| Why do I want to change the world? I’m 29 years old, married, and keeping an 8 to 5 job steady. I have also taken up classes towards gaining entrance in a graduate program. And yet, here I sit thinking about the world and wanting to make a difference.
As the popular saying goes, I have one more year of being a good Democrat before I am expected to “get some sense” and become a Republican, so apparently I’m taking in my fill of social consciousness. Last week, the better half and I adventured outside our mole hole into the big city. I asked him to take me to the Columbus Public Library. I hadn’t been there since high school and was excited to go and research writing markets for children’s books.
However, as soon as we exited the elevator, I noticed three people partially dozing at the tables across from the library bookstore. They were wearing old, worn coats and protected by a defensive circle of plastic shopping bags, no doubt filled with all their worldly possessions. I couldn’t ignore them and pretend their presence was not felt, but I could not approach them, I could not speak. I became mute and immobile, but why?
When I was in college, I spent a rather odd night speaking with a homeless man who asked me for a smoke. I felt wonderful after talking to him, I’ll never forget the conversation I had with him outside the Coffee Table downtown. My friends were terrified, but I won’t ever forget his eyes and the dual kindness and sadness in them. His name was Verlan, and he told me about the job he once had, and how drugs had essentially led him from a good job, a good home and a wonderful family.
But why could I now not bring myself to speak with these people? These people who were no doubt wondering where they would go on the bitterly cold night, after the library closed. As I finally got the nerve to walk past, I changed a glance over at the lounge area, and none of them made eye contact with anyone in the library. They were not begging for money; they weren’t asking for pity; they were just resting somewhere in warmth.
It made me think how many in my city were struggling the same way. How many are passed daily without a second glance from passersby? Where can I go to help? Can I make a difference? I want so badly to know the answer to these questions, I want to go out to the old barrel fires at night under the underpasses in Columbus, and find a way to change their lives. Is there something that I can possibly do to help change this world?
Sometimes, like I am doing right now, I ponder that, hoping to come to some epiphany. The only thing that I can do at this moment -- with this mind, these hands, and my words -- is to try and remind all of us as we get into our cars and drive home, not to forget… not to be afraid of reaching out and even in a small way show some kindness and compassion to their fellow human being, no matter what the suffering.
So maybe I won’t turn Republican at thirty after all.
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