UNSHELTERED None of Us Are Home Until All of Us Are Home

Seeing/Not Seeing

by Cynthia Kosciuczyk

To set the stage… I am not homeless and never have been. I intend to share only a fraction of my exposure to this population of whom I have compassion and a desire to become part of the solution, not the problem.

I suspect those unhoused feel a fine line between terror and freedom. Though I cannot directly compare my life to those who are homeless, my travel and work experiences have forced me to stretch funds to cover expenses and lean on family and friends for support. The thought of being in a situation with no job, no money, and no food absolutely terrifies me.  

After graduating from high school in Worcester, Massachusetts, I went to college and earned my BS in Biochemistry. During this time, I met my ex-husband, a Greek/American. We ultimately moved to Greece to be near his family and friends. I was a Jack of all trades: schoolteacher, worked in the textile industry, and owned and operated a commercial bakery. We intended to stay for a year; it turned into 10.

In the process of divorce, it wasn’t easy as we both felt Greece was home. The following two years took me from Greece to Texas, back to Greece, and ultimately back to Texas. My last Mediterranean hitch made it very difficult to find work because the island of Rhodes has primarily seasonal work. I worked in a spice factory, a good combo for chemistry and cooking. Disheartened by struggling to make ends meet, I was forced to leave Greece for good.

While living overseas, I had little exposure to the homeless. My move to San Diego, unfortunately, changed that. I lived in different neighborhoods in San Diego for the first ten years. I worked in the food industry, which slowly morphed into sales and design. I managed a Persian rug store from 2000 to 2015. In 2003, I signed a contract in San Fransisco for environmental work. In 2007, for a year or so, I opened an art gallery and got involved in politics and community, which was my saving grace. I remarried in 2001, and the relationship took me through some of the darker sides of life—courts, including domestic violence, immigration, and trying to make it work. In 2010, my divorce was finalized, I completed my MBA, and moved to Coronado. I lived there for about 10 years.

I lived in a working-class neighborhood for five years, my Department of Defense contract ended, and the department downsized. This forced me to move closer to my new job and into an affordable studio. It had new flooring, was pet-friendly, and was an easy commute to work. When the pandemic hit, many of us were required to stay home for a few months. San Diego’s homeless population migrates around the city, a community on the move. Vacant or abandoned buildings are the most attractive. Once their new location becomes populated again, or if they are shooed off by police or residents, they pack up and move on to the next least-populated location.

Because I began spending more time in my new neighborhood, I became aware of nearby activities. During this time, and much to my surprise, I realized my neighbors were very involved in illegal substances and various other questionable activities. Living close to a shopping mall and a bus line, the alley where I parked began attracting homeless campers. It soon became unsafe. After the office went virtual, a security check occurred daily at 10 PM. Because most crimes and other questionable activities happened after midnight, I began sleeping with the lights on to discourage the crack smokers who liked to gather under my window.

Once we were allowed to physically leave our homes, I returned to the office, but due to the economy, I worked three jobs to make ends meet. Because of my multiple jobs, I was away from home 10-12 hours a day, six to seven days a week. It was nerve-wracking to leave my home unattended during this time. Surprisingly, not everyone felt this way. There was one resident who frequently traveled, and she kindly opened her home to the elderly who were homeless. As you can imagine, this often escalated into folks being disrespectful and ungrateful.

When my lease was up, I moved to the other side of the building, which, believe it or not, was a completely different experience. I had a view of the pool, not the dumpsters. I felt safer like I had moved to a completely different community. My living space decreased from a 400-square-foot apartment to 275. But because I felt safer, the $1800 was justified even for smaller quarters.

Though I moved, I continued to be exposed to the homeless population in different ways. My laundromat was only one block away, adjacent to the corner of the Smart and Final, where many homeless people gathered. I occasionally bought an extra breakfast at McDonalds and shared it with those hanging out on the corner. Although the laundromat was well maintained and the owner would be outside in his truck in the mornings, I used the facility at 6:30 AM. One day, when I went to do my laundry, a man in his 70s was barefoot, wearing only a towel, smoking a cigarette, and clutching a half gallon of vodka. On another occasion, a homeless man was snoring as he slept inside a sleeping bag on the laundromat floor.

During the fifteen years that I worked in the heart of San Diego’s Gaslamp district, I was exposed to the homeless population daily. I have moved back to Coronado, close to many of my friends. I work north of the city, and the easiest route to work took me by the homeless camp. Hardly anyone goes that way as the tents spill into the streets. I had been thinking about the current crisis and was asked to contribute.

 

 

 

 

 

Here is a poem I wrote in 2014.

Seeing/Not Seeing

Walking early morning downtown San Diego Monday

The town on the verge of waking up

Choices: seeing/not seeing.

Those whose lives are on the street

Dirty, begging, sleeping

In couples, with pets, handicapped

With carts, with wheelchairs, wagons

All in your face, asking for help.

So, one must adopt a combination of

Seeing/not seeing as one passes by

Just showered, just off the ferry

Walking with purpose to work.

Seeing/not seeing the elderly man

Sprawled on the sidewalk dirty, left leg just a stump

On the sidewalk.

The homeless couple in their sixties huddles under a blanket together,

The crazy one with the wild eyes, all of them looking at me with envy and hope that I

Will have something to share.

Sometimes I see, sometimes I have to not see.

 

Fifteen years working in downtown San Diego made me comfortable and uncomfortable. My empathetic heart is pained by life’s harshness. I consciously decided to interact with this population instead of judging them or ignoring their existence. When someone was loitering or sleeping outside of our business, and no crime was being committed, I called the bicycle patrol first—not the police. They often knew the person and easily maneuvered them to a more appropriate location.

 

I learned to keep an eye on the front door. If someone entered, screamed, or became aggressive, I would interact appropriately, “Can I help you?” My trained eye watched when their hands were in their pockets. If I felt concerned, I would begin talking on my cell phone and calmly walk them out the door.

I feel the best approach is conversation. Talk, don’t touch. They are human, and there is a reason for their circumstances and behavior. My utmost goal was to keep everyone safe and find a solution.

In my personal experience, there are essentially five types of un-housed and various reasons people live on the street.

1. Long-time homeless who "own" their neighborhood
2. Those wanting to argue
3. Those mentally challenged (“The president is going to buy me a hotel. Do you want one?”)
4. Ones just needing a place to rest
5. The dangerous kind

Some are not physically, emotionally, or psychologically well. Many simply hit a rough patch in the road, and others have turned to the streets because they find it easier to support their addictions.

For some, the efforts to “fit in” with society can be very stressful. This is especially true for those who have never experienced abundance or kindness; people who have never felt the joys of family or community can feel apprehensive about change. Many veterans also struggle to fit back into society after they return from serving our country.

According to the World Population Review, about 1.5 million veterans are considered at risk of homelessness (being below the poverty level and paying more than 50% of household income on rent). Research shows that the most significant risk factors for homelessness are lack of support and social isolation after discharge. Social networks are significant for those in crisis or need temporary help. The pandemic has exacerbated the unsheltered populations. Regardless of why someone is homeless, the fast-paced nature of the world and the declining economy are causing people to fall out of the system.

It’s a growing concern worldwide, yet I feel it's more prevalent in the USA. Why? When I was overseas, I experienced first-hand how other cultures are more communal, and family, friends, and society more naturally absorb the burden. Food is shared, and there is a sense of inclusion into their community versus exclusion, and there tends to be more compassion for those less fortunate.

Years later, people in my life found it hard to believe I was in such a desperate situation, especially when I returned to the USA. I now have double the space and live in an area where many of my friends live. I work harder to compensate for the cost increase to live in this location. Feeling safe and being able to sleep is worth it.

My heart hopes the world will create a solution that works. As I finish this, I realize it’s World Gratitude Day. I’m grateful for having the basics: shelter, food, work, health, transportation, family, and friends.