How often do you reach out to another human?
On Good Friday, I was at Penn Station. A homeless man politely approached me and asked for money. His pitch was eloquent, heartfelt, and with wonderful eye contact. I was marveled by his intelligence.
Liquor seeped from his breath, and a cane supported his frail body, but I couldn’t help but wonder what his story was. If he were a character in my script or novel, what would I learn from him? What would his arc be? But this man wasn’t fiction. He was real, and he indeed needed help.
We love life, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Germany
