Trying to be Normal
Photo by Julie Schlegel, on my long walk around Lake San Cristobal to prove I could still do it at age 50.
I parked my car on a busy Houston street and saw him walking toward me from the sidewalk. He wore grey slacks, as my dad would call them, tied together at the waist where the missing button would’ve once held tightly.
A graphic tee shirt peeked out from underneath a blue, slightly wrinkled sport coat — a sport coat that another human once bought for his new job and then sent to a charity pile when its plaid was no longer fashionable.
His hair was chin length and brown, but with golden highlights framing turquoise eyes that should’ve been watching the waves come in as a surfer, or the bundled up children he coached as a ski instructor.
His skin was weather-worn, even at his apparent age of mid-20s. He wore a bag in rainbow stripes on his shoulders, completing his fashion vibe. I wondered whose son he was. Whose nephew. Whose brother. I didn’t fear him but did hold my purse tightly as I got out of the car.
“Hello, how are you today?” His eyes twinkled when he asked.
Did he want to know? I was in a medical waiting room yesterday for 10 hours for a family member and my back feels like a piece of plywood. I’m generally anxious about sending another of my kids off to college. Work has been a beating lately, and I need to clean out the cluttered closets at my house.
“I’m ok,” I answered. “How about you?”
“Today I’m good. It’s a beautiful day,” he said.
It is, indeed, a beautiful day in Houston. Perfect weather, 65 degrees, and sunny. The trail riders would be coming into town any moment for the opening of the annual Houston Rodeo. I told him I didn’t have any cash but I did have bottled water in the back of my car if he was thirsty.
“Water would taste so good.” I opened the back of my car and handed him an Ozarka bottle. Turned to go into my hair appointment.
“I’m Jackson. What’s your name?”
I told him my name and started to walk off, in no mood for small talk and almost late for my appointment. “I’ve been on the streets for four years. I’m trying to turn it around. I’m trying to be a normal person. Live like a normal person.”
I started to walk away but then thought of my own kids, my own family, all trying to be normal people. My patients, trying to be normal people. My friends, all trying to be normal people. And how so many of us are one or a few hardships away from being this young man.
I had to turn back around. “Jackson, being on the streets doesn’t mean you’re not a normal person. You are a normal person already. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
I walked into my salon and pondered this young man’s life and his words for the entirety of my hair appointment. Did he struggle with mental health? Addiction? How did he find himself on the streets? Where were his parents?
What makes us “normal people?” What is “normal?”
In a time where humanity is so divided, we need to get back to what makes us “normal people.” Needing basic things like clothes, housing, food. Needing to be safe and secure. Needing to be loved. A life’s work of which we can be proud. Treating people like we would want to be treated. A beating heart.
What else makes us “normal people?” Difficult conversations with those we love — or don’t love. Needing to pay our bills and financial hardship, or the threat of it. Irritability, anxiety, sadness. Illness and death. Saying the wrong thing. Judging others. Being the asshole at times, and then regretting it.
I hope this young man finds whatever spark he has left to believe in his life, and that he will make choices conducive to chasing his dreams. I want that for him and for all of us. We are all quirky, normal people, and we all have good days and bad days.
I paid for my haircut. I stopped by Trader Joe’s and picked up some lunch for my husband and me. Filled the car up with gas for the weekend, preparing to drive all over town for baseball and lacrosse games. I went home to my house where fresh food and clean sheets awaited.
Sure, I have what I need. My basic needs are met. But take away all that I have, and I’m just a human soul, like Jackson. I’m just trying to be a normal person, too.
Photo by Julie Schlegel, on the same walk around Lake San Cristobal
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.