Fresh Horses

I’ve seen an awful lot in my time on the planet. Some things have come my way all on their own and others have been brought to bear by choices – some good, some not so good.
But everything has been educational and I’m far the better for all the experiences. Now that I’m ensconced in the life of a working writer I get a lot of opportunity to look back at the trail of years.
There have been fifty-five of them and it’s always fascinating.
I learned a lot about life from living on the street. I spent a fair amount of time down there being homeless or on the very edge of it and it helped me become a survivor just as it helped me appreciate good things when they happen. Street life is not just a First Nations issue. When I lived there I met people of every background and the first thing you learn is that everyone has to learn to cope in the same ways.
It’s a hard life. When you’re unemployed, on welfare, addicted or drunk like I was for a lot of years, the street is a lonely, harrowing place to call home. There are dangers there that make it a far more dangerous place than the most remote wilderness I’ve ever been in. In fact, I’d choose the wilderness over the street any day.
You can learn predictability in the bush. You can never trust that you’ll find that in the wilds of the city.
I’ve stood on many corners and watch life unfold and it’s tough to see especially when the morning breaks and you know that for a lot of other people in other neighborhoods, the day is filled with possibility and potential.
But out there possibility is limited to what street rounders call ‘three hots and a cot.’ That means soup kitchen meals if you get there early enough and a cot to bunk down in at night – again, if you get there early enough.
I’ve heard a lot of stories down there and I’ve seen a lot of people who didn’t belong there or deserve to be there.
But they were there nonetheless because of turns of fate or circumstance that could happen to virtually anyone. Teenagers, old timers and all ages in between, the street accepts everyone.
Once I overheard a rancher’s son from Alberta talking to his girlfriend on a street corner in Vancouver’s Downtown East Side.
He talked of missing the prairie and horses. He told her how he used to love to gallop a horse as far and as fast as he could just to feel the freedom in that wildness. When the horse would tire he’d let it rest and saddle another and ride it hard and fast too.
He could spend days that way, always moving to a fresh horse and living the adventure. He was young, about twenty perhaps but as lost as anyone down there.
He looked at her and I overheard him say, “right about now we could use some fresh horses.’ She just grinned at him and squeezed his hand sadly and looked out into a morning hard as stone. As I looked around at addicts stumbling out of the alleys and dumpster divers pushing their shopping carts along between early morning hookers and drug dealers, I wanted those horses for him right then. I wanted them to carry him home so he could feel the freedom he missed so badly and I sure hope he made it there one day.
I once heard about a former structural engineer talk about the fall on an icy sidewalk that caused a brain injury that handicapped him. He was spooning thin stew into a toothless mouth at a mission. When he couldn’t work he fell though the cracks and landed on the street.
He was anybody. He was all of us. He fell off the horse that carried him.
There comes a time for all of us when we need a fresh horse. There comes a time in all our lives when fate steps into have its way with us.
If we’re lucky we retain our homes and our positions and our money. If we’re unlucky we land on the pavement bruised and bent and broken some but definitely lost.
We need each other then. We need to have our story heard. We need to know we’re not alone.
In the end, whether you’re destitute or wealthy, whether you’re secure in a warm home or homeless behind a dumpster, we all need to be heard.
We all need the freedom that comes with being able to speak our pain because pain happens everywhere. Sharing our story is the fresh horse that carries us forward into the glory of brighter mornings. Anywhere.