I wonder...

         I watch a ‘homeless’ man everyday on my way to work.  This particular man amazes me and makes me wonder about myself.  I don’t know his name, how old he is, if he has family, or how he came to be ‘the man on the corner’, but I do wonder.  I wonder how he gets up in the morning, forces himself to breathe, forces himself to walk to the same corner, and makes it through each and every day of his life.  His hair is a dirty yellowish gray and hangs different lengths about his head.  His eyes are tarnished with, what I assume to be, torturous life experiences.  His two front teeth are missing, but the rest of his teeth actually look semi-clean.  His skin is mapped with numerous deep lines that tell a story too old for words.  His shirt is always the same green button up shirt with stains and muck designing the front and back.  He wears tattered jeans with holes displaying his frail, hairy legs dark from dirt and grime.  He is a sight eyes turn away to avoid, but I cannot seem to stop looking at him.

         I actually find myself thinking about him before I get in my ‘middle class’ sedan to start my journey to my ‘torturous’ job.  As I apply my everyday mask of beauty products in the morning, I look in the mirror and wonder if he even owns a mirror.  As I hustle my children through their usual breakfast craze, feeling like such a failure, and think everything is just too hard, I wonder about him.  I turn on my melancholy music as I sit in my car, reminiscing about my dreams lost, and my thoughts pull to him.  I press the gas pedal to merge onto the ‘scary’ interstate, feeling incredibly tired and hopeless about the future, and then I think of him again.  I think of all of the injustices in my life, the devastating losses of my childhood, the divorce, the lies, the loss of my father, brother, and even the loss of my mother, and I try to swim in my usual pool of self pity and disgust, and suddenly he dives right into my thoughts.  I curse at the lady on her cell phone who almost runs into me and think, go ahead, what difference would it make anyway, but then I am once again so ashamed as I think of him.

         I make my way, music blaring, down the usual route that takes me right by ‘him’, and I truly wonder…  Why am I so ashamed of the reality of my life?  Why do I cry every night about incidents I have absolutely no control over?  Why am I such a total mess?  What really gives me the right to complain about anything in my life?  I wonder, as I sit in my car, watching him, how he gets to that corner every single morning and what is his path?  Who knows what horror brought him to that lonely place he lives in, but he still lives everyday.  He forges ahead, fighting his own everyday battles, what to eat, drink, where to sleep, and he still lives.  He, for a reason we all do not know, but we all possess, keeps on going.  A force pushes him into the day, just like me, and yet his road is colored so differently than mine.  He doesn’t have anyone to fix breakfast for, and he doesn’t struggle over ‘what to wear’.  He doesn’t worry about how to pay the mortgage this month, but wonders instead, where he will lay his head to rest.  He must struggle over his lost dreams as well, but his struggle is visible, unlike mine.  He was born just as treasured as myself by God above, precious and innocent, with a vision and hope, just like me.  He, the man on the corner, is really just like every single one of us, with trials, loss, and suffering, but he stands there, inside out, for all of us to see.  Maybe he is just standing there, for all of those who pass, to finally see.

        He looks over at me, and I cannot look away.  His eyes stare at mine as if he knows exactly what I am thinking.  There is something so compelling, so familiar about the look in his tired eyes.  I glance to see if traffic has moved, but I am stuck, and I cannot look away from his stare.  His eyes do not look stoned, or even lost, but just damaged like every single one on this crowded street, heading off to work.  He smiles, showing his gums, and I think he is going to ask me for money, so I reach for my purse, but he just looks and smiles a harmless, worry free smile.  I find myself smiling back, admiring him, and admiring his toothless, genuine grin.  He lifts a dirty hand and waves calmly, maintaining his warm smile.  I mouth the words “thank you” as I return the wave, smiling myself.  His head turns to the side, questioning me, then he opens his toothless mouth and slowly states, “You are welcome.”  The questioning look in his eyes seems to be answered.

         The light turns green and I press slowly on the accelerator, seeing the road a little differently than yesterday.  He continues to wave, as do I, and I continue on my usual path of ‘normal’ life.  As I look in the rearview mirror, he stops waving and makes his way back to his usual place, and sits slowly on the corner.  I can still see his smile as he leans back and looks up…  “I wonder…” his cracked lips slowly mutter as he gazes so hopefully at the open sky.  I realize, as I wipe the tear from my cheek, we all do…