Second chances

I don’t know whether to be grateful or upset to get so many helpful comments on my last post, here and on Facebook.

Grateful, because it’s clear that you care about me and want to help.

Upset, because it’s obvious that I did not get my meaning across.

I got advice on how to prevent my puppy from barking by calmly petting her, how to manage her shedding by brushing her once a day, that I should get out of the city and head back to nature, and that maybe it’s time to rethink this whole vandwelling thing altogether.

Being a glass-half-empty kind of gal (which I didn’t know about me until just now), my immediate reaction was to be upset.

“Don’t these people understand?!” I thought, frustrated. “It’s not about my puppy or the travails of stealth camping. I am talking about how we dehumanize homeless people, who have become our society’s untouchables, and that like that smiling man at the end of the post, we are not so different from them.”

But then I realized I should have said so. I had clicked the Publish button way too soon, assuming that what went unsaid would be easily understood. That’s when I got even more upset — with myself this time.

“I am a terrible writer! I can’t even say what I mean. I just beat around the bush and expect people to read between the lines. Plus, I use too many cliches! And exclamation points!”

Well, what are we here for if not to work on getting better at whatever we have chosen to do?

So I am writing a longer, more thoughtful piece about what I have been learning about life (and myself) on the streets of San Diego.

Thought you’d like to know. Stay tuned.