Reflections on the Way to Work

Homeless in New York City (“NYC”)is a complicated matter. and over the years, throughout the different economic cycles, the homeless population in NYC increases and decreases.  However, in 2008, the number of homeless people at Grand Central Terminal (“GCT”) increased significantly with the economic downturn and it has not really decreased since then.  The homeless and the commuters seem to coexist at GCT but I often wonder what the homeless population must think as they stand on the sidelines of majestic GCT while commuters and tourists come and go.  This reflection is written from the perspective of what I imagine a homeless person might think.

It’s 6:50am in the morning and I position myself on the sidelines of the Gray Bar Lexington Avenue Passage by Track 15. The train pulls into GCT and here they come like the starting line of a marathon, commuters racing off the train trotting to their destination, traversing the zig zag of others racing down the escalators, or coming from the subway or passing through the multitude of doors leading in and out of GCT. You commuters are creating new dance steps maneuvering between the tourists stopped to take selfies under the famous clock, or around others waiting to meet someone.  Ah yes, you are always hustling through the stationary human statues that are waiting for their train track to be announced or others, waiting in line for a morning Joe and bagel, or a healthier smoothie. Some of you don’t even see me, you just stay focused on your destination, others look at me in disdain, as if I chose to live a life of homelessness, others spare me their chump change and finally, there is actually one person whose eyes embrace mine and share the warmth of their smile.  It is worth a million pennies to me.  I can go days without anyone actually seeing me as a human being and then finally that one person, locks eyes with a warmth that takes the chill of loneliness away, it makes my day and maybe even my week.

I see you come off the train everyday and you pass me by as if I was lazy or going to harm you or somehow can control my current state of existence.  I too, once shared the hustle and bustle existence you do, never imagining that my life would be sitting on the sidelines with no roof over my head, no job, no friends but only the familiar faces of the strangers passing by every day.  Yes, I see you, I know your habits and I know when you are not here because for me you are now my life.  It doesn’t matter what you think of me because I live in my own world, content.  Believe it or not, I see you as my friend because you help me pass the day of my otherwise lonely existence. I no longer have the pressures you have of sustaining and maintaining a lifestyle, that was all taken away when I lost my job.  You see I learn to live without material things, they are really unimportant.

Despite our polar existence, we both can share the beauty of the music of The West Village Quartet featured as one of the artists through the MTA Music Under New York, the only difference is that I can enjoy their full concert on the sidelines while you listen to it for the two minutes you walk through GCT; sometimes you stop for a moment to listen, and other times you just let the music escort you to the door.  On the other hand, I get to GCT early so I can reserve my spot right across from where they are playing.  I dream, yes I dream that I am a conductor, lost in their music orchestrating with my hand as a conductor’s baton.  You stop momentarily to see me and them, you smile, maybe you even get lost for a moment, but then you hustle on again, worrying about the next meeting, paper due, everything that consumes you for the day.

You’re gone, the rest of the morning rush subsides, there is a lull, and now the tourists come, enthralled with GCT, some rent the video tour and others follow the man with the handkerchief on an umbrella tip, it doesn’t matter how they tour, they too ignore me as if I was a stone brick in the wall.  It’s ok, I enjoy seeing people love my home, even if they don’t acknowledge me and recognize that I have the beauty of this every day and I call it home.

Time passes, it’s now lunch time, and the terminal gets busy again.  This time you are coming through GCT to fill your stomach while mine growls, its ok, because tonight I will go to the soup kitchen to fill my stomach.  However, until then I stand in front of the display window at Zabars yearning for a loaf of the freshly made bread, I stand there staring and staring for a long time dreaming of which loaf I would buy and how it might taste.  Once again a familiar friendly face passes through carrying a dozen donuts, she stops and give me some money.  I say to her, are you bringing donuts to your team, she says yes, I say that is nice, you must be a good boss to think about your team.  I say thank you and off she goes rushing to the office with her dozen donuts.  For a short moment I was brought back to a time when I worked and shared a similar experience of my boss bringing in goodies to share with the team.  I think about those times for the next hour wondering how life took a different course for me without advanced notice or preparation.

I see my friend and fellow homeless person going through the garbage now, he just saw someone throw away half of his uneaten sandwich so my friend pulls it out to snack on it before night falls.  He also collects the plastic bottles tossed in the garbage to collect the nickel deposit that someone paid when they bought the bottle of water.  For someone this is trash, for a homeless, the specialty sandwich or the half of piece of fruit is a delicacy that you take for granted but which we, the homeless savor.  As for the nickel returns on the bottle, to you its five cents, for the homeless, its five cents that gets added to the collection of other nickels that can be used to buy something to eat or drink.

Once again, the lunch time crowd subsides and the tourists remain.  They visit all the shops, the little kiosks and the most visited, the Apple Store to buy one more gadget that distracts them from being present to the moment.

Evening rush hour arrives, and the crowds descend once again on GCT.  There is a homeless outreach program giving homeless women a flower.  You stop and wonder why in the world would a homeless person want a flower and what are they going to do with it.  Once again, the outreach program remembers that I too am a person and even I have the need to feel loved and wanted; that is what the flower symbolizes, an acknowledgement of me as a person.

I too dream and hope about a life different than homelessness, it is those dreams and hopes that allow me to get through another day.   More importantly, it is the recognition by strangers through a smile, a small token of food or change, or a pair of shoes, a coat in the winter, a cool drink in the summer that reminds me that I am part of a community that is inclusive of the homeless.  So when you pass me by in GCT, please don’t be afraid of me, don’t ignore me, just remember me in any way you can.  Your thoughtfulness can make me feel human, maybe even give me the spark to realize my dreams and hopes, even if it is only for a passing moment in time.