I live along a golf course in Arizona. (Insert stereotype or joke here.) It’s not overly posh, but when I walk along the paved path on its western edge, I feel like I’m straddling two worlds. One of leisure, and one of lack. One of comfort and one of struggle.
Along a portion of the path is a series of grouped rentals arranged around a common area, and it’s apparent that these are homes for people who are lower income, disabled, and some struggle with mental health. They, too, face the course, and it’s a stark juxtaposition in reality.
In the years I’ve lived here, many have come to meet my dog Leo, and often will call out to him by name in greeting. We often chat briefly and exchange pleasantries. When I can, I ask their name and wish them a good day. I’ve never felt threatened or uncomfortable, and truthfully it’s the most effort I’ve seen by neighbors to talk to me or Leo.
Recently, I attended a presentation at the golf club to hear about developments along the course that seemed pretty grand. I’m not directly impacted, but was still curious to know what might be coming in the next several years. The new building renderings were enormous, and meant that the small communities would be leveled to make way for the three-story rental units that would stand sentinel along the course.
While I wondered where these neighbors would go, another man stood up to ask a question.
“I see these are rental units, but what kind of rentals will these be?”
I knew where he was going with this question. There was fear that more low-income units would be ushered in.
He was told that these would be luxury rentals, and not “section 8” housing. To my disappointment, that was met with applause. It seemed so insensitive.
I left a little later, and overheard someone talking to other neighbors in the courtyard outside the conference center.
“I just don’t want any more undesirables moving in.”
I was struck by my own reaction of repugnance and disgust. I thought “Aren’t we all undesirable at times? Don’t you know that saying something like that makes you undesirable?”
As I walked back to my car, I was conflicted. Do I turn around and say something? Ask him if he’s even met any of these people, much less know their names? They indeed have names. Have stories. Have more than their share of struggles. Are human beings, for Pete’s sake.
I kept walking and felt ashamed not to say anything, but I did not let the moment go to waste. Rather than judge someone in that moment as he obviously did, I turned inward. What thoughts have I had about someone at the stoplight, holding the all-too-familiar cardboard sign? To be completely honest, they’ve been less than… holy.
I know the debate will be that many or most have chosen this life, but I can tell you that we are all just one unexpected and traumatic event away from losing hope, losing our lifestyle, and falling into complete discouragement. Needing help. That we often forget to give thanks for the things that didn’t happen in our lives, and our role is to always see others just as worthy as we are of dignity.
As a writer, my most privileged role is that of story-gathering. I feel it is the most sacred thing anyone can share with you, and it’s my most sacred obligation to treat it with respect and accuracy. I don’t remember everyone’s name up the pathway, but many have stories of aspiring to be a chef, being a veteran, or simply having a dog that reminds them of Leo. They are not undesirable.
The next morning, I interviewed a man for an appeal I was writing for a nonprofit. He was now retired, but his story included teaching, coaching and mentoring high school students. He lost his son to a gun shot wound, and the grief led to addiction, which led to job loss, homelessness, a life on the streets, and eventually a choice of whether he wanted to live or not as he walked toward a bridge. Quite a “George Bailey” moment.
He found his faith in that moment, which he called “a chess match between Satan and God,” and began his climb out of despair. He reunited with his call to be a teacher, and eventually became a principal with a master’s degree. He founded his own nonprofit to help at-risk young men in his neighborhood. A true redemption story that stood up as a testament against ever being undesirable, because there was someone to help.
My charge is now to make sure I smile more at strangers, offer an open door or to take their cart back to the store and save them a walk back. Simple things. We’ve heard that we never know what someone is going through, so to treat others with kindness and dignity because our words may make the difference in their day. I am a work in progress on this, especially if it’s over the phone with customer support.
In a world where you can be anything, be kind. Anything else is… undesirable.