Sometimes You Can Forget Who You Are

Knowing who you are, at a high school level, was like a black art…it was frowned upon, and the thought of achieving it, was by most authority’s standards, less likely to happen that a meteor shower hitting our high school.
BUT i knew…who I was…at least I thought I did…but maybe it was my fondness of the meteor shower theory that was catchy…or perhaps it was E.T.’s glow rubbing off on me…not sure.
I remember walking out of the front doors of the school (from what my teachers liked to call after school detention- not sure what you call it when you’re innocent) and almost tripping over a homeless man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. I’d never seen him before, he was happy, yet homeless, it was a strange combination. I stopped for a minute to search my pockets for change, while he blurted out bits and pieces of the national anthem in the best Tom Watts impersonation I’ve heard.
He held a sign that said “Money. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.”
I thought that took a lot of guts to hold a sign like that. So I sat with him and asked him what he would do if e had all the money in the world…I kept a mental note of the things he said, and later that night wrote them down.
It’s funny how clearly you can see a solution to someone else’s problems, when most of the time we spend dodging the fact that we have our own. Things are always blurry from the inside.

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