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.
Sem pisateljica in novinarka. Sem tudi noro radovedna oseba. Tako sem se v 22 letih novinarstva naučila, kako narediti mnogo novih stvari. Pred tremi leti je bila ena izmed teh stvari, kako postati neviden. Postala sem ena izmed brezdomcev z zaposlitvijo. Pustila sem svojo službo urednice časopisa, ko mi je februarja istega leta umrl oče, in se odločila potovati. Njegova smrt me je močno prizadela. In bilo je mnogo stvari, ki sem jih želela občutiti in se soočiti z njimi, med tem ko sem potovala.
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.
Kampirala sem celo svoje življenje. In odločila sem se, da bo življenje v kombiju za eno leto, ko to počnem, kot malo daljše kampiranje. Spakirala sem svojo kamp opremo in se skupaj s svojo mačko in rottweilerjem v Chevy kombiju iz leta 1975 odpeljala proti sončnemu zahodu, brez, da bi se zavedala treh ključnih stvari. Prvič: da družba enači življenje v trdno zgrajeni zgradbi, četudi baraki, s tem, da nekaj veljaš kot človek. Drugič: nisem s zavedala kako hitro lahko negativne percepcije drugih ljudi vplivajo na našo resničnost, če temu dopustimo. Tretjič; Nisem se zavedala, da je bistvo brezdomstva v drži in ne v načinu življenja.
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.
Sprva je bilo življenje v kombiju krasno. Tuširala sem se v kampih. Redno sem jedla v restavracijah. Imela sem čas, da sem se sprostila in da sem žalovala. Nato pa me je prevzela jeza in depresija zaradi smrti mojega očeta. Moja služba kot neodvisno zaposlena se je prekinila. Morala bi si poiskati redno službo, da bi lahko plačala račune. Mila pomlad se je spremenila v peklensko vroče poletje. Nemogoče je bilo parkirati kar kjerkoli- smeh -- ne da bi bilo očitno, da s seboj prevažam še psa in mačko, in bilo je res vroče. Maček je odhajal in se vračal skozi okno kombija. Pes je šel v dnevno oskrbo za pse. Jaz pa sem sem potila. Kadar koli sem lahko, sem uporabljala tuše za zaposlene v poslovnih stavbah in parkiriščih za tovornjake. Ali pa sem se osvežila v javnih straniščih.
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.
V kombiju se je temperatura ponoči redko spustila pod 27 stopinj Celzija, zaradi česar je bilo težko ali pa nemogoče spati. Hrana se je kvarila na vročini. Led se je v hladilni skrinji stopil v nekaj urah, kar je bilo precej žalostno. Nisem si mogla privoščiti, da bi si našla stanovanje, ali pa si nisem mogla najti stanovanja, kjer bi lahko bivala s psom in mačko. Nisem se jima bila pripravljena odpovedati. Zato sem ostala v kombiju. In, ko mi je bilo zaradi vročine preslabo, da bi se ponoči sprehodila 15 metrov do javnega stranišča nekje blizu kombija, sem za stranišče uporabila vrečo za smeti in vedro.
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.
Ko je prišla zima, so se temperature spustile pod ničlo. In tako je ostalo. Soočila sem s s celo vrsto novih izzivov. Vsako noč sem parkirala nekje drugje, da me ne bi opazili in bi me odpeljala policija. Vsakič mi ni uspelo.
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.
Vendar sem čutila, da svojega življenja nimam več pod kontrolo. Ne vem, kako in kdaj se je zgodilo. Vendar me je hitrost, s katero sem se iz nadarjene novinarke in pisateljice spremenila v brezdomko, ki živi v kombiju, osupnila. Nisem se spremenila. Moj I.Q. ni padel. Moj talent, integriteta, vrednote, vse kar sem, je ostalo nespremenjeno. Vendar sem se na nek način spremenila. Vse globlje sem padala v depresijo.
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."
In naposled me je nekdo napotil v ordinacijo za brezdomce. In sem šla. Tri dni se že nisem stuširala. Smrdela sem in bila depresivna prav tako kot ostali, ki so čakali. Le da nisem bila pijana ali zadeta. In ko je nekaj brezdomcev to opazilo, med njimi je bil nekdanji univerzitetni profesor, so rekli: "Ti nisi brezdomka. Zakaj si pravzaprav tukaj?" Ostali brezdomci me niso videli kot brezdomko, jaz pa sem se. Nato je moji zgodbi prisluhnil tisti profesor in dejal: "Ti imaš službo. Imaš upanje. Pravi brezdomci upanja nimajo." Zdravila, ki so mi jih proti depresijo predpisali na kliniki, so me naredili samomorilsko. In spomnim se, da sem si mislila; "Če bi se ubila, ne bi tega opazil nihče."
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)
Kmalu za tem, mi je prijatelj dejal, da Tim Russert, državno priznan novinar, o meni govori na nacionalni televiziji. Esej, ki sem ga napisala o svojem očetu leto preden je umrl, je bil v Timovi novi knjigi. Ustvaril je celo rubriko v svoji pogovorni oddaji, v kateri je govoril o mojem pisanju. In, ko sem spoznala, da je Tim Ruddert, nekdanji moderator pri agenciji Meet the Press, govoril o mojem pisanju, med tem, ko sem jaz živela v kombiju na parkirišču trgovine Wal-Mart, sem se začela smejati. Tudi vai bi se morali. (smeh)
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.
Pričela sem se smejati, ker sem prišla do točke, ko sem bila pisateljica ali sem bila brezdomka? Odšla sem v knjigarno in našla Timovo knjigo. Stala sem tam in še enkrat prebrala svoj esej. Jokala sem. Ker sem bila pisateljica. Bila sem pisateljica. Kmalu za tem sem se preselila nazaj v Tennessee. Včasih sem spala v kombiju, včasih na kavču pri prijateljih. Spet sem pričela pisati. Do poletja istega leta sem spet pričela delati kot novinarka. Dodelili so mi številne nagrade. Spet sem živela v svojem stanovanju. Nisem bila več brezdomka. Nič več nisem bila nevidna.
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)
Tisoče ljudi je redno zaposlenih ali zaposlenih s polovičnim delovnim časom in živijo v svojih avtomobilih. Družba pa življenje v avtu ali na ulici še naprej stigmatizira in kaznuje. Tako brezdomci, in brezdomci z zaposlitvijo, primarno ostajajo nevidni. Vendar, če kdaj katerega izmed njih srečate, se mu posvetite, ga spodbudite in mu ponudite upanje. Človeška narava lahko premaga karkoli, če le ima upanje. Ampak tu nisem, da bi delala promocijo za brezdomce. Tu nisem, da vas nagovorim, da dajte denar naslednjemu beraču, ki ga srečate. Tu sem, da vam na podlagi lastne izkušnje povem, da ljudje niso definirani s tem kje živijo, kje spijo ali kakšna je njihova trenutna življenjska situacija. Pred tremi leti sem živela v kombiju na parkirišču trgovine Wal-Mart. Danes pa predavam na TED konferenci. Upanje vedno, vedno najde pot. Hvala vam. (Aplavz)