They say you shouldn’t compare your life to someone else’s. That’s not always true. This story is about perspective and how one single moment in time can change it.
Just past midnight, an overwhelming to-do list jolted me awake. This is nothing new. I’m a terrible sleeper. For me, six hours is typical, but not last night. I already know that when I’m THAT awake, attempting to sleep longer is futile. Besides, I’m working on another book, so a few extra hours of writing time is helpful.
Despite the late-night hour, I headed toward the kitchen. I typically say what I am grateful for as I walk around in the morning. I didn’t do it today. Off my normal routine, I completely forgot. My first priority was coffee.
Carefully crafted prose comes easy sometimes. I didn’t write anything worth reading this morning.
I wrote, rewrote, chewed on pencils and eventually threw crumpled-up papers across the room into the shred bin. They deserved their consequence. Perhaps my creativity will behave tomorrow.
It felt like the clock skipped ahead several hours as I sat at my desk, struggling. Eventually, I looked at the time and realized – I have to get ready for work. Showering too fast, I forgot to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I felt inconvenienced as I got back into the shower a second time.
Standing in front of my closet, I must have changed outfits four different times before settling on one. I had trouble choosing what food to pack in my lunchbox. I’d consumed coffee beyond my normal limits and nothing sounded appetizing. I went out to my car and realized I had forgotten my cell phone. “Ugh! This day!” I grumbled as I went back to retrieve it.
It had been below freezing every morning for nearly a week. I started my car, then stepped back outside to scrape ice off the windows. About the time my hands got numb, I realized I’d also forgotten my gloves. With no more time for delays, I pressed on without them.
It was only 6 am and the day already felt heavy and burdensome. I drove through the winter darkness toward a nearby city where I would start my early workday. Thoughts of how to accomplish all my tasks swirled around in my mind as I thought about my stressful job. Everyone at work stayed busy. Even finding time for a lunch break was a chore.
Pulling into my parking space on the city street, I thought about family obligations and how difficult the past year had been. The death of my father left my mother a widow and me and my siblings fatherless. Nothing felt right anymore.
I locked my car and began walking toward the office building. The metal bench just outside the door had what looked like piles of trash on it. As I got closer, I realized a man was sleeping there.
Tattered and dirty, his belongings were piled up beside him.
The temperature was 25 degrees Fahrenheit – too cold to be unsheltered.
Ignoring society’s idioms, I paused to consider his situation in comparison to mine. It was obvious he’d been outside awhile – another person experiencing chronic homelessness through rains and ice and sleet.
Where was his coffee? Where would he shower? When was the last time he’d been privileged enough to choose which clothes to wear?
At that moment, I realized that all morning I’d been grumbling to myself about how bad my day started. I’d had a warm bed to climb out of and fresh coffee to drink.
I had complained about my writing as I sat in a comfortable chair – two showers and clothing options and a cell phone that works. I even grumbled about my hands getting cold when I scraped my car windows – a car that allowed me to travel wherever I need to go.
My day job is to help people just like him – people struggling to find resources – basic necessities. In exchange for that, I get a steady income, health insurance benefits and paid leave.
In context, mine was the start to another day in paradise. Countless other humans began their day like this man – trying to survive another day of living hell.
Copyright 2025, Jana Brock. All rights reserved.