I was on the subway recently, standing of course, staring at the sign that reminds riders to give up your seat to persons with a disability. The sign includes the statement “some disabilities are invisible.” Sometimes I’d like to have that tattooed on my forehead. That way I wouldn’t have to keep repeating myself, I could just point. So I tried imagining the reaction I might get if I asked someone to give their seat to me. This is New York and while the majority of people here are honorable folks just living their lives, it’s likely that every con scheme that’s been tried in the history of the world has been tried here. So while the good citizens of NYC are generally kind, they are also generally suspicious. That got me thinking that it would be much easier, in this particular instance, to have a visible disability.
In case you’re reading this and haven’t met me, it’s likely that if you saw me right now that you wouldn’t notice anything disability-ish about me. That has advantages of course. But it also has its downside. I don’t look disabled. Extrapolate that out to – I give up my job, hell, I give up my career to write. And to get real-life experience living on the verge of….
You know, I have to stop here for a moment, and beg your indulgence for the tangent that will soon be coming your way. Because I was about to say something about getting real-life experience living on the verge of poverty. But it occurred to me that despite the not unlikely chance that I might get evicted, I really don’t know anything about poverty. You know, real poverty. I’ve written about getting rid of stuff, material possessions kind of stuff, but I don’t really know anything about what it’s like to have nothing. I don’t know anything about waking up every day wondering if I will eat anything today. I really don’t know anything about what a very large percentage of people around the world deal with 24/7. Suddenly, me talking about understanding the plight of these other folks who do know what it’s like to have nothing, feels a bit too close to posing.
Because if I ever were to be evicted I have places to go. They might be far from ideal, but it would mean four walls, food, all the comforts of home.
I have no closer for this particular post. I had a closer when I thought it was going to be about living with a disability, but not one for this. I guess that’s okay though, because I don’t know that a closer exists for the problem either. Except maybe to keep those folks in our thoughts as we wonder about our own problems.
