New York

The sounds of New York City bang my sleeping self awake. My head is aching and my eyes are hard to open, jet lag is wicked and the city garbage trucks don’t seem to care that I arrived late into JFK, checked in and collapsed into the hotel bed and fell fast to sleep, only four hours ago.

Stumbling to the window, peeking out the shade my eyes burn with the morning sun; it is a beautiful morning in New York and lucky for me there is a Starbucks right across the street from the hotel. I throw on my jeans and flip flops, and make my way to the familiar and glorious line of Starbucks.

I fill my large coffee with half and half, and sit, in the bar stool, facing the large window that looks out onto the bustling side walk of Seventh Avenue. I am overcome by a smell, one I know well. There is homeless man sitting next me, sipping water from cup, eyes down. The smell of homeless fills my nose and memories flow. I remember how it was to take refuge in coffee shops, early in the morning. The morning hours were the worst when I was homeless. The streets are cold and the passersby are busy, looking right through you. Form the second I opened my eyes to the moment I passed out, I was overwhelmed by the circumstances of my addiction and the hopelessness that I was going to die, out here on the cold ruthless streets: nameless and purposeless.

As I was lost in thought, there was voice that spoke between me and the homeless man, “The chairs are for paying customers only and you have only been drinking water. I am going to have to ask you to leave”

The barista could have speaking to me, 17 years ago. I turned to him and said, “Its okay, I will buy him a cup a coffee.”

I did. The homeless man said thank you. I said you are welcome. And then we sat, side by said without any words, worlds apart, and at the same time, more alike than different.

After he finished his cup of coffee he got up, walked out the door and disappeared into the busy morning sidewalk commute to nowhere.

I was asked later that morning, in an interview, “What it is important to you Kristina? Besides your children and family, what is important to you?”

“There was a time in my life where I would steal from you anything I could take as I was running out the door, and today, what is important to me, is that I leave something with you when I go. I had two choices this morning; ignore the homeless man or not. I chose not" That is it. I want to leave a footprint in the lives of those I come across, from the stranger in Starbucks, to the client in my office, to the lives of my children; I want to leave their lives better, when I am gone and out of sight.”
I am happy to be home. I am grateful to be living a life of recovery and for today, I am sober and shameless, Kw