
[photo by HeyRocker]
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Fellow blogger Kelly Diels recently talked about how she manages her fears. Here’s how I conquered one of mine.
I grew up with hard-working parents who never had enough money to live on. We were always close to the edge and it wasn’t beneath my folks to find dinner in a dumpster behind the local grocery store.
People cringe when they hear that but really, it sounds worse than it is. Once you get them home and cleaned up, they’re just like all the other expired groceries in the cupboard. And frankly, some of the most fun I had with my dad growing up was finding salvageable stuff in dumpsters.
One of the downsides to it however; I was always aware of how close we were to not making it. I grew up with a fear of ending up broke and homeless. It always seemed to be just around the corner.
When I was sixteen years old I took a Greyhound bus to visit my grandparents on their farm in northern Michigan. It was summer and my grandfather always needed help bringing the hay in. I was looking for an adventure and even at that age traveling alone didn’t bother me.
To the contrary, it empowered me; when I traveled by myself I felt a surge of freedom, as though I could go anywhere. I was high on life and life’s endless possibilities.
I was young and spirited and it was summer. My days were spent in the fields but my mind was always somewhere else. I thought about traveling to Europe or exploring the Canadian wilderness. I envisioned quaint Swiss villages along the Alps and majestic Canadian mountain ranges carpeted with evergreens as far as the eye could see.
“I’m in Chicago…I’m just not coming to your house.”
The work was hard but it felt good to sweat in the sun and to be treated like a man. I felt a great sense of accomplishment riding back to the barn on top of a trailer piled with the freshly baled hay I had stacked. I spent a few weeks on the farm and when the hay was all in, took another bus to see my uncle who lived in Chicago.
On the way to my uncle’s house however, a funny thing happened. I decided not to go. I had always been afraid to be homeless but there, in Chicago, I suddenly decided to try it out. I called my uncle from the bus station.
“So, you’re not coming to Chicago?”
“No, I’m in Chicago. I’m just not coming to your house.”
“Why in the world not?”
“I just thought I’d stick around downtown and see if I could earn some money. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
He tried to convince me to come stay with him. I could be gone all day if I wanted but at least I’d have a place to sleep. I couldn’t tell him that was the point, I didn’t want to have a place to sleep. I didn’t want to have anything I didn’t earn myself.
I like how Danielle LaPorte explains the difference between fear management and fear leadership but I’ll save you the trip and just tell you, I was in fear management mode.
I found a day labor place called Ready Men right downtown, filled out a short information sheet and sat down with the rest of the guys waiting for work. It was a rough looking crowd with used up faces and tired clothes, shoes splitting at the seams. I would later refer to it, the way other regulars did because of its clientele, as “Ready Bum”. I untucked my shirt.
When they looked at me I looked right back, hoping not to look scared but also not look like I was staring. I was sending out a vibe I hoped was saying “I’m one of you”. Given I’d had a shower in the last week and a haircut within the last year this was difficult to pull off.
“Everything in that place was ancient and neglected.”
It was ten in the morning and I didn’t realize it but I’d come during the doldrums between the morning crews that got called at eight and the afternoon crews called at three. The people who stuck around in between were the people who were desperate enough to hope for anything and those with nowhere better to be.
They chatted amongst themselves and picked through the collection of cigarette butts on the floor to see if there was anything worth lighting. Or they dozed, absently swatting flies. I looked at the broken linoleum tiles and noticed how they’d been worn smooth from use, the exposed glue beneath them catching dirt in swirling patterns.
I wondered how long the place had been there and how many nameless men had worn the wooden benches smooth by sitting, waiting, squirming, slouching. It was like driftwood, smooth but not flat. I ran my hand along the bench. Everything in that place was ancient and neglected.
The room was long and narrow with filthy pane glass windows in the front and a small counter at the rear beneath an opening five feet up the wall. This is where they handed out the jobs and it attracted our gaze like the blue light of a backyard bug zapper. As though if we could just catch his eye he might suddenly motion for us to come up there for a job he was saving for someone special.
When three o’clock rolled around I was lucky enough to get called for a second shift job. He passed the slip down to me with the factory’s address.
“You give this to the supervisor when you get there,” the guy at the counter told me. “You need money for the bus?”
“Oh, no thanks,” I said. “I got it.”
I was working in a metal fabrication plant making what looked like loaf pans. The supervisor gave me the ten minute rundown on what to do and what not to touch. I was supposed to pull them out of a solution and stack them on a cart. Just like stacking hay, I thought, but a lot lighter. Piece of cake.
At midnight all the workers left the factory and I started wandering around looking for a place to sleep. Ready Bum was closed and the city looked more forbidding than it had in the daylight.
I found a piece of cardboard in an alley and lay down but was startled awake some time later by the guy who apparently lived there. His piece of cardboard. Sorry.
My body surging with adrenaline I wandered around for a while again surveying the empty streets, evaluating options for sleeping places. Walking down an alley I noticed the security bars covering an apartment window were directly beneath the raised ladder of a fire escape.
Climbing the bars I was able to ascend the fire escape to the roof. There wasn’t much up there but at least I’d be undisturbed. I huddled on the leeward side of a chimney and drifted off.
“Just like stacking hay, I thought, but a lot lighter. Piece of cake.”
Somewhere before dawn I was awakened by the sound the “L” clattering past my building. It had begun to drizzle—just a light mist—and I sat on the black tar looking out over the downtown skyline. To my left was Lake Michigan and to the right, the iconic Sears Tower.
I only had a couple bucks and a work voucher in my pocket that was worth around $20. I had no food or shelter. No security whatsoever. But at that moment I took a deep breath of the cool, moist Chicago air and I felt like an absolute king. I felt like Chicago was my city and my opportunities there were limitless.
I knew there were days of hard living ahead (I spent a week there being “homeless”) but I knew I would get through them. I knew if I could make it through a day, I could make it through a week. And if I could make it through a week I could survive.
I knew if I could step off a bus in Chicago with only a couple dollars in my pocket and survive. If I could make enough money to get something to eat and find a place to stay, I had nothing to fear from financial ruin.
It was a lesson I needed to learn in order to be fearless with finances, to get over my worries of “what happens if…” In most instances the worst case scenario is going broke, and now I knew I didn’t have to fear that anymore.
So when Dave Doolin, writing on his blog about passion being the new cool, asks this probing question: what drives you? The fear of being broke?
I can honestly say, not me. Not anymore.







