If you haven’t had the opportunity or inclination to read any of my other many blogs about being homeless, I will give you a quick briefing: I’m a 49 year-old white female, college -educated former business owner and artist. I became homeless a year ago, and my blog chronicles the adventure from the beginning up until now (I’m still homeless). I didn’t become homeless as a result of mental illness, drug-addiction, alcoholism, or domestic violence. I became homeless as a result of a declining economy, just like millions of other American small-business owners. You’d be shocked to find out how fast your life can and will unravel after only two months of little-to-no income. If it could happen to me, it can happen to anyone.
Ah yes, the long-awaited second installment of my homeless adventures. I left off at the part when I just became homeless, and where I was forced to think of it as an adventure, opposed to the catastrophe that it really was. I had just lost my business and shop (and my life as a functioning and contributing member of society) as I knew it.
Since I had been a notorious workaholic up to that point, I had to adjust my attitude and think of these tremendous losses as a means to real freedom. Since the pile of bills on my desk no longer existed, as my desk itself no longer existed, I was faced with true freedom for the first time in my whole life. The keys on my keychain no longer served a purpose, because there were now no doors to lock. No more bills, no more keys, no more mail.
The first night of homeless was absolutely terrifying, yet I was still clinging to the idea that someone would help me. Surely one of my many friends would step up and offer me some form of assistance. After a few nights of sleeping in the gifted Ford Explorer, and blindly trying to chase away the feeling of utter panic, one of my friends did offer a place to crash. My adventure begins with many stories of “staying with friends.”