Journey To See About A New Place

One cross section of the demographic I am moving away from:
Coffee, bicycles, Hawaiian shirts, shorts, retirees, sandals.

It's moving time.

Having spent over four years at one location and reflecting all this particular corner of the world has to show, a change is to come location-wise.

Moving can be challenging for some people.

It may cause a sense of excitement because new places, people, and experiences are bound to become... yet there may also be a bit of stress related.

I grew up in a stable home (stable as far as a child can reflect stability, but in this case me not having to move much and seeing predictable constants).

Upon my parent's divorce, I chose to move with my dad and not stay home with mom and sisters.

It was a choice I made.

Now thinking about it, it seemed I must have had a strong (hard) head at that time; 13 years old and making a choice to move several states away without either parent challenging me or overriding my decision.

I grew up in a single-family house on a street I knew since childhood.

Grandparents lived at the other end of the block (and other relatives elsewhere on the street).

My parents each had their own vehicle, my dad a motorcycle and at one time a boat (later an airplane).

A summer trip, usually via the airline my dad worked for, was an expectation.

Eating out on the weekends and shopping was another expectation.

We had a washer and dryer, and everything I guess you could call typically middle-class in late 20th century America.

I left the 'safety' of all that was familiar for the unknown... the only partial 'known' being my dad.

My desire was to somehow get to know my dad, thinking at that naive age that my dad's distance was due to my other relatives or his unhappiness in California.

I was mistaken.

I've spent the rest of my life wrapping my mind (and heart) around the dynamics I grew up in regarding my parents and myself and all that happened and why it did.

I could understand how for some people who have never moved from their abode all their lives, to consider moving to another place (even in the same city) may pose quite a challenge.

I've moved quite a few times since age 13.

Some friends I made during high school were children of military parents; families who would move very often the longer they were in the military.

Some of these kids became accustomed to moving from state to state or country to country.

Their adjustment to new surroundings had an impact on their social skills, while not all of them were automatically well-adjusted.

For some, the moving and making new friends (or not) did have a certain impact on their overall development... and I'm sure the home life dynamic largely depicted their development.

I moved back to California at age 15 for one year, then back again to Texas at 16 to finish high school and back again to California after graduating.

Moved in with mom for some years, living in a different (but nearby) city than I grew up.

I went to college (taking my sweet time) and taking whatever job I could tolerate.

I've quit so many jobs... realizing although I can be a good employee and getting whatever the work was 'done' satisfactorily, I work better on my own or not alongside people who make working conditions intolerable.

After junior college, I transferred to a university and onto that campus (still in California) for a semester ... and then moved back home, this time to the house of those grandparents who lived on the same street that I grew up on.

That particular move was interesting and challenging, yet purposed.

In hindsight, all things are purposed (or can be reasoned as such).

Part of me felt like my mistakes had rendered me going backwards.

But, those years at home with my grandparents allowed me to focus on starting my own businesses.

Those years also had me come to terms with life (and death) in a way that many of my contemporaries (relatives included) were either ignoring or avoiding... but I faced directly.

The process of character development, which I can soberly say I have needed and will always need (and I dare say every other human being needs as well) is not always welcomed nor easily handled.

But such development is necessary; mining for gold is a dirty job, excavating gems being a laborious and exhausting task... but the results life-changing.

Perspective.

I eventually moved out on my own during a time I was most challenged (spiritually, emotionally, socially, and eventually financially).

The 'feelings' of failing in several ways were to become (again hindsight) the very situations that strengthened me... but at the time were literally breaking me apart, separating from me what is not good from what is to be left as a shining light.

One lesson was that the money I made and 'freedom' I felt from my business efforts did not bring the joy or further ambition I thought I would desire... at least the desire did not override my sensibility.

A few moves later and eventually losing almost everything material wise (gambling and throwing it away actually) and being near-homeless, that experience snapped me out of whatever pity party I was going through.

I went from blaming others to accepting responsibility for everything.

I had to correct my misguided blame on God to respecting His process of discipline, consequence, and hope in redemption (the toughest part to wait for and immediately realize).

Refocusing my mind less on money and what is seen to more on God and what is unseen (walking by faith) led to a turning point that can only be defined as miraculous.

One blessed miracle having to do with this article's topic: the work that now directs my experiences and my writing.

It was due to those previous experiences and the pruning of my life's chaff that revealed me chosen for a very unique job: reflecting on all things 'life' within and around me.

In order for me to properly reflect all things, I have to be right in the middle of what would inspire my work.

This work causes lots of thoughts to pass over my heart and through my mind.

My work has me living on a very strict budget.

Such a budget that some would consider it to be impossible to live on in southern California.

To be clear, I earn more than this budget... but I do not realize the greater income at the moment, only a restricted budget.

The full amount I receive is fully utilized into the cost of living... and my frugality depends on my discipline and spending.

This budget depicts where I live and my purchasing habits (or the lack of), the kind of clothes I wear (somewhat reflecting local customs despite my individual tastes), the places I frequent (budget minded), the food I eat (occasional fast food, some things made / eaten at home, some dining out), the friends I may make (people largely earning much more than I realize budget-wise, but they reflecting a peer group showing how people typically gravitate to a similar stratification).

In all this I am to reflect these realities in my writing.

Returning to the move, I need mention I discarded my personal cell phone years ago.

It was partly a choice out of economic prowess (didn't want to spend $80 a month anymore), partly to unplug from unwanted communications from some people (past relationships), and partly due to the fact that I can still communicate via voice and text for free through an internet connection.

Although there are 'free' phones for those who qualify, I don't qualify according to my overall income... and I don't want to fill out any paperwork (another past effort to be removed from marketing lists and any list of any kind - an incognito effort that is also part of my work).

I do have phone numbers through the internet, but often times the internet connection isn't the strongest so the phone call quality is often poor.

Since my last business I had (online niche product store), I had set up that business for online communication only (email), nothing over the phone.

In my recent effort to find a new place to live, there has been a challenge in not being 'free' to make a phone call to prospective landlords.

Thankfully some people don't find a phone call necessary and opt to communicate via email or text.

However, in the search for a new place the landscape through Craigslist (how I found my current living situation) is riddled with out-of-country scammers... thus a direct phone call has been a demand from prospective landlords in order to circumvent these dishonorable scammers.

These scammers ask for a phone number and email address (so they can wreak havoc and do God knows what else).

When a legitimate landlord asks for you to call them directly in order to surpass the scammers and initially qualify a prospective tenant, I felt a level of frustration a poor person may likely feel not having that government phone or any phone at all.

Not every person living on the street or having a very low income has a phone, but such programs (although being disliked with evidence of corruption - nothing surprising when dealing with government programs) do exist as an effort to lesson challenges as I've explained, and serve a good purpose.

Now to a day's reflection of a journey to see about a place:

After two weeks of navigating the scams, I finally communicated with someone who has a place within my budget in a location seemingly safe and quiet and familiar.

I happen to own a very old cell phone that I considered activating or buying a pre-paid plan to simply use for these rental-seeking phone calls... so I visit a local cell phone store (an independent / generic catchall) the day of this journey to find out what is available for this short-term purpose.

While there, the store owner gives me a sales pitch about getting a new 'free' phone and a plan and so forth... but it is more than I desire to spend and simply doesn't make any financial sense to pursue.

Not every pre-paid plan works with every cell phone, but only select phones... which makes sense for those who desire to sell plans along with phones they also garner an income from selling.

While there, a man comes in who looks like a type-cast for an inner city contemporary Latino gangster - a cholo - although not a Latino himself (but somehow convinced in his mind).

Imagine the character Kip Dynamite from the movie Napoleon Dynamite and his persona change after falling in love with his internet girlfriend.

This particular man that has come into the store is familiar to the store owner, the store owner letting me know after a few concerning looks that he's known the man since he was a child... being a frequent visitor to his store.

The tattoo laden character is boisterous and complete with a jailhouse attitude and aggressive manners.

I've seen this growing up on my childhood street, so I am not surprised... but it isn't a personality I have around me too often... and one never knows how to navigate such personalities, the threat of violence often times being one wrong look away (what I know from first-hand experience).

He didn't fail to insult me personally moments after I didn't respond to his attempt at a joke when he interrupted the conversation the storeowner and I were having.

In that moment I was thinking about what the store owner is telling me regarding cost and the general sales pitch and I'm doing the math in my head, weighing other options.

I'm trying not to pay much attention to someone's idiosyncratic manners, my usual response when someone is boisterous or arrogant being to ignore them.

It is interesting how moments come back to you very clear after an emotion of some kind is sparked; now recalling the insult.

His flippant remark to me was made as he leaves the store, not too loud but veiled enough to perhaps default that he was not talking to me if I were to say something.

It tempts my old fleshly manners.

My blood boils as my temperament is triggered, for it draws me back to a mindset I was too often around growing up in my childhood neighborhood... a mindset I have done my best to avoid and overcome.

It reminds also that this mentality is not only still prevalent, but has grown beyond the inner cities and from the typical minority ethnic groups it has historically been observed in (this man being such evidence).

Such a mentality being one of a myriad of mental cloning, imitation or emulation from a variety of reasons (survival, intrigue, reaching for identity, respect, accommodation, et al).

At that store hearing about the fees associated, I am reminded of how the poor usually pay the most for many things in life.

The smaller the package a product comes in, the greater the amount per volume or in smaller quantity is paid.

Snacks, soda, and many other products, when measured and divided by their prices, is reflective of this.

To pay in cash for a phone service, one is charged three percent... to simply pay the bill.

The cost of bad credit is sobering if you walk into a check-cashing place and see their usurious rates... or previously had zero or a very low interest rate for a credit card, and now only qualify for rates north of 12%.

(I personally have not had to use credit for nearly ten years, but I have had experience in this too - early on in my financial education)
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Lack of discipline is very expensive, and sadly many live their lives never moving on from these financial traps marketed to them as convenient solutions.

Having sold my motorcycles and cars years ago, and currently living in a place where everything is within walking distance, I either walk or take a short bus ride.

Now traveling to an adjacent city to view a new living space I have to plan for that journey via public transit, I plan the journey.

The quickest route is just over an hour (one bus and two trains)... this compared to 20 minutes if (when) I had a personal vehicle (even less when on a motorcycle because I split lanes ;).

My current weekly routine has me catching a bus a few times a week.

The demographics are predictable now because they are seen repeatedly, while they somewhat vary depending on the part of town and time of day or night.

Today's journey has me taking a bus into downtown Long Beach, then a train that goes north towards downtown Los Angeles with a connecting train in Compton (that city made famous for crime, violence, and a few hopefuls who have escaped such cultural trappings).

Although, and again, this is part of my job, I can't help but feel certain realities since I have to live them.

Although I can afford to live almost anywhere I desire, such a choice (as the choice I had as a child) is not what I signed up for with this current job.

My experiences over the last few years, and today's journey to see about a place, is similar to me having forgotten what poor people deal with on a daily basis.

I wasn't born into wealth, nor into any level of ease or luxury, but instead into a working class and middle of the road family.

The thing is I never really lived such a reality as I'm living now, so I don't really 'know' the experiences.

For someone born into lesser circumstances, or greater material-wise, usually only reflect what they know.

One can 'look' at the existence of others in a certain situation, and perhaps feel empathy for them... but their shoes are not on your feet.

One really cannot know fully what another life is like... but perhaps may come close in walking living in similar situations.

I think the closest is the putting on of another one's shoes... yet their mind and heart cannot be put on.

This is the limit of my experience, for only God knows the mind and hearts of others... as He knows better even our own minds and hearts, but that is another article's topic.

In being unable to fully experience what another person's life is like (although you may walk alongside them for years), I equate to the beguilement of riches and the fear of poverty.

Much how we may sympathize with someone in dire need (and shutter to think we may ever find ourselves there), we may also emulate or desire to be in the shoes of someone we perceive to be wealth or having a life we may desire (and likely push to realize something similar in some way).

This beguilement is because far too many people have their eyes on the rich (or that lifestyle) and desire very much to live what is perceived as an easier life while avoiding what may render them poor in a poor situation.

Easier it may very well be in some aspects to reflect on the daily tutelage of the poor (like the fatigue my body feels after walking in the sun and taking public transit).

However, that beguilement doesn't fully explain that not all is greener on the other side with wealth... nor is poverty an ultimate death-nail as people fear.

With more green in one's pocket (or whatever color your country's money currently is) doesn't make all meadows and pastures green by default... neither is every poor person in constant want for the finer things.

Content.

This, I think, is the disillusionment that many people pursuing wealth face... and such has been warned about since ancient times.

Riding on the train this evening, it isn't that I forgot the amount of people suffering mental illness (or showing such ills by their attire or actions or words), but rather seeing a greater cross-section of society.

On these trains, you may encounter a wide spectrum of people... from executives to managers to laborers to hustlers to thieves to outright criminals... and who is to say the man dressed like an executive is actually a violent criminal, or the man dressed like a hobo is instead a scholar in disguise working on his next book?

Arriving at the end of the line of this connecting train, I disembark and ask a security officer where a particular cross-street is.

He is very helpful and patient with me, looking up my request on his smart phone.

I was surprised by all the options that automatically came up regarding the methods of transport to my destination (again, not having this 'luxury' - on purpose).

I realize the walk is another 40 minutes and I'm already late for my initial meeting with the landlord.

I have an iPad in hand (a kind of luxury) to communicate with them.

Since I have a limited amount of data per month, to use a map feature would spike my data usage as would watching a video or anything animated or heavily coded.

My brisk walk is not too bad and I get there in half the estimated time (taking a short cut mentioned by the security officer).

The walk allows me to get a sense of the surrounding area and neighborhoods on the way to my prospective new home, as well as an initial impression of the current demographics.

On my walk I happen to spot a young man dressed in a peculiar and familiar black jumpsuit.

The jumpsuits that inmates where... and I conclude this man was recently released.

What I understand is there is a process for property (even clothes) at the point of arrest / incarceration.

Arriving at the residence, I am pleasantly surprised by the condition of the homes on the street and the particular house I am visiting.

The house is clean, appropriately furnished, the landlord cordial and professional.

I happen to meet the tenant who is moving out... and she has a small parrot on her finger.

The three of us chat briefly and when I address the bird after asking his name, the parrot makes a gesture in desiring to come closer to me.

She brings him over and I put my finger out so he may step on it.

As he puts out his foot to take hold of my finger as a perch, she warns that he may bite me.

Sure enough, he bites me.

I give out a little scream from that initial sting, but it wasn't that bad... and I surprisingly kept a steady hand through that jolt of pain.

The landlord, the tenant, and myself shared a laugh (and I'm sure the parrot laughed in his own way).

The landlord and myself speak further on the particulars and I depart satisfied with the prospects of this living space.

I took the longest way back home; a nearly two-hour bus ride (two buses).

Leaving the neighborhood I find a bus stop a block away and sit down to wait for this particular bus back home.

This route takes me further along streets I had frequented many years ago, taking me past many memories.

I travel past the junior college I attended for several years and where I did a lot of growing up.

Past the mall I would occasionally hang out at or to watch a movie in their theaters.

Lots of new development which always tempts my investor's mind.

The car dealerships where I test-drove several cars.

A restaurant specializing in dim sum my sailing friends and I would occasionally visit after a day sail.

The sushi restaurant I would religiously come to after overcoming my fear of raw fish.

The Indian ethnic enclave where I visited a few tasty Indian restaurants and where I admired the ethnic clothes in store windows (if I had the guts to actually wear them, seeing them as quite striking and exotic).

As the sun sets and the view outside diminishes, I am brought back to the current and what is going on inside the bus.

I see a few more people suffering from some form of mental illness, some leaning towards violence and some being likely victims of such violence.

A woman in her sixties boards the bus about halfway through my journey and sits near me.

She begins talking, not to anyone, but simply speaking.

Not too loudly but loud enough that her thoughts are both voiced and heard.

She softly says “it is not my fault” and mentions something about her mother and father, perhaps a childhood memory.

I almost come to tears as I reflect on her image and the tenderness with which she spoke this lament, me imagining her as a child experiencing some torment or confrontation between her parents.

The rest of the journey home has me looking forward to a hot shower and a rest.

Such thoughts comfort me yet stir a bit of discomfort when I consider the hundreds of people I saw today.

Each person having their own level of comforts and discomforts, their dreams and aspirations, their misgivings and misunderstandings.

Sadly, some of these brothers and sisters of mine have no hot shower waiting for them, no home or bed to rest in, and other circumstances I soberly recognize that could have easily been my fate if only a single variable were different... or if God had been less gracious with me.

If God would have destined me for another path, my life could have easily been one of the many I saw a glimpse of today... whether taking me to (or through) jail, or held in some perpetual psychotic pattern, or believing my own significance as greater than another man's, or some other nearsighted detriment.

I thank God that this journey is too was purposed.

Although certain comforts do await me when this current work of mine is over, those comforts, I know, won't be in the form of what is typically expected earthly comforts.

The journey may continue to refine my character development, something more valuable than earthly treasures.

In this hope I do take comfort, and such comforts are realized in ways yet to be determined.