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.
Som spisovateľka a novinárka, a tiež som šialene zvedavá. Ako novinárka som sa za 22 rokov naučila mnoho nových vecí. A pred tromi rokmi som sa naučila ako sa stať neviditeľnou. Stala som sa jednou z pracujúcich bezdomovcov. Nechala som prácu redaktorky potom, ako mi vo februári toho istého roku zomrel otec, a rozhodla sa cestovať. Jeho smrť ma veľmi silno zasiahla a počas cestovania som chcela naplno precítiť všetky svoje pocity a myšlienky.
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.
Kempovala som celý život. Myslela som si, že rok života v dodávke bude ako dlhý kempovací výlet. A tak som zbalila mačku, rotvailera, a svoju kempingovú výstroj do 30-ročného Chevroletu a vyrazila smerom k zapadajúcemu slnku, pričom mi na um nezišli tri dôležité veci. Po prvé: že spoločnosť vníma ako hodnotných len tých ľudí, čo žijú v nejakej budove alebo aspoň chatrči. Po druhé: ako rýchlo, môže negatívny pohľad iných ľudí ovplyvniť našu vlastnú realitu, ak im to dovolíme. Po tretie: neuvedomila som si že bezdomovectvo je životný postoj, nie životný štýl.
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.
Spočiatku bol život v dodávke perfektný. Sprchovala som sa v kempoch. Pravidelne som jedávala v reštauráciách. Mala som čas odpočívať aj smútiť. Ale potom sa dostavil hnev a depresia z otcovej smrti. Moja nezávislá práca skončila, a musela som si nájsť stále zamestnanie, aby som mala z čoho platiť účty. Mierna jar prešla do neskutočne horúceho leta. Nedalo sa len tak zaparkovať (smiech) bez toho, aby bolo jasné, že mám so sebou mačku a psa. Bolo strašne horúco. Mačka prichádzala a odchádzala cez otvorené okno v dodávke. Psíka som dala do psieho hotela. A ja som sa potila. Kedykoľvek som mohla, využíla som sprchy pre zamestnancov v kancelárskych budovách a na parkoviskách pre kamióny. Alebo som sa umývala na verejných záchodoch.
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.
Nočné teploty klesli pod 27 °C len zriedkavo. Zaspať bolo ťažké až nemožné. Jedlo sa v teple kazilo. Ľad sa mi v prenosnej chladničke roztopil v priebehu niekoľkých hodín. Bolo to naozaj zúfalé. Nemohla som si dovoliť prenajať byt. Alebo som si nemohla zobrať psa a mačku do takých, ktoré som si dovoliť mohla. Odmietla som sa ich vzdať, a tak som ostala v dodávke. Keď mi z tepla bolo natoľko zle, že som v noci neprešla z dodávky ani 15 metrov na verejné záchody, použila som vedro a vrece na odpadky.
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.
Keď prišla zima, teploty klesli pod bod mrazu. A ostali tam. Čelila som celkom novým výzvam. Každú noc som parkovala na inom mieste, aby si ma nevšimla polícia. Nie vždy sa mi to podarilo.
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.
Cítila som, že strácam kontrolu nad životom. Neviem, kedy ani ako sa to stalo, ale rýchlosť, ktorou sa z talentovanej spisovateľky a žurnalistky stala bezdomovkyňa žijúca v dodávke, mi vyrazila dych. Nezmenila som sa. Neznížilo sa ani moje IQ. Môj talent, moja integrita, moje hodnoty, všetko ostalo rovnaké. Napriek tomu som bola iná. Padala som hlbšie a hlbšie do depresie.
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."
Napokon mi niekto odporučil kliniku pre bezdomovcov. Išla som tam. Nesprchovala som sa tri dni. Smrdela som a bola som v rovnakej depresii ako všetci čakajúci. Akurát som nebola opitá alebo na drogách. Keď si to niekoľkí z bezdomovcov, vrátane bývalého univerzitného profesora, všimli povedali, "Vy nie ste bezdomovkyňa. Čo tu robíte?" Ostatní bezdomovci ma nevideli ako bezdomovkyňu, ale ja seba áno. Potom si profesor vypočul môj príbeh a povedal, "Máte prácu. Máte nádej. Skutoční bezdomovci nemajú nádej." Z antidepresív, ktoré mi dali na klinike som mala samovražedné sklony. Pamätám si, ako som si pomyslela, "Ak sa teraz zabijem, nikto si to ani len nevšimne."
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)
Kamarátka mi krátko na to povedala, že počula ako Tim Russert, celonárodne uznávaný novinár, o mne rozprával v národnej televízii. Esej, ktorú som napísala o svojom otcovi rok pred jeho smrťou, bola uverejnená v Timovej knihe. Práve robil turné po televíziách a hovoril o nej. Keď som si uvedomila, že Tim Russert, bývalý moderátor relácie Meet the Press (Stretnutie s novinármi), hovoril o mojej eseji, zatial čo ja som žila v dodávke na parkovisku pred Wal-Martom, začala som sa smiať. A vy by ste sa mali tiež. (Smiech)
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.
Smiala som sa, lebo som zrazu nevedela, či som spisovateľka alebo bezdomovkyňa. Zašla som do kníhkupectva a vyhľadala Timovu knihu. Stála som tam a znovu si čítala svoju esej. Rozplakala som sa. Lebo JA som bola spisovateľka. Bola som spisovateľka. Krátko nato som sa presťahovala späť do Tennessee. Striedavo som prespávala vo svojej dodávke a u priateľov na gauči. Znovu som začala písať. Do nasledujúceho leta som opäť pracovala ako novinárka. Získavala som ocenenia. Žila som vo vlastnom byte. Už som nebola bez domova. Nebola som viac neviditeľná.
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)
Tisíce ľudí pracujú na plný či polovičný úväzok, pričom žijú vo svojich autách. Ale spoločnosť naďalej hanobí a ilegalizuje život v aute na ulici. A tak bezdomovci, pracujúci bezdomovci, zostávajú neviditeľnými. Ale ak raz jedného stretnete, všimnite si ho, posmeľte ho, dajte mu nádej. Ľudská duša prekoná čokoľvek, ak má nádej. Nie som tu, aby som bezdomovcov obhajovala. Ani vás nenabádam, aby ste dali peniaze prvému žobrákovi, ktorého stretnete. Ale som tu, aby som vám na základe vlastnej skúsenosti povedala, že ľudia nie sú tým, kde žijú, kde spia, alebo aká je ich momentálna životná situácia. Pred tromi rokmi som žila v dodávke na parkovisku pred Wal-Martom. Dnes prednášam na TEDe. Nádej si vždy, vždy nájde cestu. Ďakujem. (Potlesk)