Counting Blessings
By: Devon Mandell
Tags: Homelessness, San Francisco, Charlotte, Claires Army, Tent City

Counting Blessings

Oftentimes, we get caught up in our own little bubbles. We focus on ourselves, our frustrations, our daily dramas, our unabating on-the-go mentalities. We often do not recognize the spoiled extent of those bubbles. How those bubbles involve a trip to Starbucks to get an overpriced coffee to start the day. How those bubbles involve waking up and going to sleep in comfortable and safe beds that are in homes that we take for granted. How those bubbles have food in the refrigerator waiting for us when we return from our frustrating, overwhelming, and on-the-go days. We need to step out of our bubbles, or in some cases, have our bubbles popped, forcing us to count our blessings because not everyone has what we do.

I fall victim to this, too. I get caught up in my bubble frequently. I get overwhelmed by juggling my classes, especially as a senior in my final year of college. I get anxious and frustrated. I let insignificant drama consume me. All the while, I overlook and take for granted the comforts I have to fall back on during those situations; my own room, my bed, a full fridge, that bottle of wine I’ve been saving.

This year I went home for the holidays. I was excited, but subconsciously overwhelmed. I always have a lot on my mind, especially during this time of year. Luckily, volunteer work is a way for me to escape those spiraling thoughts that cloud my bubble and let me step outside of it.

In high school, I spent time volunteering with Claire’s Army, an organization based out of Charlotte, North Carolina that assists families who are fighting childhood cancer. My mom is an active support of this organization year round and, considering I am away from home at school, I like to take advantage of the opportunities of being her little assistant at the storage units where Claire’s Army keeps their inventory whenever I come home. So the Sunday after Thanksgiving, I went with her to make care packages.

My mom made it clear to me though, to be mentally prepared for what I was going to see around the storage building. “It’s called ‘Tent City’,” she said to me.

“Tent City?”

I was slightly confused, but had an idea. Though, my imagination did not prepare me.

I was excited to be spending some one-on-one time with my mom, and was anxious to see this “Tent City” that she was telling me about. As we pulled up towards the street before the storage unit, I began to see them: tent after tent, blankets and tarps piled on top, grocery carts filled with items. They appeared to have taken over a parking lot and a grassy strip of property across from the lot. Some of the people standing around them looked my age, some older, some younger.

I broke down.

It took seconds. Before I knew it, tears were silently streaming down my face. I had to cover my mouth so I would not sob out loud. I felt for these people. As we turned the corner to drive down the street where the storage building stood at the end, I saw more. Both sides of the street filled with tents and those tents filled with more people. The adjacent street down the strip was lined with tents, too.

I understood what she meant now, although it didn’t stop the tears.

My mom made her way through the street toward the building that housed the storage units. I was breathless as I looked to my left, and then to my right, and I felt an overwhelming amount of pain and guilt. My mom recognized my reaction and put her hand on mine. We parked and sat in the car for a minute before entering the building, just so I could take it all in and pull myself together.

My bubble popped in that moment. Anything that I was holding onto in those past couple days, it all went away as I realized none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things. In fact, I almost felt grateful for those “issues” and for the things that kept my mind spiraling, because they were all thoughts of things I took for granted.

Having worked for Hamilton Families for almost seven months, an organization working to end family homelessness in the San Francisco Bay Area, I felt this was a full circle moment for me. This organization I work for with their inspiring mission on the opposite side of the country from me. Yet, even here, in North Carolina, there are those who are struggling with homelessness and the fight is just as urgent.

I thought about the people I saw. How old were they? Where did they come from? Who were they before they started experiencing homelessness?

Then I thought about the people like me who ride past them, overlooking them, maybe judging them, and who unwittingly attach stinging stereotypes that brand them as “those homeless people living in ‘Tent City.’”

If there is one thing I learned from working with Hamilton Families, and something I hope that “Tent City” onlookers learn to recognize, is that there are countless reasons why people experience homelessness. It is not always drugs and alcohol. My mom told me how some of those folks were college graduates who could not find a job, who had no support system to fall back on, and who had nowhere else to go. In a brutally serious moment, I realized, had it not been for my family, that could potentially be me and how soon it could happen.

The moral and take-away from this story: count your blessings. Recognize what you have, step out of your bubble to regain awareness, and try to help the most vulnerable among us. Especially during this Season of Giving.

For families in the San Francisco Bay Area who are in need of housing assistance, or if you have more questions regarding Hamilton Families and their suite services, visit hamiltonfamilies.org.