Exhale

Another year, another time to reflect, celebrate, forget or look forward to another one. Before we jump at the opportunity to welcome better times than we had this year, I wanted to share a story from the other night that put perspective on things but more importantly taught me how to exhale...

The other day, I volunteered a full day at a homeless shelter, a man, whom I've seen before at the shelter, walked in to get dinner and as I was cleaning up, I struck a conversation with him. He had a job that the shelter helped him get, he lives in the inner city with his wife and two kids. He said he comes to the shelter every morning before work to get breakfast, they pack him a lunch and comes back at night for dinner before going home. He's not making a ton of money but enough to have a home and food on the table. He said that the money isn't enough to feed the entire family, so he eats at the shelter so he doesn't have to take food from the family. When he gets home, he'll sit at the dinner table with the family and watch them eat while he asks his kids about school and his wife about her day. He tries his best to make a normal situation out of an abnormal circumstance. Then he takes out the Twinkie that was packed into his lunch provided by the shelter and they cut it into four pieces so the family can have dessert together.

Although he compromises his pride and ego to eat three squares a day at a homeless shelter, the return he gets when his two girls smile when they hear the rattle of the Twinkie wrapper in his pocket is worth the trials of his days. That one bite of Twinkie that he gets is his normalcy. It's his only oasis of the day. A college educated man, who used to be in corporate America and now works odd and end jobs as a carpenter, plumber, custodian and dishwasher found peace in a bite of a Twinkie with his family. There was a time they dined at the best restaurants, all the concierge's in Boston knew his name, his cars had heated seats and his furniture were all imported. His wife was a socialite and he wore custom tailored suits. Some would say, that was the life to live. Then it crashed and he lost everything.

There's a line that says "you never know how high you can go until you hit rock bottom". He was so low that he looked up at rock bottom. But he didn't give up, he didn't get depressed nor did he let it show to his family. They sold everything, both got jobs doing anything that kept a roof, food for their kids and clothes on their backs. He said that every night before he goes to bed, he and his wife let out a big exhale. Release. Another day. They never say it could be worse or hate that it is bad. They just exhale...

I'm in no way saying our life's problems are comparable to others. But our perspective may be. I've lived a very fortunate and lucky life that as an adult my worries aren't life-threatening or a matter of survival, but Jerry's story isn't meant to feel bad for him, he hates it when people feel bad for him, he believes that he should earn everything he gets and will work for life's rewards. But in the handful of times I've seen him, he's never down on himself, he always has a smile as if he won the lottery and his courtesy and respect for all people of all paths is his currency. For that, he is rich beyond means.

So tomorrow as with every new years eve, I will celebrate the ending and coming of a new year and like every one before that, I will also celebrate my birthday. There will be much fun, alcohol, laughs and even a few stories not worth repeating, but nowhere will I take for granted the days that are given to me and the people close to me, nor will I lose perspective on what's important.

Before Jerry left the shelter that night to go home to have dessert with his family, I said that I hope to see him again and hear how he's doing. He said "I hope I don't see you again, because if you don't see me, that means we're fine."

That got me...

I shook his hand and regretted not telling him that he is the model of strength we all should aspire to. Regretted not telling him that there's a sense of saintliness that exudes from him. I did tell him that he was a good man and his family should be proud to have him as a husband and father. He then told me "no, they are the good ones, they don't judge me or us and don't let our situation take us down, they keep my spirits up and they trust that we'll get through it."

Again, that got me...

As he walked away, I heard the faint rustle of the Twinkie wrapper in his coat pocket and shouted "enjoy dessert", he turned and said "we always do" and just as he was turning to walk away, he exhaled and winked.