I'm a writer and a journalist, and I'm also an insanely curious person, so in 22 years as a journalist, I've learned how to do a lot of new things. And three years ago, one of the things I learned how to do was to become invisible. I became one of the working homeless. I quit my job as a newspaper editor after my father died in February of that same year, and decided to travel. His death hit me pretty hard. And there were a lot of things that I wanted to feel and deal with while I was doing that.
Ja sam spisateljica i novinarka, a uz to sam i ludo znatiželjna osoba. U 22 godine rada kao novinarka naučila sam mnogo novih stvari. A prije tri godine jedna od stvari koje sam naučila je kako postati nevidljiv. Postala sam jedna od zaposlenih beskućnika. Dala sam otkaz na mjestu urednika novina nakon što je moj otac umro u veljači te iste godine i odlučila putovati. Njegova me je smrt jako pogodila. Bilo je mnogo stvari koje sam htjela osjetiti i suočiti se s njima dok sam to radila.
I've camped my whole life. And I decided that living in a van for a year to do this would be like one long camping trip. So I packed my cat, my Rottweiler and my camping gear into a 1975 Chevy van, and drove off into the sunset, having fully failed to realize three critical things. One: that society equates living in a permanent structure, even a shack, with having value as a person. Two: I failed to realize how quickly the negative perceptions of other people can impact our reality, if we let it. Three: I failed to realize that homelessness is an attitude, not a lifestyle.
Cijeli sam život išla na kampiranja i odlučila sam da bi živjeti u kombiju godinu dana bilo kao jedan veliki izlet. I tako sam ja spakirala svoju mačku, rotvajlera i kampersku opremu u Chevrolet-ov kombi iz 1975. i odvezla se u suton, ne pomišljajući na tri kritične stvari. Prvo: da društvo poistovjećuje vrijednost pojedinca sa životom u stalnoj nastambi, pa bila ona i koliba. Drugo: Nisam shvatila koliko brzo negativna opažanja drugih mogu utjecati na našu stvarnost, ako to dopustimo. Treće: Nisam shvatila da je beskućništvo stav, a ne način života.
At first, living in the van was great. I showered in campgrounds. I ate out regularly. And I had time to relax and to grieve. But then the anger and the depression about my father's death set in. My freelance job ended. And I had to get a full-time job to pay the bills. What had been a really mild spring turned into a miserably hot summer. And it became impossible to park anywhere -- (Laughs) -- without being very obvious that I had a cat and a dog with me, and it was really hot. The cat came and went through an open window in the van. The doggy went into doggy day care. And I sweated. Whenever I could, I used employee showers in office buildings and truck stops. Or I washed up in public rest rooms.
Isprva je život u kombiju bio super. Tuširala sam se po kampiralištima, redovito sam jela u restoranima i imala sam vremena i opustiti se i tugovati. Ali tada su nastupili bijes i depresija zbog očeve smrti. Moj je honorarni posao istekao i morala sam pronaći posao sa punim radnim vremenom kako bih platila račune. Ugodno proljeće pretvorilo se u strahovito vruće ljeto. Postalo je nemoguće parkirati bilo gdje -- (smijeh) - da ne bude očito da imam mačku i psa sa sobom, a bilo je zbilja vruće. Mačka je skalala unutra-van kroz prozor kombija, pas je išao na čuvanje, a ja sam se znojila. Kad god sam mogla, koristila sam tuševe za zaposlenike u uredima i na stajalištima za kamione. Ili sam se prala u javnim WC-ima.
Nighttime temperatures in the van rarely dropped below 80 degrees Fahrenheit, making it difficult or impossible to sleep. Food rotted in the heat. Ice in my ice chest melted within hours, and it was pretty miserable. I couldn't afford to find an apartment, or couldn't afford an apartment that would allow me to have the Rottweiler and the cat. And I refused to give them up, so I stayed in the van. And when the heat made me too sick to walk the 50 feet to the public restroom outside my van at night, I used a bucket and a trash bag as a toilet.
Noćne temerature u kombiju rijetko su padale ispod 26 stupnjeva Celzijevih. Spavanje je bilo teško, pa i nemoguće. Hrana je trunula od topline, led se topio u škrinji u samo nekoliko sati. To je bilo poprilično jadno. Nisam si mogla priuštiti stan, odnosno nisam si mogla priuštiti stan u kojem bih mogla držati rotvajlera i mačku, a nisam ih se htjela odreći. I tako sam ostala u kombiju. Kada me toplina učinila previše bolesnom da bih hodala 15 metara do javnog WC-a, izvan kombija, po noći, nuždu sam obavljala u kantu i vreću za smeće.
When winter weather set in, the temperatures dropped below freezing. And they stayed there. And I faced a whole new set of challenges. I parked a different place every night so I would avoid being noticed and hassled by the police. I didn't always succeed.
Kada je nastupila zima, temperature su pale ispod nule i ondje su se i zadržale. Suočila sam se sa čitavim nizom novih izazova. Parkirala sam svake noći na drugome mjestu kako me policija ne bi primjetila i uznemiravala. Nisam uvijek uspjevala u tome.
But I felt out of control of my life. And I don't know when or how it happened, but the speed at which I went from being a talented writer and journalist to being a homeless woman, living in a van, took my breath away. I hadn't changed. My I.Q. hadn't dropped. My talent, my integrity, my values, everything about me remained the same. But I had changed somehow. I spiraled deeper and deeper into a depression.
Osjećala sam da gubim kontrolu nad životom. Ne znam kada i kako se to dogodilo, ali brzina kojom sam ja od talentirane spisateljice i novinarke postala beskućnica koja živi u kombiju, oduzela mi je dah. Nisam se promjenila. Moj I.Q. je ostao isti, moj talent, moj integritet, moje vrijednosti, sve u vezi mene ostalo je isto. No nekako sam se ipak promijenila. Padala sam sve dublje i dublje u depresiju.
And eventually someone referred me to a homeless health clinic. And I went. I hadn't bathed in three days. I was as smelly and as depressed as anyone in line. I just wasn't drunk or high. And when several of the homeless men realized that, including a former university professor, they said, "You aren't homeless. Why are you really here?" Other homeless people didn't see me as homeless, but I did. Then the professor listened to my story and he said, "You have a job. You have hope. The real homeless don't have hope." A reaction to the medication the clinic gave me for my depression left me suicidal. And I remember thinking, "If I killed myself, no one would notice."
I na posljetku netko me uputio u dom zdravlja za beskućnike. Otišla sam. Nisam se bila tuširala tri dana. Bila sam jednako smrdljiva i jednako potištena kao svi u redu, jedino što ja nisam bila pijana ili nadrogirana. Kada je nekoliko beskućnika to shvatilo, uključujući bivšeg fakultetskog profesora, rekli su: „Ti nisi beskućnica! Zašto si ovdje?“ Drugi me beskućnici nisu vidjeli kao beskućnicu, ali ja jesam. Onda je profesor poslušao moju priču i rekao: „Vi imate posao, vi imate nadu, pravi beskućnici nemaju nadu“. Reakcija na lijekove koje su mi ondje prepisali protiv depresije učinila me suicidalnom. Sjećam se da sam razmišljala: “Ako se sada ubijem, nitko neće primijetiti.“
A friend told me, shortly after that, that she had heard that Tim Russert, a nationally renowned journalist, had been talking about me on national T.V. An essay I'd written about my father, the year before he died, was in Tim's new book. And he was doing the talk show circuit. And he was talking about my writing. And when I realized that Tim Russert, former moderator of "Meet the Press," was talking about my writing, while I was living in a van in a Wal-Mart parking lot, I started laughing. You should too. (Laughter)
Nedugo nakon toga prijateljica mi je rekla kako je čula da je Tim Russert, nacionalno poznati novinar pričao o meni na nacionalnoj televiziji. Esej koji sam napisala o svome ocu, godinu dana prije njegove smrti, nalazio se u Timovoj novoj knjizi. Tim je vodio emisiju u kojoj je pričao o mom pisanju. Kada sam shvatila da je Tim Russert, bivši urednik „Meet the Press-a“ govorio o meni dok sam ja živjela u kombiju na parkingu trgovačkog centra, počela sam se smijati. Trebali biste se i vi. (Smijeh)
I started laughing because it got to the point where, was I a writer, or was I a homeless woman? So I went in the bookstore. And I found Tim's book. And I stood there. And I reread my essay. And I cried. Because I was a writer. I was a writer. Shortly after that I moved back to Tennessee. I alternated between living in a van and couch surfing with friends. And I started writing again. By the summer of the following year I was a working journalist. I was winning awards. I was living in my own apartment. I was no longer homeless. And I was no longer invisible.
Počela sam se smijati jer sam došla do pitanja: jesam li ja spisateljica ili beskućnica? I tako sam otišla u knjižaru, pronašla Timovu knjigu i stajala ondje. Ponovno sam pročitala svoj esej i zaplakala sam jer sam bila spisateljica. Bila sam spisateljica. Nedugo nakon toga preselila sam se natrag u Tennessee. Naizmjence sam živjela u kombiju i spavala na kauču kod prijatelja. Počela sam opet pisati. Do ljeta sljedeće godine bila sam zaposlena novinarka, dobivala sam nagrade, živjela sam u svom vlastitom stanu, nisam više bila beskućnica i nisam više bila nevidljiva.
Thousands of people work full and part-time jobs, and live in their cars. But society continues to stigmatize and criminalize living in your vehicle or on the streets. So the homeless, the working homeless, primarily remain invisible. But if you ever meet one, engage them, encourage them, and offer them hope. The human spirit can overcome anything if it has hope. And I'm not here to be the poster girl for the homeless. I'm not here to encourage you to give money to the next panhandler you meet. But I am here to tell you that, based on my experience, people are not where they live, where they sleep, or what their life situation is at any given time. Three years ago I was living in a van in a Wal-Mart parking lot, and today I'm speaking at TED. Hope always, always finds a way. Thank you. (Applause)
Tisuće ljudi rade poslove s punim i polovičnim radnim vremenom i žive u kombijima i automobilima. Društvo nastavlja žigosati i kriminalizirati život u vozilu ili na ulici. Zato beskućnici, zaposleni beskućnici zapravo ostaju nevidljivi. Ukoliko ikada upoznate kojeg, angažirajte ih, ohrabrite, i ponudite im nadu. Ljudski duh može prebroditi bilo što, ako ima nade. Ja nisam ovdje kao predstavnica beskućnika, ja nisam ovdje da vas ohrabrim da date novac prvome prosjaku na kojega naiđete, ali sam ovdje da vam kažem da, temeljeno na mome iskustvu, ljudi nisu ljudi po tome gdje žive, spavaju, ili po tome u kakvome je stanju njihov život u bilo kojem vremenu. Prije tri godine živjela sam u kombiju na parkiralištu trgovačkog centra, a danas govorim na TED-u. Nada uvijek, uvijek pronađe svoj put. Hvala Vam! (Pljesak)