A Real hOmeless exp3rience

Being homeless is a unique experience, often misunderstood. In America, there's a clear divide between those who have and those who do not. Climbing from homelessness to even a modest level of stability is an incredible journey, one that most people don’t fully appreciate. Beyond finding a job or managing a budget, there’s the isolation, the lack of family, friends, and social connections that can make it feel like you’re fighting against the current. Sure, in a vacuum, someone could work their way up from nothing with strict budgeting. But in reality, homelessness comes with hidden costs—food being one of the biggest. Without a place to cook, you end up buying most of your meals, which quickly drains what little money you have.

I think back to a friend I met during this time—a former third-string football player who, despite sitting on the bench for five years, still earned around $150,000 a year. He thought the good times would never end. He wasn’t a star, but he was a pro, technically. By the time I met him, it had been over 15 years since he last played. He had invested in various ventures that didn’t pan out, filed for bankruptcy, lost his wife, and watched his golf range and restaurant go under. Maybe he made poor financial choices, or maybe his relationships fell apart through bad luck. But I’ll never forget him.

At first, I didn’t take what he said seriously—I was caught up in my own self-image as a sort of prophet. But I must have had something genuine, because I found myself surrounded by a group of people who felt real. This man shared pictures, news clippings, videos of his past, even a Super Bowl ring. And then there were others—a lawyer who had cheated on his wife, an artist who had never quite made it big despite earning some money, and an elderly Black man estranged from his family, waiting out the last two years before he could retire with a pension from the airline where he’d worked for nearly 30 years.

And it turned out, we all were telling the truth about our lives. But how do you know when a self-proclaimed “monk” is being honest? I suppose they believed me, or at least in what I said about esoteric and philosophical things. My story was real, though it was colored by my own interpretations. But I enjoyed being known as “the drunk monk” and the way I attracted people who had been through incredible circumstances, each of which left them homeless. Together, we lived a simple life, drinking, smoking, sharing stories, and just... waiting.

When I always thought back to all these people and even myself I realize there are so many lost stories that will never be remembered and so many lives throughout history forgetten.