When
I saw a post in a local mutual aid Facebook group from a man looking for food,
my first thought was “how can I help?”
He
said he didn’t have electricity and needed food that didn’t require cooking. I
offered a suggestion to which he responded, and we began a conversation. After a
few exchanges, where Jason seemed genuine and eager to help himself, I became
curious and searched the group to read his other posts.
They
were a series of asks. First, he didn’t have a place to live and listed his
Venmo. Then he wanted to know if anyone could offer work. There were a couple
other posts requesting food donations, but one caught my eye. At the top was a
caveat: You might not agree with my politics, but I’m still a human being and
I’m hungry.
I
kept scrolling and discovered he was a MAGA/brotherhood kind of guy who’d been
scammed by someone starting a militia group. Jason had sold his house, donated
the money to the cause and traveled to Texas to start a chapter.
He
was ghosted by the leader of the organization after he arrived and found himself
without the proverbial pot thousands of miles from home. When the reality of
what happened sank in, he raised the money for a bus ticket, but returned to no
home, no job and evidently no support system.
Jason
listed his YouTube channel and I found nothing that surprised me when I clicked
the link. Hate rhetoric about liberal snowflakes, Jews, and gays. And conspiracy
theories. All strewn through the sixty seconds I watched of one video. It was
clear from the other thumbnails that the rest were more of the same.
I
found his hatred of people of color and other systemically oppressed people
repugnant. As a member of the LGBTQ community, his support of people who overtly
seek to harm us felt personal. Like I was being attacked.
As
I sat in judgment of his beliefs and behavior, a memory flashed through my
mind.
After
I sold my house in Tampa, I stayed with friends for a while, rotating among them
so I didn’t feel like a burden. I didn’t have much money; the real estate market
was abysmal and I had done a short sale, so I had not made a profit. A toxic
relationship had led to debt that I was crawling out from under and I didn’t
even have enough for the first month’s rent, much less a security deposit.
Eventually,
it became clear that burden status was approaching and I ended up at a dingy
extended stay motel under an interstate overpass in Clearwater that I charged on
a credit card. There was yelling and fighting late at night. I saw drug deals
going down in the parking lot when I went to work. And the cops made an
appearance more than once.
One
night, while the twenty-five-cent bag of ramen that was my dinner bubbled on the
hotplate on the counter, I lost it. How had my life brought me here? Sitting on
the edge of a too-soft mattress, living above a family of four squeezed into one
room, not knowing how I would muster the energy or motivation to go to work in
the morning, I felt hopeless and helpless.
This
wasn’t the first time I’d been in dire straights financially. And I spent more
than a minute beating myself up for being an utter failure, for not learning my
“lesson,” and not having the fortitude to change the patterns that created the
situation. It was a blood bath of criticism and condemnation with zero
compassion.
I
managed to escape because I had a support system that was willing to help once I
was willing to be vulnerable enough to share the truth. Jason didn’t have that
support system.
This
is what Jesus talked about. Clothe the poor. Feed the hungry. Help when you can
and don’t judge.
But
I’m no Jesus. My judgment about Jason’s choices and beliefs kept me spinning on
a mental merry-go-round for a couple of days, and when I finally broke through
the dissonance and decided to send him some money, I discovered his post had
been deleted.
I
never found out why, although I’m guessing some folks in the group did a deep
dive like I did and insisted he wasn’t worthy of their help.
Dissonance
is hard. Experiencing opposing thoughts or feelings simultaneously is so
uncomfortable that most people choose a side rather than sitting in that vexing
place where there seems to be no answer.
Sometimes,
even when you have the courage to be in that unknown, it can be too late when
you finally reach stasis. Like it was for me with Jason. Hopefully going through
that process with him means that the next time I find myself in two disparate
places mentally and emotionally that it won’t take quite as long to find the
balance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The
capitalistic strategy of subscription levels - you can see “this” if you pay to
subscribe, otherwise you only can read “that” feels icky to me. I want to share
my stories in the most inclusive way, so all of what I write - along with the
podcast-lette - is available to everyone regardless of whether or not you
pay.
I
would appreciate the support if you feel so led and there are ways. You can
purchase a paid subscription to The
Mosaic Platypus for only $5/month, make a contribution through
Buy
Me A Coffee or get yourself a copy of The
Ten-Minute Self-Care Journal.
Thanks
for reading The Mosaic Platypus! I love
sharing stories knowing they have the power to connect us and nurture healing. I
appreciate you being a part of it. Have a great weekend!