Cold.
I’m sitting at my local Starbucks and I felt compelled to write.
I’m surrounded by probably 60 people, a diverse group from all walks of life. There are a few sets of customers who have really captured my attention. To my right, there are a group of black men, about 8 in total, age ranging between the late 30s to somewhere around 60. To their left are a group of 5 punk rock kids, probably all under the age of 24 wearing studded leather coats and proudly displaying their facial piercings. You wouldn’t think just by the description that these groups had anything in common, but they do. They’re all homeless and have come to starbucks for temporary relief from the 20 degree weather outside.
Its times like these where I really feel helpless, like I could and should be doing more to help those who are less fortunate. These souls are all over New York, shit, they’re right in front of me. Often I think about offering my apartment for a night of shelter or even my restroom to help someone freshen up. My logic tells me it isn’t safe, but my heart sometimes think its worth the risk.
At this stage of my life I’m so consumed by work and my social life that I seldom think about volunteering. It’s really a pity because its one of the few things I really cherished in college. In a city of millions, you’d be amazed how difficult it is to find a meaningful human interactions. I think volunteering could help me get that feeling back, help me fill a void in a way that no number of shots or fancy meals could ever come close to.
