Last night my friends Ryan and Dustin threw me a surprise going away party. Ryan made tapas (in honor of Spain of course) for thirty people, after which some of us moseyed to Town.  Yes, moseyed.  Just before we left the party, though, Dustin approached me with a wad of cash (I almost wrote: a fist full of dollars). It was a collection for my trip.  A grin glimmered and then spread across my face as I literally didn't know what to say. Finally I blurted out a "thank you!"  I have tremendous friends, not just because of the money or the cooking, but because of a deep and abiding love which manifests itself in countless acts of kindness like taking me to the airport or keeping me company.  What marvelous gifts friendship and community are!

Prior to the party I spent four hours "practice hiking" with a full pack of gear. I elected for an urban sojourn, trekking up 15th Street to wander through Meridian Hill Park (for the first time), over to Columbia Heights, up Adams Mill Road, and then down into Rock Creek for a stretch before reemerging onto Arkansas Avenue. That led me, eventually, to the Petworth neighborhood, Rock Creek cemetery, St. Paul's church, and Grant Circle.  From there, as it began to sprinkle, I headed home, stopping to put on my rain gear, and then stopping ten minutes later to take it off because the rain quit. It's remarkable how a piece of plastic keeps you dry and how quickly it can make you uncomfortably hot.

Having turned back, I walked down 14th Street in the sun, now trading pants for shorts. Along the way I was struck by how low- to middle-income black neighborhoods gave way to endless taquerias, hair salons, and convenience stores of the Latin community, especially around Spring Street.  Then Tivoli Square  struck my senses with a shot of gentrification. The only announcement of development was a pair of condo buildings in-the-making foreshadowing the hulking mass of the new shopping center.  I'm generally a fan of development, but the sudden contrast created some cognitive dissonance. The Target complex looked like a giant had finished a bag of potato chips, wadded up the bag, and dropped it carelessly on the sidewalk. I'm no hippie, but the two block area around Tivoli just felt fake, even though I'd rather spend time and money at Target than at gaudy convenience stores.

In the final few blocks before U Street, a homeless (or markedly poor) man locked eyes with me as I was about to pass him.  In a city like Washington I've come to steel myself for the anticipated ask, "Got any change?"  But instead of asking for money, the man smiled and called out in encouragement, "Take it slow, man!"  By hour four of my trek, I was clearly tired and sweaty, and instead of getting hassled for money, I was actually being cheered on.  In fact, several times during the hike, I encountered homeless folk who never once asked for money.  I'm guessing it was because I looked like a backpacker who might normally not have anything to give. But the brief exchange with the man reminded me how dress and attire can both bring people together and keep us apart.  And I was slightly chastened since an expected annoyance turned out to be an unexpected affirmation.

In the movie, "Into the Wild," Alexander SuperTramp spends a hapless night in Los Angeles, whose poverty and loneliness horrify him.  A few days later he reflects with someone, "We are all human beings, but why do we do such terrible things to one another?"  I am struck by how the distance between myself and the poor, distance that I manufacture -- and it is indeed manufactured, synthetic, un-real -- turns out to isolate me from other human beings.  I even wonder if it makes me more lonely and more apt to violence, neglect, or shame. "Why do we do such terrible things to one another?"

I wonder.  I wonder what it might look like to open myself more to the human beings around me who may turn out to bless me when I least expect it.