It's hard to articulate the things I feel so deeply, sometimes. Especially when they are as new as this.

I've never been physically homeless myself, I've always had someone I could call for help. The same is not true for my younger brother, Michael. He first became homeless after being kicked out of my parents house at age 16. He switched between living on the streets and living on friends couches for 4 years. He's been homeless in Virginia, Texas and Colorado. He contacted me for the first time in months, in 2007 in the middle of a thunderstorm to see if I'd come pick him up. I agreed, and what I found was my little brother, skin and bones, soaking wet, and huddled underneath a bush trying to keep out of sight. He climbed into my car, and trying to break the silence I said "No offense, but you kinda smell bad." We laughed, and we drove back to my home. He took a shower while I washed his clothes and made him something to eat. We sat on the porch and smoked cigarettes while he told me how he'd been sweeping the 7-11 parking lot for a hotdog and soda every night. In the years that followed he'd contact me infrequently, telling me of new jobs, new goals, new places, all of "things to come", but that he was on the streets again, and "could I please send money?"

My next encounter with homelessness was after moving to Nashville. I'd recently been hired at Church St. Coffee House, and every morning, 'Dutch' would ride up in his wheelchair, and count out enough change for a large coffee. Over the following weeks, I grew very fond of Dutch. He would wait at the parking garage for me at 530 every morning and 'walk' me into work, to make sure I was safe. I started bringing him a little lunch every day, or a crocheted hat, or a bag of tobacco and some rolling papers. It wasn't long before he and his friends nicknamed me 'Sunshine'. He was an artist and a writer, and he wanted a friend. I liked feeling needed, feeling like I was making a difference in someone's life. It didn't take long before we all crossed lines that should've been set long before they were reached. I found myself taking Dutch to do laundry for 9 hours a day. Or taking all of his possessions he had in a storage unit, but could no longer afford, to store in my own home. I was taking my only day off between three jobs to run his errands. Giving him rides to and from Madison. I got overrun, and burnt out quickly. And before I knew it, I left Dutch sitting at his storage unit on summer day, and haven't heard from him in 2.5 years.

I work full time outside of being in The Contributor office, but I look forward to every shift that I'm there, more than anything else during my week. It doesn't bother me to add the extra 20+ hours to my schedule. I love seeing each of our Vendors come in, and tell me about their day, or about how someone gave them a tip, and they were able to pay an extra nights rent. Or how they got to 'get a good supper' the night before. Their personalities are as unique and beautiful as the stories that go with them. They show up at that door step, rain or snow, freezing temperatures or sweltering heat, and they wait in line to purchase those papers, never without a smile. And then they stand on street corners all over the city, and do something to better themselves. They are building themselves from the ground up. They're taking action, and changing their own lives.

And that is why I want to be a part of this. It's why I need to be a part of it. It's one of the only things that has sparked this much life and passion in me, in a long time. I started volunteering, to get myself out of my house and into the world a little bit more. I had no idea that I would form a passion for something I was so new at. The writer in me, wants nothing more than to hangout in a room with each vendor and learn their stories, write them down, so they can be told. (They need to be told. They deserve to be!) The mother in me, wants to feed them and clothe them, keep them warm and dry, and give them a place to sleep. I've only been a volunteer for around a month, but I can tell you this: Something about the way this works, makes sense. It gives me a real, concrete, tangible way to make a visible difference in someone's life, as well as an impact on homelessness in the city I call Home. I would like nothing more, than to be able to devote more of my time to doing something worthwhile, that has real value.

These are real people. They are not below you and I. They have the same hopes and dreams, the same goals and needs, desires and ambitions as we do. They were just dealt a different hand in life, maybe by their own doing, or maybe just be chance. And they're taking what they've got, often tremendously less than what your average-joe would consider needed for survival, and doing the best they can to eke their way through the world, one paper, one smile, one hug or handshake, one "Thanks and God Bless Ya" at a time.