This morning I got up my courage to talk to the homeless man who hangs out near the Starbucks that I like. I saw him in his usual place when I drove by, and this time I bought an extra latte and croissant to give to him. The best part was they made a venti when I’d asked for a grande so they gave me the venti at the grande price. Lord knows I’m frittering away the price of an airline ticket at Starbucks – but I digress.
When I drove back to the corner he wasn’t there. I drove around the parking lot until I found him and started talking to him. His name is Tom. I gave him a couple of dollars along with the food.
I don’t know that what I do makes that much of a difference. My parents roll their eyes when I give money to the homeless, and maybe I am throwing it away. Maybe they really don’t need it. I look at it this way. If they really do need it, then I am glad to have helped, however little that help is. If they are slackers getting a handout and don’t really need it, then that is between them and the universe. That’s their karma. I do know that when I do what I do, my heart sings a little, and the feeling gets to be a weird addictive feeling. Does anyone else get that little buzz?
Hmm. I wonder if that makes me selfish.
Something for me to think on.