12 days of Homelessness in NYC, Day 1

"...I feel extremely vulnerable right now"... This line concluded a ten minute speech this morning to a group of 40 "at risk" high school students. Sweaty from 90 degree weather, my hands shook nervously, having just explained my biggest life struggles in front of tough teenagers. The comment concluded a speech that each person gave about their life story. Serving as the Assistant Artistic Director Intern, I volunteered to share my story to further expand my relationship with the cast. Already stretched in life at this moment, with my guards fully down, my statement was an exhalation, a humbled release of trying to act in control.

I am homeless for the next 12 days straight. From August 18th until the 31st, I will manage to live and work, keep a consistent schedule, all while crashing in different houses around the City. Homeless in the Big Apple.Through the kindness of acquaintances, fast becoming friends, in a City that never sleeps, I will try to find rest.

Do you know that uncertain feeling of sitting in a hottub, where bubbles are all around your stomach. And they are fluttering and causing your stomach to feel a little uneasy, but excited. Perhaps you are sitting in the hottub with someone you are attracted to. That is how I am feeling right now. I feel lifted, in the air, on the brink of an exciting plunge. It is a feeling of freedom if I let it, and if I freak out, a total nervousness for the unknown.

Daunting concept unless taken day by day. In my time with Invisible Children, I've come to understand the first rule of hospitality. Don't overstay your welcome. Since I don't have long-time friends in the City (yet), I am abiding by the 2-3 day maximum stay. That means about 5-6 different houses and friend groups, on a schedule that is loosely planned.

At 8:15 am, Tuesday, I sat on the toilet with IBS. This graphic description has to be included to understand the intense worry that had overcome me on the morning I was to leave my apartment in Astoria. For the last two months, I had relied on this apartment as a sanctuary from the intensity of the City outside. After each long day, I would find solace at 31-31 29th Street, where I would walk in, turn on some music and rest. Many nights I chose to stay in, creating art pieces from material I found on the street, or collaging while sitting on the roof of the building overlooking the skyline. Living alone, I had focused on intentional living, where each decision was my own, made in sound judgement.

Now, here I sat, waiting to get the courage to walk out of the door, turn the lock and head out. It was the idea of not knowing, of not having a landing pad, or a little island to swim to that scared me. I was afraid of letting go, of trusting in the goodness of others, and the pattern in my life that I can only gratefully say is God-sent grace.

With a travelers' backpack full of the essentials, I hiked through the urban jungle. Inside the pack, I was set for anything- tuna, bread, a bottle of honey, some raisins and cans of beer- all salvaged from my refrigerator. In my hand, business slacks and a few collared shirts for my new office job, all hanging under a trashbag. From Astoria Queens, I transferred trains at 57th, where I walked near posh shops and fancy cafes to take the B train to the Upper West Side. This would be my first stay. 4 girls live here-from various parts of the US, all successful young businesswomen. I met all of the roommates the day before, when I went to pick up the key. A Monday, they were having margaritas and invited me to stay for dinner. Needless to say, we all became fast friends. Placing my stuff in a corner of their small living room, I said hello, then dashed 8 blocks in muggy sunshine, to catch a subway to the East Village to begin my day with City at Peace, an amazing theatre company for high school students, which I began this entry describing.

To be continued...