What The Man In The Wheelchair Taught Me About Caring

mother and her dead son statue

I’d like to share what I experienced the other day. It was on the bus. In the front row was a veteran, trembling in his wheelchair, still wearing his USA attire. His hair was long and grey; he looked worn out. At that moment, I wanted to see his point of view. I wanted to understand him a little better. I imagined what it would be like to experience life through his eyes.

The fight was tough but it was exactly what I had wanted. The amount of vigilance necessary in order to survive was demanding, I thrived off of that. Every day you don’t give a fuck what goes on out there, you go out there to do what they want you to do. There is a mission to accomplish and you’re making sure you keep your part, because you know you’re capable of it. When else are you tested to your full potential? This is what I live for, and if you would like to watch, go right ahead. Enjoy the show because I’m a fucking monster.

I imagined the days that made him a veteran and I pictured him as a total badass. I felt the thrill and surge of power that comes when you’re defending yourself. You’re sent over there for a reason, making your sole priority to accomplish the goal and survive. I could feel the hustle that it required.

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Picking a Bone With Panhandlers

Beggar_with_a_Lyra,_by_Svishchev-Paola_1900s

I believe my scent attracts panhandlers. I don’t know what it is, but maybe my Old Spice deodorant gives them the sense that i’m overflowing with money. Truth is, i’m not. I don’t really mind people coming up to me and asking for money, because I see this as a chance to get to know somebody new and have a nice conversation. Apparently most of them don’t seem to see it that way.

Let me tell you about my most recent encounter:

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