Why It’s OK To Be Weird, and Hug the HomelessAugust 27, 2015

All of us are weird. You. Me. The guy standing over there with long white hair and a beard blowing in the fall air with a desperate and confused look on his face. But sometimes, what seems weird becomes heartbreaking and then turns into an opportunity of a lifetime…you just don’t know it yet. Neither did I.

It was a chilly Friday night and I was in a hurry, first to make a quick run to a jewelry store, then to a friend’s for our weekly girls night. As I trotted up the hill and over the tracks, back toward my car, the man with the white hair turned. Suddenly, we made eye contact.

His worn and dirty clothes and combat boots make me peg him as a vet, while his nearby belongings proclaimed him homeless. Something made me pause to smile and say hi. He asked, “What day is it?”

Stopping to answer, “Friday,” I took a closer look at him and asked, “How are you?” His answer, which sounded much like that of a child’s, was a quiet, “I’m hungry.” My stomach clenched as I thought of the dinner plans I had with a friend. I’ve long had a personal policy that I don’t give money to the homeless because I don’t want to contribute to drug or alcohol abuse.

Taking a quick look around, there were only sit-down restaurants, and Einstein Bros. Bagels. Asking if he would like a bagel and coffee, he nodded in response and only asked for extra cream cheese.

I took off, walked into the store, and scared the clerk who thought she’d locked it. My timing was bad as they’d already dumped the coffee and couldn’t sell me anything because the registers had been shut down. Empty-handed and wondering what to do, I walked back.

Explaining what happened, I took $20 from my wallet and handed it to him, saying that while I wouldn’t know if he honored my request or not, it was my hope that he would only use it for food and not alcohol or drugs. He nodded his head, tears in his eyes, and then asked me what day it was.

It was then that this voice spoke in my head saying I should give him a hug because no one has touched him in any way in a long time. I recognized that still small voice as God’s and I mentally stomped my feet in response, thinking, “Really? He’s filthy!” I got nothing in response, just a sense of quiet patience, so I tried again, pointing out my discomfort. Again, it was almost like I heard a sigh.

As people walked past, I asked him what his name was. “Wayne,” he said, and then surprised me by asking mine. “It’s Lisa,” I told him, and followed it up with a mental sigh of my own before asking, “Wayne, could I give you a hug?”

With a wide-eyed look of shock, he silently nodded yes. So I reached up, put my arms around his shoulders and gave him a good, solid hug. When his arms came up around my back, and he held on tight for a bit longer than I anticipated, I realized that voice had been right. Of course.

Pulling away, I said goodbye, turned and blindly walked to my car wiping away the tears that ran down my cheeks. It was a moment I’ll never forget. It reminds me that there is a lot more to someone than what you see on the surface, and in giving you receive something unexpected.

While that experience tells you about the person I strive to be—one that is compassionate and patient, and who gives to others—I so often fall short of that. I get caught up in the fast pace of everyday life and, together with my family, can often be caught presenting my weirdness to the world. Without it life would be boring for both of us.

As journalist for the last 13 years, I’ve met my fair share of weird people and they make me smile, make me laugh, make me cringe, frustrate me or make me walk away quickly. Love them or hate them, the day sure goes by faster when we hang out with them, or when we let our inner weirdness loose.

According to writer S. Grant, in his article on scientific explanations for weird behavior, “Psychiatrist and Harvard professor Ron Schouten says that our draw to psychopaths is similar to our attraction to horror movies or roller coasters. Sometimes we just like to be frightened, and tales of psycho killers can definitely fulfill that need. This is because being frightened sends a rush of neurotransmitters, including dopamine, which evokes feelings of pleasure. In an entertainment setting where there’s no real danger, our fear doesn’t last long. On top of the dopamine-induced pleasure, we usually leave the theater or turn off the TV feeling a sense of well-being or justice (depending on how the film or show ends). This type of satisfaction keeps us coming back for more.”

While I’m no psychopath, I do hope you’ve enjoyed my unconventional introduction, and I hope you’ll come back for another visit soon. With a husband and three kids in their 20’s, I have plenty of fodder to keep you chuckling and entertained. Who knows, I might even slip in something you find inspirational.