“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.” ~Pema Chödrön

It is impossible to live in Boulder without noticing the stark contrast between the upper and lower classes. The county is home to a large and visible population of homeless people, many of whom are adolescents. Addressing this issue has been a personal passion of mine since I first moved to Colorado and worked at Attention Homes, Inc., a shelter for Runaway and Homeless youth, more fondly known as “The Source” several years ago. I particularly loved working the outreach shift, in which myself and a volunteer would take food out to the homeless population who reside in the downtown Boulder area. We would keep a special eye out for kids and refer them to The Source for laundry, showers, food, resources, or just a safe place to hang out. During my time at the Source, I got to know some of the kids. I heard many difficult stories, and witnessed incredible resilience. I had the privilege of getting to know them as people rather than stereotypes. I would go out of my way to find coats, backpacks and shoes for them. I would worry about them on cold nights. I truly believe that as a community we are only as well off as the least of us. As human beings, we are all responsible for taking care of one another. True compassion is a difficult thing. It is a constant practice of humbling myself and battling against my ego. Because it is much easier to look the other way; to distance myself from the poverty and homelessness that surrounds me. Because the alternative means that I have to do something about it. I have to take practice what I preach and help those who are less fortunate than myself. And for a long time this was absolutely terrifying for me. But once I started talking to people, and hearing their stories, struggles and triumphs, it became impossible for me to look the other way. Now whenever I see a homeless person on the street with a cardboard sign, I stop. Even if there is nothing I can give at that moment, I make a point to look them in the eyes and smile. I can at least acknowledge that this is a human being that I am facing, not just a “bum”. I can stare down my discomfort and acknowledge my privilege because I know that had I been born into different life circumstances, I could easily be standing in their shoes.