Pay It Forward

Today, I found $20 at the park. It was a good day.

It was just laying there, blending in with the green grass, waiting for me. When I picked it up and noticed there wasn’t a soul around to claim it, I knew it was mine to enjoy. On I continued with my plan for the day, save for an added bounce in my step. I sat at the park, doing city park things – stuffing my face, people watching, reading and shooing birds away – until I started in on my favourite pasttime: thinking.

What do I need with a $20 bill?

I am privileged. It’s not lost on me. I’m “successful” – even by typical rat-race, city standards. My student loans are long paid off (do you believe in miracles?) I’ve worked very hard to get here, but the comforts of my life are not lost on me. Actually, because I’ve worked so hard, and remember where I’ve come from, the precariousness of my comfortable stability is not lost on me. Like I said, I am privileged. So this $20 could mean more than just coffee money… and on the thinking continues.

I could go buy a coffee and pay for the people behind me!

I could buy something for a friend and surprise them with it!

I could leave a big tip for the bakery cashier!

I could go hand it to an employee at the grocery store!

But these ideas were not quieting the nagging sense I was missing something. So, I decided to walk around until inspiration hit me.

I spot someone bottle-picking: bags full and in hand, looking a bit disheveled, most likely unhoused. I know right away that’s who the $20 is for. I watch them (Cue creepy, stalker background music.) They move fast. Quietly. Deftly. I look down briefly to avoid tripping on the sidewalk. When I look up again, they’re gone. I decide to walk around the block – maybe I’ll find them again. I hope I’ll find them again. I pass a few coffee shops and briefly reconsider my first idea. I pass others who would probably be overjoyed to have $20 handed to them. Who wouldn’t? But I keep on walking, because I haven’t given up on running into this person again. No sign of them, yet, and I’m starting to wonder what my game plan is for the money burning a hole in my back pocket. I turn a corner, and there they are.

They’re walking towards me: head down, carrying their bags, locks of hair squashed under a well-loved ball cap. As I walk towards them, I watch them finish the last swig of a nearly disintegrated Timmies cup, and then they turn to stick it in a fence. I see them falter. A line cook on his break is sitting on the other side, and gives him a “look”. “Sorry,” they mumble, and grab the cup, turn down the alley, and places the cup in the dumpster, instead.

My heart is beating. Now, I’m the one faltering. I’m suddenly a little nervous. I mean, what am I gonna do, follow this person down the alley by myself? What if I startle them? I’m not sure if that was coffee in that cup … what will my $20 buy him? But those are just impulses from the ways I’ve been taught to dehumanize the unhoused. My next thoughts are the better ones to go with: It doesn’t matter what they buy. They deserve autonomy. Depriving people doesn’t help anything.

I follow them into the alley – “Excuse me!” I see their eyes flit towards me. They heard me, but they don’t acknowledge it. They keep walking. Maybe they’re afraid of what I want. That makes sense. Maybe they think I can’t possibly be talking to them. Maybe they don’t want to be bothered… I’ll try once more. “Excuse me!” I repeat, and walk a little faster towards them. They stop and turn. Their eyes widening like a deer in headlights. Wide, surprised, apprehensive, young eyes. Their eyes tell so much more than anything else I’ve noticed – or misjudged. I hold out my hand with the bill in it. “I found $20 on the ground. I want you to have it.” Our eyes connect for a few seconds, with their fear seeming to dissipate slightly, and my nervousness turning to a smile. “Thank you,” they say clearly, and they don’t break my gaze. I realize we’re both pleasantly surprised. Both of us with the kind of eyes that betray emotion; that tell more than we’re saying. Both of us walking outside on a cloudy Sunday afternoon. Both of us with stories of pain and stories of triumph and stories of love and living. Our eyes hold, and we say in near unison, “Have a good day.” I turn quickly and walk away, hands in my pockets, mind and heart racing.

You know me – ever the thinker.

Forever analyzing, dissecting, knowledge-thirsty, lover of learning and pondering. My mind and thinking often overtake me. Side bar: Combine my ‘in-my-head’ deep thinking with external processing and directness, and I often find myself an unintentional troublemaker; often an intentional disruptor. That’s a story for another time. But the analytical mind never rests. So, I walk away, hands in pockets, slight smile on my face, and mind turning over as it completes it’s usual floor routine. If you’d have walked by me, you’d see it in my eyes. They give it away. As if somehow you could dive right into them with me and follow me way back to the recesses of my thinking. So, I walk away – thinking.

It feels good to do something nice. Something unexpected. To give to others. I feel good. Should I? Do I feel too good? Do I feel good for the right reasons? Does that even matter? Am I benefiting from someone’s else’s hardship? (yet another topic for another time. Oh, I’m full of them.) I check myself, and make sure I’m not going down the “I am such a nice and good person; Just look at the good things I do” self righteousness path. I check out okay, this time. But it’s always a check worth checking.

My mind heads towards another rabbit hole. There could have been a different outcome. What if they didn’t want the money? My gesture could have embarrassed them. It could have made them feel singled out or reminded them they’re seen as “different”. What assumptions did I make that are problematic? Is my thinking or perspective contributing to a problem, even if my intentions and actions were “good”? Can I learn or grow from this and do better next time? This type of thinking occurs within seconds, but it could go on. I cut it off because I already know my takeaways:

1. Showing love, kindness and willingness to see others matters. I can do this better by remembering a posture of openness. I can open myself up to learn from those different than me or who have challenges and systemic barriers they face that are different than my own, rather than deciding what I think they need.
2. I connected with someone in a way that might be rare. How often do they get noticed or have a positive interaction with passersby?

Their young, nervous, surprised eyes, and the thoughts they provoked in me will stay with me far longer than $20 well spent ever would have.

Welcome to an hour in the life of Alyssa, where seconds of spinning thoughts routinely amalgamate into life lessons, comedies of errors, or falling on my face (followed by picking myself back up again). Welcome to the ride.