Poverty

I gave $20 to someone holding a homeless veteran sign in the frigid temperatures, because she was a woman and I decided to believe her, even if there's some chance her sign is a lie or a half-truth.  Also, I had just spontaneously invoked the "cash back" option when buying groceries, without really knowing why I would need $20 (lottery tickets? snacks? a latte or four?), so its purpose seemed to be presenting itself to me in an instantaneous, looming fashion from the karma bank.  

I do navigate by synchronicity, and enjoy really taking that ride with fate and free will.

The bundled-up woman told me to have a blessed day, kindly and soberly.  Not a "bless-ed" day as in "Bless-ed are the meek," but "blessed" as a rhyme for rest, which is a welcome rhyme in my mind.  She had the demeanor and vocal tone of a friendly shopkeeper, rather than conveying the persona of a down-and-out soul who has run out of options.  I didn't need her to be sad and convincingly wretched, though.  It felt benevolent: not my gift, but her perky blessing in return.  

When my son needed cash later that day, I didn't have any for him.  In fact, we're not going to be able to pay for his college, let alone this movie date with Emily.  There is no fund, no plan, but also no fear, because of the way I have always lived.  

As a child I learned to ride any wave and take my luck wherever I found it, trusting that things would just work out somehow.  I was acquisitive.  Yes, I was even a disingenuous little thief at times. But mostly I was just taking what was available or given.  I was appreciative of hand-me-downs, willing to work (babysitting), and I hitchhiked when I had to or wanted to.  I ate what was served wherever I went.  I loved sleepovers with friends who had interesting toys to play with, like marionettes and horseshoes and kaleidoscopes and jacks, and it was really their exotica I loved, more than it was their hot running water for the tub, the way that every room in the house was warm, and the lack of fleas. 

There was some built-in privilege underpinning my luck that I wasn't aware of then, which allowed my mother to make good choices about where we lived and where we went to school, choices that made my childhood safe and stimulating despite our poverty.  

I'm not sure how to end this essay.  I like middles and I like inconclusive statements and I like ambiguities.