#FirstCoffeeThoughts

I hadn't been long out of high school when I was in New York with a friend of mine who introduced me to a woman he knew he was an artist. He'd taken me downtown to some sketchy AF looking warehouse area and I was too young at the time to really recognize it as anything other than sketchy when in fact it was a really unique and very artistic scene. I had never been anywhere in New York that wasn't a theater at that age. As far as I knew New York was only Broadway ...

1/

The woman had a little alcove for lack of a better word that had a table and some easels where her paintings were. There were people around looking at all these different tables and stands and it seemed like a kind of impromptu art exhibit, kind of the place you had to know about in advance to see some rare art or something. Her work was amazing to look at; powerful and aggressive. It made me kind of step back from it. I remember feeling grown up enough to appreciate that powerful response.

2/

The woman was young. I thought she must be a college student, I was myself just barely a freshman. The trip to the city was my friend taking me the celebrate surviving my first week at college. She introduced herself and we talked about art. She was kind and her voice was so soft. Everything she wore was covered in paint and I remember thinking I was amazed it wasn't in her hair which was really long and black. I asked her how she knew my friend, how they had met, and she said at a shelter.

3/

My friend was a successful businessman - an architect - and I knew he did a lot of volunteer work and gave to a lot of programs that aided the homeless. I also knew he volunteered a lot of hours doing what he could. I assumed she was also someone similar. But, as I quickly found out, she was homeless herself.

Everyone who was displaying art at this popup gallery was. I remember trying to act mature and not surprised. I'd never in my life met someone homeless ... only saw depictions on TV.

4/

I remember feeling really kind of gross and ashamed of myself and because I've always believed in absolute candor I said as much. She laughed at me and I had one of those "but you don't look homeless" moments ... which only made me feel even more gross and disgusted with myself. It seemed like everyone who was browsing the art was in on this truth and I remember thinking I must be such a broken person that I had such a limited understanding of the world I was in. It bothered me for WEEKS.

5/

As with everything in my life, I knew that the only way to be better was to learn ... and the best way to learn was to ask questions. I always seem knowledge where I can, I always try to have a direct understanding from those in the reality I'm trying to learn about ... she was very open about her life and circumstances and her deep sense of pride and determination. She would accept nothing from our mutual wealthy friend except advice. I liked that about her because I was the same with him.

6/

Over a number of years I learned probably more from her than I did from anyone else. Not just about things like resilience but also about art. She was fascinated by #stoicism and we talked a lot about it. I never try to "sell" anyone on stoicism. It's a crucial part of my foundation and existence and it's just how I speak and live. She was remarkably stoic naturally ... she wasn't living in some fantasy of dreams and lies of hope and delusion. She had a plan, clarity, and a path forward.

7/

She took no handouts, begged no favors, and was insanely talented which is how she eventually changed her circumstances.

That meeting with her and others that day, a week into my freshman year of college, really shaped the trajectory of my life. I decided a new direction I wanted to take with who I wanted to be.

It evolved from simply being 100 times better than the abusive, selfish, broken people who traumatized and tormented me for 18 years ... it became much more evolved.

8/

I realized for the first time that day that I didn't like myself as much as I thought I did. I realized that my ENTIRE childhood had been simply about surviving ... about getting out, getting free, getting away ... I had no room for anything else and didn't trust people and certainly no adults. My reality was so all consuming and all I could think about for decades was just making it out alive and with my mind in tact. The wider world was not my concern because I was so focused on surviving.

9/

Even when I was growing up -sitting in the tub looking down and hating that I was going to have to wear long pants to school in the summer to hide the cuts left from the switch whipping - I knew that other people were having horrible and difficult lives out in the world. I knew that I wasn't alone in what I was experiencing. I knew my situation wasn't normal but I also knew that other people had things worse ... I just couldn't imagine it. I couldn't see much aside from my own pain.

10/

I remember sitting in my dorm room thinking about how I was going to make the best of this chance I had ... what I wanted to do and learn and who I wanted to become that was more than just "a child who survived abuse" ... I didn't want to be that person that didn't think about other people's realities because I was so caught up in my own. My reality had changed. My freedom had come from that Hell house and now I could have room in my mind and heart for other people who were also suffering.

11/

Call it pride or embarrassment ... but it made me ashamed to look around at all this incredible art and all this talent on the street and not think about the fact that yes ... there were homeless people with talent ... or that homeless people had different circumstances and lives and stories. This was the early 90s and the world was very different and I grew up upper middle class in the suburbs and I knew nothing about anything except surviving a terrible but privileged hell.

12/

My dairy entry that week:

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵. 𝘐 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯. 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘥𝘰𝘮. 𝘌𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦?

13/

It went on and on and is a lot of self flagellation, but the end result of it was I set myself on a path of recognizing something that I'd only begun to scratch the surface of in middle school but just didn't have the development to formulate a foundation around ...

That everyone lives in their own reality. I knew it ... I could see that from dealing with my peers and even my own parents, but I didn't think about it beyond it's most base idea until that moment ...

EVERYONE is surviving.

14/