And so, it was this past Sunday. Early afternoon. A hot sun and a few miles of jogging were at hand for myself. Alone in my mind and actions. Trotting through the Historic Frog Level District like I have hundreds and hundreds of times over my 12 years calling downtown Waynesville home.

Covered in glorious sweat from a joyous run around town, I circled back to my humble abode apartment near Russ Avenue. Cruising down Boundary Street alongside the railroad tracks, I could hear some yelling from up ahead. F-bombs and arms flailing in the air. 

It was a homeless couple in their 30s or so. Male and female, with the female cursing the dude out about not sharing his drugs with her. Apparently, it seemed the dude in question had a secret stash and didn’t tell his partner. I focused my eyes ahead and slowly passed by without judgment. My hopes radiating out into the universe that they find solace and healing at some juncture soon.

In the final quarter-mile of the jog, it was amazing all the vast and intricate memories and sentiments that rolled across my field-of-vision when contemplating and reflecting on the observed duo in question. Feelings of compassion and of concern for not only the couple, but also the other countless faces we’ve all seen in our respective paths along the often-bumpy road of life.

First off, I thought of numerous folks in my own life and travels that I’ve known with serious addiction issues, usually resulting from trauma as a child, teenager or adult. I think of loved ones whose funerals I’ve attended who passed away too young from drugs and alcohol, as well as suicide. Too many to count. Each face lost or troubled as unique and different as the ways and means that led them to these choppy waters of emotions and consumption.

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As those images flashed within my mind, so did the quote from Jack Kerouac, the late writer who sparked my interest in the written word, in adventure and in interaction with fellow humans. While rereading “The Dharma Bums” recently (for the hundredth time), the seminal 1958 novel, I kept thinking about a quote of his in the work that I’ve carried with me for almost 20 years: “Practice charity without holding in mind any conceptions about charity, for charity after all is just a word.”

In short, be kind to be kind. And do so without expectation or reward. Reach out to fellow man and uplift them with what little you have to offer. A dollar bill or pocket change. Bottle of water. Can of soda. Can of soup. Leftovers from the nice dinner you and your significant other just enjoyed after a night on the town. Perhaps even a car ride if you feel safe and secure enough in your instincts.

For myself, I come from the camp of helping fellow man and not ignoring the homeless or houseless or those perceived as “crazy” by society. Most folks in those situations simply want to be seen, with their existence acknowledged by others in passing. Don’t look away. Again, it the situation is safe and secure, make eye contact and smile. This is another human being for crying out loud.

Now, don’t get me wrong, if the situation seems unsafe, steer clear and give said folks the proper amount of space to be left in peace. But, in many of my interactions where a homeless person has said hello and such, I say a genuine hello back along with, “How are you doing, my friend?” Usually they’ll perk up because you “see” them. And usually I’ll hand them a dollar or buy them a meal nearby.

It is what it is. Why do I do it? They need it more than I do. Granted, I don’t have much, in terms of money and such, as a full-time writer who survives financially on these words you’re currently reading. But, I do have more than that person in need of a dollar for a candy bar or a box of my leftover chicken and pasta from a pleasant dinner at Vinnie’s in North Asheville. Give what you can, even if it’s only a kind moment of conversation with a human being in need of what we all desire — to be loved and to be heard.

At this point in the column, I’ve realized I’ve been, once again, rambling about something or another. But, I figure, with all the chaos and confusion on this hurtling rock through space of ours called Earth, we can at least help others. With my extensive travels this summer from coast-to-coast, I’ve seen plenty of couples and solo folks like the railroad folks at the beginning of this article.

From Whitefish, Montana, to Portland, Maine, St. Augustine, Florida, to Minneapolis, Minnesota, and beyond. The scene and the sentiment from both sides of the observation remain the same, sadly. In this election year, I hold out hope that, for whoever wins the White House, we can come together as a country and help each other, whether it be those I feel compassion for living on the streets or all of those incredible people who aim to help others — counselors, social workers, teachers, law enforcement, etc.

Sure, you may scoff and say I’m just another starry-eyed optimist in an all too crazy and unsalvageable world. But, I counter you, for what else is there to live for in this life of ours if there’s isn’t hope for a better tomorrow? Might as well pack it in and call it a day if you think everything is going to hell in a handbasket, eh?

Well, my brothers and sisters, it’s never too late to practice kindness, regardless of who you’re encountering or where it may take place. Remember that Kerouac quote way back in a previous paragraph. Keep it tucked deep inside the front pocket of your heart and soul. It may come in handy someday, hopefully.

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.