I had no where to lay my head. Literally. A few years earlier I was basking in success. But the tides of success had turned. Finally when the great recession hit I lost everything. And like many others I had no family to fall back on. And there were only so many friends whose couches I could crash on. I had no savings to fall back on. I literally had no one to depend on. Luckily I had my health, and a desire to get out of homelessness. I had experienced a bout of homelessness in my teens so I knew I could overcome this.

But then my health took a turn for a worse. I was suddenly struck with appendicitis my first week living on the streets of San Diego. Life just seemingly dished me up one health disaster after another until I had no life left in me. After my emergency surgery I spent a week in the hospital in San Diego before finding myself in a group home paid for by Catholic Charities, and MediCal. For a time I wasn’t sure I’d actually recover. But after a few months I did. During my time in the group home I went out in search for a job. But I found the job climate absolutely nearly impossible. After spending much of the last 9 years doing computer consulting work, and being an entrepreneur I was in a difficult place.

Companies simply were not hiring. And in many cases they felt I was “overqualified”. Being overqualified is a death sentence in a bad economy. A few months later I found myself without a place to go. I was without a home.

More dangerous than being homeless is being hopeless. I had lost all hope.

I decided to try to get access to a homeless shelter in San Diego. There are only 2 of them. One of them is a drug rehabilitation center, and the other is a strict program with a waiting list. I signed up for the waiting list. I was told it could be up to 6 months to get to the top of the list and approved but I would have to come every Monday and check in to see if there were any openings. And so my homeless journey in San Diego truly began.

I wasn’t afraid of being homeless. I was afraid of losing hope. I was afraid of losing my identity. I was afraid of forgetting who I was. I was afraid of losing track of my dreams, goals, and aspirations in life.

My first night was one of the hardest ones of my life. I had no sleeping bag, no blanket, and no idea where I would sleep. The homeless in San Diego congregate together in various places that the police allow them to congregate at night. Some of them were camping outside the public library. Some of them were camping in side streets. Others were camping in the blue collar district.

Drugs were everywhere. Prostitution was everywhere. Violence was common. On my first night on the street I saw someone stabbed to death over moving a shopping cart. I decided after seeing this that I would not sleep near anyone. I would seek out my own safety, alone.

I started walking and decided that one of the safest places to sleep would be by the federal jail. I slept outside the walls of the federal jail. I was awoken by a guard who woke me up to ask me if I was ok. His kindness was rare. He didn’t ask me to leave. He just wanted to make sure I was alright. Suprisingly in all the time I slept there he was one of the highlights of my time on the street. If there is such a thing. He treated me like a human. Not like a criminal.

Sleep eluded me that night, and nearly every night. There is a constant fear of police. They spotlight you, run warrant checks, and in general harass the homeless. On top of it there are drunk rich kids who go out in groups and would spit on the homeless, pee on the them, and in general abuse them. There was always that fear as well. Safety eludes you. On top of that homeless often preyed on each other. You had no choice but to sleep with one eye open. To stay hidden is the goal. The world has no use for you.

Eating becomes a daily chore. You must do everything you can do to keep enough calories in your system just to mentally survive. You spend hours and hours every day waiting in line. You wait in line for meals, you wait in line for showers. You wait in line just for the right to survive. And various parts of the day you are treated like a criminal, or an animal by the rest of society. Everyone wants you to stay hidden. But they offer you no sanctuary.

Compassion is a lost concept. Hope, a commodity more valuable than all the money you have made in your life up until now. Being homeless is harder than running a startup. Being homeless is harder than any divorce. Being homeless is harder than prison. Being homeless means fighting to survive every single minute of the day. And if you stop fighting society kicks you while your down. Society judges you, calls you names, and labels you a criminal. All because you can’t find a way to pick yourself up.

People often point out that homeless are lazy. But lazy is the last thing on my mind when I think of being homeless. I never worked so hard. I stood in lines to shower sometimes for hours, before being turned away. I stood on the side of freeways hoping that someone would toss me a few dollars so I could buy a pair of shoes. I never worked so hard to acquire the basic neccesities of life. Many nights I waited in line to eat, only being turned away. I never worked so hard just to get money to wash my clothes.

Have you ever been so hungry you walked miles, and miles and then waited for hours just to be told there was no more space ? Many nights I went to sleep hungry. Many nights I fell asleep with the tears falling down my cheeks. Praying not for solutions, but praying that somehow hope would return, and the pain would somehow go away. The pain of loneliness. The pain of the void. The void that fills your heart when hope escapes.

People make unfair assumptions about homelessness. I met a man who worked in the same job for years before being laid off. He had no other options. He moved from his home to a cheap hotel and then eventually his funds ran out and he found himself homeless. He wasn’t an alcoholic, or a drug addict. But society treated him like an outcast. He spent his days picking up cans. And teaching me how to survive on the streets of San Diego.

I met blue collar workers who seemingly had somehow got dealt a bad hand and found themselves without a place to lay their head at night. I met a lawyer who wanted so badly to get out of homelessness that he waited 5 hours just to be told there was no day labor that day for him. He returned like me 10 days in a row only to be turned away time and time again.

Instead of being shown compassion we were labeled criminals. We had to fight just to survive. Society no longer had any use for them. The homeless aren’t welcome in churches. The homeless aren’t welcome in businesses. The homeless aren’t welcome anywhere. People would make comments about the homeless being in the public parks, or in the public librarires. But where else were we to go ? There was never a sanctuary. Never a safe place to go.

I spent a year on the street. In that entire year I very rarely had a drink. I had to fight to survive. I wasn’t a drug addict. I had been dealt a bad hand. And I couldn’t manage to pick myself up on my own.

Many nights I had to walk 30 minutes just for the right to go to the bathroom without breaking a law. I had to walk an hour to get a glass of water. I had no where to get out of the rain. I had no one, and no where to turn.

Society didn’t care. It was easier for society to judge the homeless. To cast away their veterans. To discard the teachers. To label all of those who are suffering as criminals.

Yet somehow I never gave up. It took me a year to pick myself up, and to fight for my own survival. And now some 5 years later I’m at peace. Not because I’m afraid of going back, but because the nightmare is a long distant memory.

Now each and every night when I lay my head down to sleep I thank God for the simple things. Like access to water. Like the gift of a good nights sleep. And the ability to fall asleep with no worry as to what I am going to eat, or if someone is going to kick me when I’m down.

The homeless are a gift from God. Messengers to a broken world. That we need to take time to be compassionate. That the world needs our love more than anything.

Here are some ways you can make a difference in the lives of the less fortunate.

1. HandUp.us is a startup that is helping the homeless in San Francisco. Pick someone down on their luck and give them hope.

2. Volunteer at a local homeless shelter. But don’t treat them like homeless. Treat them like teachers, lawyers, & heroes that have lost their way home.

3. Next time you see a man begging for change. Don’t judge them. Instead do something to give them hope, and put a smile on their face. You’d be surprised how little it takes to make a difference.

The greatest gift you can give someone who has given up is hope.

I’m working on a book about my year of homelessness. If you’d like subscribe to my list I will let you know when I release it.