On looking homeless,

looking for safety and courtesy

Because of cognitive fatigue, I don’t tend to drive for more than five or ten minutes, at present. I can do it; it just depletes me quickly, and I worry about my attention should I need to drive further, especially with other factors such as stress, poor visibility, wet roads, etc. I know I am lucky to have a kind partner who is prepared to drive me to things when he can. I know many others have to drive themselves, regardless of how much is depleting them. The point is, ‘though, that I will look for ways not to drive, to get to things. I use public transport a few times a week at the moment, and this is far more bearable with newish noise-cancelling headphones. Often I’m not playing music, but these will get rid of the low rumble of many bus and train engines that my nervous system finds exhausting, along with other noise. They make it bearably quiet, and I can still hear if someone needs to speak with me. A mask helps, too, not only reducing exposure to airborne pathogens but also to some extent filtering out the perfumes everywhere that bother me.

Because of the timing of T’s work in the city, and an evening band practice that I wanted to get to in the hills, I decided to come with him to the city, and to take a slow train ride to the hills, getting some tasks done on the way in the form of listening to some songs that I wanted to learn, for another activity. It would be a few hours away from home, so as well as headphones and my usual stuff, I brought things like a hot tea bottle, an apple, and a folding umbrella in case of rain. Usually I carry quite a few other things, including a book, small first aid kit, and spare medication, in a bag. One of my friends calls the bag of extras my “anxiety bag”, but I just like to be prepared, recalling the times when I was caught without stuff. I prefer to carry what I might need. Bonus: it’s gentle weight-bearing movement to carry the bags around.

It was a cold day, so I had my colourful coat on. I love it; it was a gift from a special person, who knew I wouldn’t mind a bit that it was a second-hand item. It is getting a bit thin in places now, I suppose. I really am not fully sure why, but also I had black rubber boots on. My walking shoes had gotten muddy and were not yet cleaned up. I think I told myself I didn’t have to walk far, and could remove the boots before coming inside for band practice.

There I was in the city on a quiet afternoon, with my stuff. Time to find a slow train to the hills.

There was a complication, ‘though: there were no trains running to my destination. Apparently the relevant train authorities had chosen this Saturday afternoon of a long weekend to do something on the tracks, or something. I found a bus route to partway there, further up the line from whence there was a train, but it was ages before a bus was due.

I decided to walk a little further, along a few city blocks, to get a bit active, walking quite slowly, again hoping to avoid a symptom flare or crash by taking it gently.

There I was, on a quiet city street on a cold Saturday afternoon, trudging along in my rubber boots and threadbare coat, carrying a couple of bags. Most of the few people I saw looked homeless, sitting tucked under verandahs, or sleeping with their meagre belongings. I mused, as I sometimes do, about whether various spots would make a good-enough shelter from rain and away from prying eyes.

I approached the large city fire station, which was all quiet, although no doubt there were people on duty inside. The adjacent building had a sheltered spot behind a low-walled garden, and its occupant glanced up at me. I stopped to go through a bag and wondered whether he thought I was looking for somewhere to stop near his patch. - And after that thought occurred, I think, I realised more fully that I probably looked a bit the same as him. Washed, sure, but the wind had blown my hair, and my coat and boots were shabby, and I was lugging bags. I wasn’t really ashamed of this, but rather curious about how I would be perceived as I journeyed.

Eventually I sat down at a bus stop bench, where a woman also sat at the other end. After about a minute she got up and stood waiting a little further away, before getting into a car that pulled up. She might have done that anyway – who knows? – but I was musing about how we perceive and judge others.

I boarded the bus, which was fairly full, sitting near the front in the red seats reserved for people who need them (I do have an “invisible disability” sunflower lanyard handy, which helps sometimes). Across from me, on another red seat and with his stuff, sat a tousled-looking older man. He kept his head in his hands and so did not see his phone (with a luggage tag on a rubber band wrapped around it) fall off a shelf, where he had it charging. It’s good that some buses and trains have charging ports. I didn’t want to disturb him; his demeanour was discouraging interaction, but I was concerned about his phone, and eventually he did look up. I did try then, and had to try three times to get his attention (I suspect his hearing has deteriorated). Pointing at it, I told him his phone had fallen to the floor.

“Oh – is that what that noise was?” he said, before muttering his thanks. Phone re-plugged and re-positioned, he resumed his head-in-hands posture as the bus lurched on.

I alighted and found an unfamiliar path to an unfamiliar railway station in the foothills. There were two platforms, and signs were unclear. A couple of young boys waited with their bikes there, waiting for more mates to join them. I know about this group: a sizeable number of youths will take their bicycles for trail rides down some big hills, gathering at this station before taking their bikes on the train back up the hill. Most of them are just fine, but there are the occasional ones who ride dangerously across roads, or who exhibit antisocial behaviour on the train, and in big groups they can be intimidating. I know the local police and churches sometimes put on barbecues for them at the station, which is brilliant.

Anyway: having made it through a deserted car park to the station, I felt safer here with young humans; there were only two of them anyway.

I asked them about the trains up the hill and which platform. They politely told me yes: a train up the hill was due soon, from this platform. I thanked them with a smile, not caring in the slightest what they might think of me, and indeed they gave the impression of not giving me much thought at all, which was fine, but they were helpful and polite, and they were company of sorts in that unfamiliar and otherwise deserted railway station.

The train was late, and when it finally came, stayed at the platform for a long time, as evidently timetables were out the window that day. I approached a woman in a high-vis vest who had appeared on the platform about the train, and she consulted a much-folded-and-unfolded piece of paper with scribbles on it, before answering me the best she could. Later the conductor answered my questions, too.

There was a teenage girl on the train who didn’t seem willing to take information from the conductor, but who later sought confirmation from a younger bloke. I wondered why she felt more comfortable talking with them.

There was more song practice while I waited, and during the slow ride up the hill, but not much singing aloud, as I knew that would disturb others. I was now very late for band practice, but - thanks to phones - had been able to let someone know. Phones help keep you safe.

~~~~

For all of my wandering about the city alone, mostly I had felt safe, except momentarily at a bus shelter with one angry-looking young man. (That was one reason why I decided to walk further.)

The most unsafe-feeling place was in quiet, unfamiliar back streets, finding the railway station, but it turned out OK.

No matter who they thought I was, everyone interacted politely with me. It isn’t always the case, but even if they thought I might be sleeping rough, no one treated me badly that day.

The walk from railway station to band practice in the dimming light was another time when I felt I had to keep strong awareness around me, but it was familiar and busier, and mostly well-lit.

~~~~

When riding the bus, many passengers will look up quickly and furtively at whomever is climbing aboard. Often I do so, and now I wonder whether I am getting a radar for the “un-housed”. Nothing objectionable; just… a certain look. - Or maybe I am misjudging them too, or maybe it isn’t my business.

~~~~

You know the way it is: many of us are only an illness, an accident, or a run of bad luck away from losing shelter and safety. Many of us are performing material stability; keeping ourselves looking tidy, our bags light and our footsteps the same. - But the buffer between being housed and being un-housed is thin. The space between eating and paying the bills, and falling behind, is getting smaller for many. Economic policies are directing money upward to the ultra-rich; they are hoarding resources at everyone else’s expense.

Also: some stuff in life is just really hard, and at times people lose the capacity to perform stability. They still need safety, as do those around them.

- And some of us need to keep a lookout for our personal safety in many places. It still astounds me that some never feel the need to do so, no matter where they are moving, but there you go. Many of us are thinking about whether that person, those people, seem safe to be near.

I am feeling grateful, for a roof over my head, and for the innumerable lovely humans who, no matter how you might look, will engage with courtesy and care.

~~~~

Additional:

I remember a time years ago when I had my head shaved to raise money for leukaemia research, and a lovely woman had decorated my scalp with henna decorations, free of charge. A few days later, I sat on what became a very crowded tram, with my shaved and decorated head. No-one would sit next to me. Interesting.

Photo: my rubber boots, on a mat to a door, to a home.