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 pisac i novinar i takođe sam veoma radoznala osoba. Tokom 22 godine baveći se novinarstvom, naučila sam da uradim mnogo novih stvari. A pre 3 godine, jedna od stvari koje sam naučila je kako da postanem nevidljiva. Postala sam jedna od zaposlenih beskućnika. Nakon smrti moga oca u februaru prošle godine dala sam otkaz sa pozicije novinskog izdavača i odlučila da putujem. Njegova smrt me je veoma pogodila. Bilo je mnogo stvari koje sam htela da osetim i rešim tokom putovanja.
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.
Kampovala sam čitav zivot. I odlučila sam da bi zarad tog cilja živeti u kombiju godinu dana bilo jednako jednom dugačkom kamperskom putovanju. Tako da sam spakovala svoju mačku, rotvajlera, i opremu za kampovanje u Ševi kombi iz 1975. i odvezla ka zalasku sunca, a potpuno propustila da shvatim tri kritične stvari. Prva: društvo podrazumeva život u istoj zgradi, čak i u baraci, da biste imali vrednost kao osoba. Dva: nisam shvatila koliko brzo negativna opažanja drugih ljudi mogu da utiču na našu stvarnost, ako im dozvolimo. Tri: nisam shvatila da je beskucništvo stav, ne životni stil.
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.
Na početku, život u kombiju je bilo super. Kupala sam se u kampovima. Uvek sam jela po restoranima. A imala sam vremena da se opustim i da tugujem. Ali onda su se pojavili bes i depresija zbog smrti mog oca. Moj honorarni posao se završio i morala sam da nađem stalni posao kako bih platila račune. Blago proleće se pretvorilo u nesnosno sparno leto. I postalo je nemoguće parkirati se, (smeh) a da ne bude očigledno da sam sa sobom imala mačku i psa, a bilo je veoma vruće. Mačka je ulazila i izlazila kroz otvoren prozor na kombiju. Pas je otišao u prihvatilište za pse. A ja sam se preznojavala Kad god sam mogla, koristila sam tuš kabine u poslovnim zgradama i odmarališta za kamiondžije kako bi se okupala. Ili sam se kupala u javnim kupatilima.
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.
Temperatura u kombiju je noću retko padala ispod 27stepeni Celzijusa, što je pravilo poteškoće za spavanje. Hrana je trulila na vrućini. Led se u kutiji gde sam ga držača topio u roku od par sati, bilo je poprilično bedno. Nisam mogla da priuštim sebi stan, ili nisam uspela da priuštim apartman koji bi mi dozvolio da imam rotvajlera i mačku. Odbijala sam da ih se odreknem. Tako da sam ostala u kombiju. I kada sam se od vrućine toliko razbolela da nisam mogla da odem 15 metara do javnog kupatila, koristila sam kantu i kesu za smeće kao toalet, noću izvan svog kombija.
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.
Kad je došla zima, temperatura je pala ispod stepena smrzavanja. Ja sam ostala u kombiju. Suočila sam se sa potpuno novim izazovima. Parkirala sam se na različitom mestu svake noći kako bhi izbegla da me policija primeti i maltretira. Nisam uvek u tome uspevala.
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.
Ali, osećala sam da nemam kontrolu nad sopstvenim životom. Ne znam kad i kako se dogodilo, ali brzina kojom sam ja prešla iz talentovanog pisca i novinara do beskućnee žene koja živi u kombiju, mi je oduzela dah. Nisam se promenila. Moj količnik inteligencije nije opao. Moj talenat, moj integritet, moje vrednosti, sve o meni je ostalo isto. Ali, nekako sam se promenila. Tonula 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."
Jednom prilikom me je neko uputio u kliniku za beskućnike. I otišla sam. Nisam se kupala 3 dana. Smrdela sam i bila depresivna koliko i svi ostali koji su satajali u redu. Ali, nisam bila pijana ili drogirana. I kad je par beskućnika, uključujući nekadašnjeg univerzitetskog profesora, to shvatilo, rekli su, "Ti nisi beskućnik. Zašto si u stvari ovde?" Drugi beskućnici me nisu gledali kao beskućnika, ali ja jesam. Zatim je profesor saslušao moju priču i rekao, "Imas posao. Imas nadu. Pravi beskućnici nemaju nadu." Reakcija na lek koji su mi u klinici dali za moju depresiju me je ostavila na ivici samoubistva. I sećam se kako sam razmišljala, "I da se ubijem, niko ne bi primetio."
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)
Prijateljica mi je, ubrzo posle toga, rekla da je čula da je Tim Rasert, poznati novinar u celoj državi, pričao o meni na nacionalnoj televiziji. Sastav koji sam napisala o mom ocu, godinu dana pre njegove smrti je bio u Timovoj novoj knjizi. On je radio seriju zivih emisija u kojima je pričao o mojim radovima. I kad sam shvatila da je Tim Rasert, bivši voditelj emisije "Upoznaj Štampu", pričao o mojim radovima, dok sam živela u kombiju na parkingu supermarketa, počela sam da se smejem. I vi biste trebali. (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.
Počela sam da se smejem zato što je došlo pitanja o tome da li sam ja pisac ili beskućna žena? Tako da sam otišla u knjižaru i našla Timovu knjigu. I stajala sam tamo. Ponovo sam pročitala moj esej. I plakala sam. Zato što sam bila pisac. Bila sam pisac. Ubrzo nakon toga sam se preselila nazad u Tenesi. Smenjivala sam život u kombiju sa prenoćištima kod prijatelja. I ponovo sam počela da pišem. Već sledećeg leta radila sam kao novinar. Osvajala sam nagrade. Živela sam u sopstvenom stanu. Nisam više bila beskućnik. 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)
Hiljade ljudi radi puno i skraćeno radno vreme, i živi u svojim kolima. Ali društvena sredina i dalje osuđuje i kriminalizuje život u vozillu ili na ulici. Tako da zaposleni beskućnici uglavnom ostaju nevidljivi. Ali ako ikada upoznate jednog, angažujte ih, ohrabrite ih, i ponudite im nadu. Ljudski duh moze da prevaziđe sve ako ima nadu. Nisam ovde da budem predstavnik za beskućnike. Nisam ovde da vas ohrabrim da date pare sledećem prosjaku koga sretnete. Ovde sam da bih vam rekla da, na osnovu mog iskustva, ljudi nisu ono gde žive, gde spavaju, ili ono što je njihova životna situacija u datom trenutku. Pre 3 godine živela sam u kombiju na parkingu supermarketa. Danas govorim za TED. Nada uvek, uvek nadje nacin. Hvala vam. (Aplauz)