Heatdeath warned me that LA tends to suck people in. She's right. I've known this for a while now. Still, it's not the worst choice I've made so far.
I feel guilty for doing just about anything. Being homeless itself feels like a crime sometimes, even if I'm doing nothing wrong. Even among the homeless community, I feel like an outsider.
I've seen the term "poverty tourism" tossed around a few times lately, and I feel like it applies to me, and that makes me ashamed of myself. Coming out here was a choice -- I didn't have much of a life, but I could have built something, could have at least had a roof over my head.
It's true that I was very privileged in my other life. Not wealthy by any means, but squarely middle-class. Maybe a little poor, but I never had to fight for survival on a daily basis. I didn't appreciate the little things back then, like the safety and warmth of a home, having a toilet and outlets available whenever you want them. Having a decent job. Being able to walk down the street without fifty pounds on your back and passersby not looking you in the face because you're an eyesore to them. That was nice, but I was still suicidal, and none of that was changing it.
Coming out here was supposed to be a free-spirited adventure through all the highs and lows that life had to offer, and so it has, but it hasn't been easy. There's always the shame, the guilt, that catches up with me. From society: you shouldn't have thrown it all away, you fucking freeloader, you should work your ass off and stay in your home and be a good little citizen who does everything by the book and never rocks the boat. From the homeless: you never appreciated what you had, how dare you treat this life as a vacation. Those thoughts are all just in my head; no one's actually said anything like that to me. But still, it's there. It's there in my head.
Part of me wonders if I spent most of my money almost by accident, or if I really did know what I was doing. It's not the same, you know. It's not the same thing to tramp through the world with thousands of dollars to back you up. It makes things too easy, if not physically, then psychologically. There's no risk. Losing my savings was my way of burning the ships, because I didn't come out here just for travel. I came out here to scrape the bottom of the barrel of my mind. I came out here to see just what the fuck it is I'm made of, and how far I'm willing to go to achieve some sense of purpose or meaning in life.
Although I would have dismissed it as hippie bullshit a few months ago (that's my father talking, I should know better), the fact is that I came out here as a spiritual quest. I'm seeking enlightenment -- enlightenment through poverty, hardship, and change. I have to know who I am and what the fuck we're all doing here. I have nothing else left, and I am absolutely fucking determined to find The Truth.
It makes me restless to be living in LA. It's not the city itself, it's just every city. Every place gets like this, for me. The good memories get drowned among the bad ones, and I feel stagnant, and I feel trapped. It feels like I have to keep going just to stay sane.
And what heatdeath told me is true: LA sucks you in. If I wasn't waiting for a visit from a cousin, I'd have left this place behind weeks ago. I almost did, because it spooked me -- it spooked me how hard it feels to leave. LA reaches out, with its long fingers of flat urban sprawl, and grabs you. I don't know how to explain it without making it sound like a ghost story, but it's true: this city has a will of its own. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.
Once I meet my cousin I'm gonna head south and east. I said months ago that I want to check out Slab City and that's still true. Sometimes it's the only thing I look forward to. After that I'm going to travel lighter, rougher, wiser. I'm not the same naive kid that left St. Louis in January. I'm a true drifter now.
I'm gonna try to interact on the boards here more often. I've been shy about that because I'm not really traveling right now, I'm just sticking around the LA area, and I've got a gig on a weekly basis that I'd like to keep, as long as I'm here anyway. So I can't travel, but I can write, and I can talk.
I feel guilty for doing just about anything. Being homeless itself feels like a crime sometimes, even if I'm doing nothing wrong. Even among the homeless community, I feel like an outsider.
I've seen the term "poverty tourism" tossed around a few times lately, and I feel like it applies to me, and that makes me ashamed of myself. Coming out here was a choice -- I didn't have much of a life, but I could have built something, could have at least had a roof over my head.
It's true that I was very privileged in my other life. Not wealthy by any means, but squarely middle-class. Maybe a little poor, but I never had to fight for survival on a daily basis. I didn't appreciate the little things back then, like the safety and warmth of a home, having a toilet and outlets available whenever you want them. Having a decent job. Being able to walk down the street without fifty pounds on your back and passersby not looking you in the face because you're an eyesore to them. That was nice, but I was still suicidal, and none of that was changing it.
Coming out here was supposed to be a free-spirited adventure through all the highs and lows that life had to offer, and so it has, but it hasn't been easy. There's always the shame, the guilt, that catches up with me. From society: you shouldn't have thrown it all away, you fucking freeloader, you should work your ass off and stay in your home and be a good little citizen who does everything by the book and never rocks the boat. From the homeless: you never appreciated what you had, how dare you treat this life as a vacation. Those thoughts are all just in my head; no one's actually said anything like that to me. But still, it's there. It's there in my head.
Part of me wonders if I spent most of my money almost by accident, or if I really did know what I was doing. It's not the same, you know. It's not the same thing to tramp through the world with thousands of dollars to back you up. It makes things too easy, if not physically, then psychologically. There's no risk. Losing my savings was my way of burning the ships, because I didn't come out here just for travel. I came out here to scrape the bottom of the barrel of my mind. I came out here to see just what the fuck it is I'm made of, and how far I'm willing to go to achieve some sense of purpose or meaning in life.
Although I would have dismissed it as hippie bullshit a few months ago (that's my father talking, I should know better), the fact is that I came out here as a spiritual quest. I'm seeking enlightenment -- enlightenment through poverty, hardship, and change. I have to know who I am and what the fuck we're all doing here. I have nothing else left, and I am absolutely fucking determined to find The Truth.
It makes me restless to be living in LA. It's not the city itself, it's just every city. Every place gets like this, for me. The good memories get drowned among the bad ones, and I feel stagnant, and I feel trapped. It feels like I have to keep going just to stay sane.
And what heatdeath told me is true: LA sucks you in. If I wasn't waiting for a visit from a cousin, I'd have left this place behind weeks ago. I almost did, because it spooked me -- it spooked me how hard it feels to leave. LA reaches out, with its long fingers of flat urban sprawl, and grabs you. I don't know how to explain it without making it sound like a ghost story, but it's true: this city has a will of its own. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.
Once I meet my cousin I'm gonna head south and east. I said months ago that I want to check out Slab City and that's still true. Sometimes it's the only thing I look forward to. After that I'm going to travel lighter, rougher, wiser. I'm not the same naive kid that left St. Louis in January. I'm a true drifter now.
I'm gonna try to interact on the boards here more often. I've been shy about that because I'm not really traveling right now, I'm just sticking around the LA area, and I've got a gig on a weekly basis that I'd like to keep, as long as I'm here anyway. So I can't travel, but I can write, and I can talk.
