Letting go of the desire for change and embracing the stability of staying in one place

Letting go of the desire for change and embracing the stability of staying in one place

Commentary by Andy Pope | FāVS News

Recently I had occasion to visit Spokane. This was after being tucked away with cabin fever, sleeping every night in Moscow, Idaho, for nearly nine years. 

Except for one.

Once, I got so pent up from being in the same small town all the time, I couldn’t stand it anymore and rode my bike to the Quality Inn in Pullman and back in the morning. I spent $100 to know the rare of occasion of sleeping somewhere other than in Moscow. 

(It didn’t work, by the way. I returned to the same cabin fever the next morning, $100 closer to the red.) 

This also gave rise to a new source of potential resentment. When I was outside, how many different cities would I sleep in? I would get my check, get on the BART, get motel rooms and actually catch up on my rest. By the time I was flying my sign again on that Berkeley city side walk, I’d be rested up and ready for another month. 

I also don’t want to mislead anyone. I have visited Spokane before and left on the bus the same day. I have worked in Pullman and returned home, often by bicycle, often passing FāVS Editor Tracy Simmons on the Chipman Trail, on the same day. It’s this phenomenon of never sleeping anywhere but in Moscow that gets to me. 

All this was on my mind recently, when I had a bit of a break from my musical endeavors. So, I headed up to Spokane and rented a motel room. But I must be honest with you. 

Neither of those rooms felt anything like they felt when I was continually, constantly homeless. Back then, those motel rooms were like oases in a desert. These recent two were more like sources of guilt. After all, I can’t really afford a hotel room. 

But now I was in Spokane, and not in Moscow. Might as well make the most of it! 

Not what I remembered

As a pedestrian relying on walking for transportation in Spokane, one of the first things that struck me is that there were no streets I could traverse where I not only found homeless people, but bitter, enraged and paranoid homeless people. I did not see one person who enjoyed themselves or relished in any way the perks of living outside.

This is probably because, unlike homelessness in Berkeley circa 2012, there simply aren’t any perks.

This made me feel terribly naive. And yet, when I and others were homeless in Berkeley from 2011-2016, it seemed to us that all the people who lived inside were the ones who were naive.

They were naive, we reasoned, because they only knew the whys and wherefores of how to live inside. We knew how to live outside, in addition to having lived inside. So we felt like we knew a lot more than they did. And yet, they lectured us.

But now, seeing the situation in Spokane, and scanning the panorama of my years of homeless experience in a number of California cities, could it be that we only knew how to live outside in Berkeley, California?

The allure of Berkeley

In a city not much larger in area than Moscow (though with five times as many people), we were offered 35 free meals a week, as well as many other services — socks, razors, toothpaste, showers etc. — all within walking distance. We often walked together in groups of friends, having philosophical conversations we continued as we waited in food lines.

And why should our conversations not have been philosophical? Philosophical sorts are drawn to Berkeley. It’s something about its allure. It was in Berkeley in 1964 that the Free Speech Movement was born. In Berkeley, Jimi Hendrix and Janice Joplin played on the outdoor stage in People’s Park. And so, eventually, did I.

Then we have the Lawrence National Laboratory, Mario Savio, the Manhattan Project, Patty Hearst, Ronald Reagan sending the National Guard to People’s Park and shattered windows in protests all along Shattuck Avenue. Berkeley was no stranger to major philosophical phenomena. 

Getting softer

So anyway here I was in Spokane, where someone told me I could get a decent guitar for cheap and busk and make money on the sidewalks, like I did in Berkeley.

And yet, I was possessed with such a sense of irk, I hardly wanted to even talk with any of these people, let alone be seen strumming on a guitar. On intuition, I doubted it would even cheer them up.

I’m also uncertain how relatively recent is this phenomenon. Even when I went to Spokane approximately eight years ago, the homeless people seemed happier, and it was not challenging for me to sit down among them with a sign, pass a bit of a street initiation and make some bucks.

But then again, I myself was closer to my homeless experience in those days. It’s been eight years since then that I have lived inside. Eight years of getting older, getting softer and forgetting what the hard street life is all about.

All because I live inside now? It’s borderline-unacceptable. It truly makes no sense. 

‘Jesus was homeless.’

I recall approaching Wayne, one of the “greenshirts” in Berkeley. The semi-officials whom we called the greenshirts were all graduates of local recovery program. They were given street jobs as semi-cops who assisted people when it was called for (and also radioed in information about drug deals to the police.)

Knowing Wayne was a devoted believer, I mentioned Romans 12:1. I’m sure I’ve quoted it here on FāVS, at least twice before:

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what is the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God.”

Wayne was a very large, cheerful Black man, happy about his recovery and his new life. He also shortly later became a minister at a small church in Oakland. 

“But what does it say after that?” asked Wayne. He then quoted:

“Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but think of yourself with sober judgment, according to the measure of faith God has given you.”

I don’t pretend to remember the exact order of conversation thereafter. The basic gist was that Wayne thought I was being arrogant or presumptuous in equating my homeless experience with “non-conformity to the world.” But after a while, I was able to convince him I’d rather sleep alone outdoors than in any of the high-risk group situations he had been recommending. 

“So you want to be homeless,” Wayne said slowly, as though he didn’t quite believe his ears.

“Yes,” I replied. “Jesus was homeless.” 

“Yes he was,” agreed Wayne. “And he still served God.” 

“Like I’m trying to do,” I mumbled, turning my head to the side. There was a long pause.

“But Jesus didn’t do large amount of dangerous drugs when he was homeless,” I conceded.

“No he didn’t,” smiled Wayne.

‘Which came first …’

For I had developed a problem after nine years on-and-off the streets and in sketchy situations — a far cry from the PTA meetings and spring concerts I was accustomed to.

And now I had two problems. Three, if you want to count all the people who assumed I had become homeless because of a drug problem, and didn’t believe me when I said the homelessness preceded the substance abuse by a good nine years.

Only when I got to Idaho did someone ask me the question I had longed to hear. That someone happened to be Darrell Keim, the executive director of the Latah Recovery Center. 

“Which came first, the homelessness or the drugs?” 

“The homelessness!” I almost screamed in elation. I now knew I was in an environment that would hear my truth and not keep demeaning me — an environment in which I could recover.

What I have found

So, I alighted upon the Pacific Northwest on July 27, 2016. Here I have found the ultimate solution to all three problems. I have found a way to live inside and successfully pay rent at the beginning of each month. In other words, I have developed a positive business relationship with my landlords of the past eight years.

I have found a supportive environment where I have also found recovery from substance abuse issues acquired on the streets, and from the mental health issues that landed me there.

I have found a community where I am accepted and believed, rather than continually suspected and demeaned.

So I have a lot to be thankful for, even in this unsettling day and age, and even if I have sometimes made foolish choices. Here on the Palouse, I have found three things I desperately had needed.

But there’s one thing I have not yet found — and that’s an acoustic guitar.

Seriously, if anyone wants to help me out, I will soon be making money busking on the street of Moscow, as a couple other artists are now doing. I just don’t have an ax, and it’s getting to me. 

I keep thinking not only could I personally benefit from the change, but the kinds of songs I am likely to play and sing are likely to comfort or lift up broken, troubled spirits.

There are plenty of sensitive people out there — and the times are making us even more so. I say, if we can play decent music, let’s play as much of it as we possibly can.

The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News. FāVS News values diverse perspectives and thoughtful analysis on matters of faith and spirituality.