While driving around this past Saturday morning doing my weekend chores, I spied the shopping cart of a homeless person waiting for its owner’s return. Hidden in plain sight. We see them or rather we look past them preferring not to notice.
In recent years I have been approached many times by homeless people looking for a handout. Perhaps I look like an easy “mark” wearing my veteran’s baseball cap. In my younger days I would have brushed them aside and told them to get lost, or I would deliberately walk around them. All it takes is a couple of close brushes with death to change your attitude.
I must have been about eight years old when I had bad feelings that someday I might be homeless if my life did not work out for some reason. An irrational fear to be sure, but perhaps peniaphobia (fear of poverty) or kakkorraphiaphobia (fear of failure) come closest in describing these fears