Ever since I was young I’ve been an avid observer of details. Some say it’s a gift and a curse. When my uncle used to drive us to the mall, while everyone else would be focused on the latest fashion trends, I’d silently focus on the social interactions between people passing by. For whatever reason, the art of communication has always fascinated me. Over the years, I’ve watched it build grand standing relationships that endure all the tests of time, and with its misuse, I’ve watched it tear down even the greatest of men and women. Over the past few months I spent a lot of time in Houston’s inner city. Before class, I’d sit on the same bench on Congress Street and Main and just people watch. And every day I’d see the same trend of by passers: College students crossing the street, businessmen (and women) in sophisticated suits, and of course the vast legion of homeless people.
The students, ambitious and anxious about their studies, levied all of their attention on their education (or lack there of), in hopes of one day getting a job (that they’ll likely eventually come to hate). Freshman with heavy backpacks, and pen holders. Pretty girls in sorority shirts, cadets running up the hills. Each of them a subgroup of a greater circle of ambiguity. None realizing how close they are to falling into one of the other 2 groups.
The homeless, who ironically impressed me the most, had a grand story to tell: Pain and hopelessness. Many of them staggered aimlessly down the street, damn near void of life, searching for, as Jimi Hendrix put it, “Some kind of relief.” These people were impressive to me because they represented the most visible images of real life. In a society where nearly everyone wears a mask, covering up the pain, depression and sadness that from time to time we all feel, these people were the most vivid images of honesty one could imagine. If death and pain were near, these poor souls wore its mask like a badge of honor. The beautiful agony. To this day, they are the realest people I’ve ever met.
The businessmen, or “suits” as one of my classmates called them, were obviously the most skillful of the bunch. If anyone was sure to dismiss the existence of the others, it was this group. Ironically, this group impressed me the least. Perhaps because they were strangely familiar to me. Like a scene out of the film, “Wall Street” these guys, “fit the mold.” They were as to be expected, the most intelligent. They sped down the street swirling Marlboro cigarette smoke from the side of their mouth, digesting the Wall Street Journal, and the Chronicle, looking for the next big shift in the market, oblivious to the treasures all around them.
What astounded me the most was the lack of humanity between each of these groups. Each of these groups passed each other every day, not knowing, or caring that the others even existed. And none of them could see how diverse and beautiful they made each other. They each allotted the others as unmentionable objects in their linear world, not even worth taking time to assess, much less diagnose why they were there. A sad spectacle of the larger society that we as a people have become well adapted to: every shark for themselves. We’ve slowly become a culture focused only on the rise of individual gains. This “me” centered way of thinking has infiltrated nearly every facet of life from the economy, to our music, right down to religion. Bruce Lee once held his finger up to the moon and said, “Don’t concentrate on the finger or you will miss all that heavenly glory.” His wisdom couldn’t be more needed today.
Written By Ryan Carr
