I have all I need.

A week later, a friend posted this on Facebook…

A few days after that, I went to the Apple Store to get a first world problem repaired. On the way back home I, too, spotted a man with one of our bags.

This week has been a wet one. New Year’s Eve brought with it heavy rain and thunderstorms, making it hard to tell the booms of fireworks and thunder apart.

I’d been pretty down that I wasn’t able to help as many people as I’d hoped. But, that night, I realized there were fifty people warding off the rain with their ponchos, and fighting off the cold with their socks, warm hats, and blankets.

And, THIS, I reminded myself, is what it’s all about – helping one person at a time whenever we’re able.

Below is the video of the memorial. It cuts off right before I read my names – pssshaw! – but you can spot me towards the right shuffling back and forth, and fidgeting as usual.

I’ve been asked about my future plans for this project.

I’m still bouncing ideas around, but I think I’ve got a grasp on where I want to take it.

Would I love to hand out these giant bags every month of every year?

Of course.

But, realistically, I fear burnout, and I simply don’t have the supplies for it.

So, tentatively, I’d like to distribute these larger bags a few times a year, maybe once each season, while focusing on individual items to hand out each month.

For example – January: bus passes; February: grocery gift cards; March: Umbrellas – and so on.

Project: We See You is still a work in progress, but one I will not abandon, like I do with most things. Commitment is not my strong suit.

Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank all of you who took the time to make this happen. I’m positive I’ve left people out, and for that I am sorry, but please know that I never could have done any of this without you. Whether you donated supplies, time, money, or encouragement…it all mattered so much to me.

You inspire me.