The Seat of Homelessness.

The way the bus schedule works out, by necessity I arrive at work 12 to 13 minutes early. There's a little seat carved out of a stump that I sit on to wait for someone else to arrive and unlock the door. As I sit there in my worn sneakers and over-sized grungy coat, with my backpack stocked for the day, hood up and hands huddled in my sleeves (trying to keep warm), I watch as a few other early-to-work people hurry past me now and then. Sometimes they steal a sidewise glance, but always they walk quickly on the far side of the sidewalk, more often staring straight ahead as if I'm not there. The first day or two I tried to meet their gaze and smile or say good morning, but the people avoided my eyes and quickened their step as they neared my stump. And I realized: they are acting like they're afraid of me, like they're avoiding me. Why would they do that? Why are they afraid? I looked down at myself, looked across the street where a homeless man, similarly attired, slept on the sidewalk with his backpack as a pillow.

Understanding dawned on me slowly (in accordance with the time of day). I bet they think I'm homeless. I bet they do! I bet they're avoiding me because they're afraid I'm crazy, afraid I'll want something from them, afraid that if they look at me they'll remember I'm a person and not just part of the tree stump. Afraid to confront the reality that their fellow human being could be living more like an animal than a human, and they are treating her as such. Afraid of suffering; afraid of compassion; afraid of guilt.

The other day I read an article about a man who, upon hearing he was to be named head pastor of his church, decided to live the life of a homeless man for 4 days. He then walked into church on his "inauguration day" looking and smelling as such, and addressed the congregation. A decently outside-the-box thing to do, I'd say.
Read the full story here:
http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/07/24/pastor-homeless-experience/2583241/

Now I no longer attempt to greet the people. I simply follow them with my eyes from under my hood; daring them to look at me, daring them to see me as a person. Daring myself to look at me through their eyes and wonder, what would I see?