Just a Privileged Woman at Starbucks

Currently sitting in a Starbucks in Fort Worth, Texas.

The hubby is attending a convention for work, and due to my nonexistent work schedule, here I am.

At any rate, so much on my mind, but not sure where to start.

So how about this?

A confession.

I’m feeling rather privileged. I mean, here I am, sitting in an air conditioned Starbucks at 11:00 on a Monday morning sipping a steaming grande soy latte.

This morning, as I walked the 300 yards or so to Starbucks, I saw a man sitting on the curb, a worn backpack between his legs, his hands gripping a Starbucks coffee cup.

His gaze.

Empty.

And at Starbucks, a thin man wearing a long coat and a dirty baseball cap, hiding in a corner, hunched over his cell phone sitting on the table in front of him, his arms curled protectively around the backpack sitting on his lap, his fingers furiously jabbing at the tiny screen.

And last night, as we were exploring the city, a 40-ish year old man sitting on top of a cement planter on a street corner, a backpack at his side, talking to a police officer.

His layers of clothing a bit much for a warm spring evening.

His tanned face unshaven.

His eyes downcast.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to get home.”

So here I am, sipping my coffee, trying to read my Bible, my mind wandering.

What are their stories?

How did they get to where they are?

Was there a defining moment in their life when things took a turn?

Or was it a series of events?

Or maybe they aren’t as troubled by their condition as I am.

Maybe they are content.

But that’s not what my heart or my head are telling me.

Maybe it’s just people like me…privileged people…who make assumptions about people who are unlike themselves that are the problem.

And I wonder, what could I possibly do that could make a difference.

And I wonder, when will I be brave enough to make a difference.

And I wonder, what I could possibly write that matters.