Geographical Cure

That's an expression apparently used in AA circles describing the behavior when alcoholics up and leave an environment in order to start a better--sober--future somewhere else. "Change the environment" sounds very good, when the real work would be "change yourself." So, the "geographical cure" is really not a cure, but a band-aid because "wherever you go, there you are."

I found out just a few hours ago that a friend, a really good, longtime friend (let's call him Tom), who has been knocked around by life more than anyone deserves and is now a homeless veteran, is on his way from California out to here. Tom isn't an alcoholic nor a junkie, don't get me wrong; he made a narrow escape from a toxic relationship that cost him all of his belongings and most of his sanity and needs to get back on his feet. He's stayed with his extended family in the Bay Area, applied for jobs there, interviewed for exactly one job and wasn't chosen, registered with a job agency and overdid it with the calling in, so they dropped him like a hot potato. Which is why for now, he is convinced that a happier future lies here, in smalltown Indiana.

In smalltown Indiana where being openly gay is almost as bad as being Hispanic. In smalltown Indiana, where everybody is straight and white and owns a house with a picket fence and 2.2 kids (or was that dogs?). In smalltown Indiana where people often measure your social value by the church you attend. In smalltown Indiana where the temperature went down to 35 degrees last night.

Did I mention that Tom is on his way? That he walked 56 miles, sleeping out in the open, to get to the nearest military base airport and is figuring out how many hops he needs to get to an airbase somewhere around Indiana? That he's selling his little watercolors for food and a bus ticket? That all of this breaks my heart?

So yeah, it breaks my heart, and at the same time, I'm scared. Not of my buddy, of course, but of the challenge, the immense challenge that goes beyond money, mouth, walk, talk:

34-36"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.'

40"Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

Yep, Bible. Matthew 25, just incase you're wondering. This has always been one of my favorite passages. But how much easier is it to just send money and keep "the problem" away? Seriously, when has giving away a few dollars towards a good cause ever failed to soothe a bad conscience?

This thing with Tom, should he really make it out here, it's bigger than the clean financial buffer between middle-class privilege and "the causes we like to support": Tom is where the rubber meets the road. It's where your integrity as a Christian, a Buddhist, or a plain self-respecting person, is tested. And yeah, the theory of it is nice, isn't it?

It's the practice that is scary, in a household in which embracing social challenges isn't often a dinner-table topic. In a household that's seen a lot of stress recently, what with four miscarriages in the past year, the death of Vinnie, Little Miss Kickboxer's beloved cat, not even two weeks ago, the cross-country move, new jobs, the new (old) house (aka The Money Pit) whose renovation is finally underway, all that. In a household in which boundaries need to be managed and negotiated in its quest for stability. Maybe that challenge could be a cure for our stress, in our household in smalltown Indiana.

Sanity, where are you? Please don't tell me you're on the airplane to California.