I walked a lot while in Dallas. I did so in attempt to save my employer the cost of a rental car because all of the work I needed to do was within relative walking distance. I know, what a guy, right? In the afternoons when my work for the day was complete, however, I wanted to see the city, so I relied on the new DART light rail system that recently opened. It was great, as I got to see Fair Park and the Cotton Bowl (am I the only one who desperately seeks out all stadiums and arenas whenever I'm in a new place? Yes? Okay.), Southern Methodist University (um, and their football stadium, too), NorthPark Mall for a movie, and the Deep Ellum neighborhood for a Twisted Root bleu cheese and jalapeno burger with a homemade root beer (not as good as Gene's).
One problem with taking the DART trains, though, is that after you arrive, these sites aren't exactly right next to the station. I am also an idiot, which, in part, meant that I wore my flip flops instead of tennis shoes. So, at the end of each night, my feet were killing me and I was exhausted. It was also a little disconcerting to be riding a train at night in a place where I know no one and was pretty far away from my hotel. So at the end of each day I had gone from adventurous explorer to "let's just get back to the room and watch SportsCenter" guy.
On Saturday night, around 11:30, my trip to Dallas was basically over, and I was walking back to the hotel for the final time, weary and tired, my feet killing me again. I was only one block away and thinking about how wonderful it would be to take a shower and lie in bed, watching baseball highlights and blasting the air conditioner. It was at that moment that I began to take the shortcut through the parking garage next to my hotel, a shortcut that I had discovered a couple days before. Just as I turned to cut through, I saw the back of a large Black man, too tall for the five foot bench he was lying on, sound asleep. His pants were worn and dirty, his t-shirt with some holes, his hair long and filled with dust. He clutched one bag, his only possession, in his arms as he slept.
Sadness swept over me. I never know what I'm supposed to do in that situation. My heart said to wake him and bring him to my room so he could enjoy a shower and hop in a comfortable bed. I could sleep on the floor. But would that just make him mad? Pissed that I awakened him, patronized him, or gave him a taste of luxury only to tell him goodbye and good luck ten hours later? Was there a homeless shelter? Or would he rather not be there anyway? But most of all, what is his story? How did he end up there and how could it have been prevented?
This situation was an appropriate example of why I am sometimes frustrated with the structure of life. There are so many joys yet there is so much unbearable pain. I ache so badly for that guy yet feel like there's nothing I can do about it as a long term solution. There is so much luxury here that is surrounded by so much suffering, most of which could be prevented if we cared just a little bit more about the plight of others instead of ourselves, and I know I'm as guilty as the next guy.
How do some of us have it so good and others have it so bad, and we all just let it be?
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