Heartlanta Journal

I fed a homeless man today, and I felt guilty.

Guilt dissipates when going about my own life, replaced by an overall pessimism I keep to hold life’s disappointments at arm’s length.

As a young person, I hold dreams and aspirations that grow further away from my reach it seems. I got a job that underpays me as a hostess, but during training week, I can order three free meals per day.

Lovely. Though I don’t need that much food, I’ll take it. Maybe it’ll be my leftovers.

Then again, I’m already in ATL, I should give this away to other people.

After my first day ended, I took Exit 249A to Georgia State; my alma mater. It was 10:40 PM. I was cautious, but inspired to act. I couldn’t let my preconceived notions stop me from giving away what I knew I wouldn’t eat.

I’m not sure what pushed me today.

Was it my own feelings of being in a tough space? Maybe three meals for five hours of work felt too greedy. Maybe I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be there for someone.

This feeling likely comes from my own wishes; how often I wish someone saved me, even for a moment. Not in a survival sense.

In my greedy first-world life, being “saved” looks like something else. A decent job in a prestigious field. A deeply impactful conversation. A safe space. Acknowledgement of my talents in creativity. Or just recognition of what I bring to people.

As I reflect on my motivations, I looked out my window driving past Hard Rock Cafe. The first man held a cardboard sign too dark to read under the streetlights. His back rested against the edge of grey cement steps. When I called out to him, he rose slowly. His royal blue, tattered button-up shifted as he limped toward my car.

He took the styrofoam box with immense gratitude.

A weakened black man with white hair, skin resting against the outline of his rib cage.

In that moment, my guilt came back.

Why do I deserve three free meals when he’s struggling? And who am I to be sad about life?

I have family. Support. Stability in ways I don’t always acknowledge. I’ve started to think of good family as a form of wealth, almost like nepotism, but softer.

When I think of “doing good” or charitable contributions, I realize how far removed I’ve been. It’s easy to donate, it’s hard to face reality directly in front of yourself.

And I think that’s part of the guilt too.

When I was doing better financially, why wasn’t it this easy to give? Maybe I’m not as empathetic or morally good as I thought. Maybe it took my own hardships for this perspective to form, or this stagnant phase in life to serve as a reevaluation of my own values.

But I don’t think that thought is entirely negative, as I act from growth in a way.

I do think we can save each other in small moments.

Not in ways that change everything, but in ways that give relief between the bad times.

I hope I gave that tonight.

Moving forward, I’ll keep giving away my extra meals after work. Driving around, looking for people who might need them.

It’s small.

But maybe the accumulation of small things, the aggregate of small reliefs and small care, that shifts something in us.

I’d like to hope that we can save each other in meaningful pieces. Power in numbers, as they say.