I spent the first part of my stay in Atlanta with my aunt. It is a different Atlanta. I want to live in that Atlanta. Hotel/Downtown Atlanta, I do not want to live in. When I was younger the whole ‘energy’ thing didn’t make sense to me. Probably because I didn’t have the life experience to read my surroundings. I was much more inward, it was all about me. These days the people and surroundings affect me much more than I would like sometimes. With that said I don’t like living in downtown Atlanta. I’ve been trying to figure out why. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s because of a man named Joe. He calls himself Homeless Joe. Anytime I step out of my hotel it’s just a matter of minutes before Joe appears and rushes toward me. Joe has a distinguished face. You can tell he was a good athlete. He’s articulate and charming. He knows asking for a handshake is crossing the personal space boundary so he raises his fist for a bump. I can do a bump. But no hand shake. He goes into his routine ” I’m Homeless Joe, just call ne Homeless Joe. This is my city, welcome to my city. Where you from? Are you leaving tomorrow? You know what the greatest nation is? DONATION.” How about a couple of bucks?
I can’t understand why Joe bothers me so much. A couple of bucks a day won’t kill me. A few more seconds listening to Joe won’t kill me. He’s harmless enough. I guess it’s what I see. I see what Joe could have been. I want to ask him why. Makes me uncomfortable I want to talk to him. Makes me uncomfortable I ignore my instincts. Makes me question my prejudices and assumptions. I could talk to Joe, but I don’t. I just keep walking. I use to like walking until I met Joe. I don’t walk much here. The less I walk the more I can avoid Joe. Joe makes me worried , not for my safety. But for the blinders I where in my life. I think there is a lesson here. I’m still figuring it out.