Africa

Drooping head, unable to withstand its own weight from drowsiness. Suitcases thrown open in a scene that resembled a holdup. Excitement within my heart, but no energy to act. I had landed in Africa, a dream, something long wanted, but always out of reach.

This trip resembles as much spontaneity as it does collective organization. His name was Jason, a deceptive match on Tinder, result of new international trolling features... Handsome, South African, date worthy, but thousands of miles away... But Jason would unlock an idea, an adventure forgotten. I Once longed for the shores of South Africa, flipping pages of picture books in a rural library in Western Nebraska. My family never held the resources for much travel, a 4th grade trip to Disney required a loan my parents paid back for the following two years. I threw the idea around, the "what if" had been planted. 

Sun blazing on a HOT New York afternoon, 6 train running usual delay shenanigans. Looking down, growing tired of the flashing sign announcing "2 minutes" with no train. "Travel while your young no matter the cost" someone had carved into the wood before me, the tipping point. Within a month, tickets booked, trip planned, recommendations gathered.

Two days of sights that left me breathless, connected, refreshed, and aware of how big the world is. A sunset that brought tears to my soul out of its colors and warmth. Ocean below a high peak, crashing rocks with its power. A guide who spoke of his love for South Africa, his deep belief that no matter the political unrest, they will move forward.

I would meet Jason, a date of an hour that turned twelve. Finding his company deeply engaging, i felt myself fall into the entrancement of emotions that only comes from international lust (HA!). We talked politics, love, difference of culture as we drank Guinness into the night. A kiss would lead to wherever (you the reader) your imagination wants to take you. We'd wake late the next morning, he'd make espresso and talk of grand ideas of going for breakfast, I denied since I was keenly aware of his workload and the amount of time he'd borrowed to spend with me. I wouldn't see him again, in the words of Cam "A half cold beer ain't cold, a "be back soon" is still gone, a half smoked cigarette is still smoked, and a half broke heart is still broke." I spent a few hours the next day recovering from all that emotion, God help me... or just some good advice from friends, I moved on quickly.

Sat myself at the most homosexual establishment I could find, ordered myself the gayest of drinks (double, naturally). My curse of resting bitch face nearly left me alone, but they decided to interrupt anyway. Picking fun at my drink, and the noted look on my face, it became clear - I'd just made friends. They'd show me a good time from one bar to another, the leather bar, to the "I think we're drunk enough" bar. We danced our asses off, leaving tired, sobering up. (Klippies and Coke, mistake)

Brunch was in order. They picked the most New York looking of establishments, saying they were keeping me in mind, I just think they needed an excuse to eat American themed burgers... ;) We planned an afternoon trip to the beach, along a road that will be etched into my memory for the rest of my life. We returned to town in the late evening as the sun dimmed. I departed for dinner on my own, Italian with a bottle of wine to myself, I reflected on how grateful I am for what I have, how much privilege I carry, humbled to live a life where currently I love my job, my friends, my family, my city.

Drawing to my last day, I got my retail on, a message, a mud bath, but those are just details... Dinner spent with the three individuals who brought me into their group, shared some of their time, stories, and lives with me. Four different nationalities represented around a table, four different worlds and ways of being, but a connect I'll forever remember.

I ended this vacation in a lovely restaurant, cheesecake and coffee, reflecting on the amazing work I get to return to. I feel revitalized, able to return to the urgency of my clients and their needs. Ready to dive back into the difficulty of fighting for those without a voice once again, with more international perspective.

I leave South Africa with a better sense of self, with a greater worldview, and an increasing ability to be a better human.

The Sun is Rising 

Waiting

Wind wiping my face with ocean mist, sun setting, soft music playing. It’s the first time I’ve sat with myself for a length in months. It’s this place, enough distance from past events, plenty space forward. Here I find myself, surrounded by a life built mostly alone. Chaotic, with meetings, deadlines, emergencies, plenty of tears. Beautiful, people who’ve enriched my days with change, empowerment, truth, trust, loud laughter. This becomes the intersection of what hurts and what helps, a puzzle coming together. At 26 years, still perplexed by a heart that feels older than skin which rests over my body. Surrounding myself with individuals beyond my time, I find what feels like home. Conversations about life, what works, what doesn’t, what matters, what’s needless; I soak up what they offer, finding deep meaning as their lives pour into my own. These moments alone, this is where I’m able to radically accept the love I’m shown, how meaningful it feels to belong. I know the struggles I face are small in comparison to others, but none the less, they are my struggles. Knowing what one wants, but having the patience to wait for it, are two different things. Seeing where I’m going, who I am, what I want, but continually finding myself frustrated with time. Old hearted in many ways, but young in a few, a deep struggle. Leaving me in this moment with a few tears in my eyes - pain of waiting, but the emerging smile of knowing I’ve found growth. It’s such a bittersweet life. The Sun is Rising 

A Life of Different

Three years. Three years since I up and left a life that was built for me, with all the privileges and ease. Sitting in my office, looking out onto Park Avenue, reflecting on what I left, what I lost, but more significantly, what I gained. A young man arrived in New York to an empty room with no one by his side three years ago, searching for meaning after a long period of struggle and disconnection. The pain of being brutally outed, the struggle of my faith, the thought that I’d made a huge mistake.

She was in her 80s, homeless for decades prior, her raspy voice would greet me at the door. Tasked with her care, I entered. This woman, whom I’d never met, would surely change my life. A life of suffering, through her mumbles and unorganized speech, I would come to know her story. A woman who refused to see anything suffer, who loved fishing, who saved a puppy while being beaten. This woman had the label of schizophrenia, but she was not her illness. Dying of cancer before my eyes, I attempted to force care. “Do you not understand? This, this is how I want to go Lee, let me go the way I want to go.” My eyes filled with tears before her, I realized then the circle of how we attempt ownership of one and other. She was important to me, but my selfishness began to impact the harmless want of another human. Letting go, I sat with her weekly, words of wisdom pouring from her about what matters, what doesn’t, and how to know the difference.

The world may have forgotten her, but she will never be forgotten by me, living on in her stories that have left me different. Igniting a fire within my soul, a permanent imprint of what it means to help people who cannot help themselves.

When I was outed, it didn’t matter what I had to say for myself, it became what everyone else had to say. I was privileged to have strong people who rallied with me and for me during that time, who told me truth, helping me regain my voice.

Today, with plenty of struggle and continually becoming self-aware, I’ve come to love myself better, love others better, and live a life that is both meaningful and beautiful. Living a life of different, picking whats hard over whats easy for the bittersweetness that comes from difficult decisions. 

The Worst Date

Heart racing, limbs numb, thoughts colliding like car crashes... it had been one hell of day at work leading me to this moment when I would walk through a door to lay eyes on a man I’d known for less than a week. Two late night conversations of intense connectivity and fierce intellectual conversation, I was nervous, I was anxious.

Emails racing, anger pulsing, frantic phone calls, disaster planning... I left work in a cold sweat after experiencing a tragic failure in our healthcare system. A few tears running down my face as I walked into the brisk spring air, I wiped them away preparing for a date I was trying to look forward too.

As I pushed passed the crowd, some faces I knew, taking a seat next to him in the corner, it began. We sat in awkward conversation as I reeled from where I had just come. Ordering a whisky neat, I tossed it back faster than anticipated. The conversation mellowed and we began to share ourselves. Why I moved here, what he does, where I went to school, the basics… but, for me, it’s never enough for just pleasantries. I’m a firm believer in not wasting time, being bold in sharing who I am. I told the story of what I do, how I see the world, what I want… watching his eyes lock on, the goosebumps rise on his skin as I spoke my truth...

I concluded and awaited for him to speak. Diving into his own story, he began with our differences, describing a vast chasm between us where I had turned my energy, love, privilege, power - outward, declaring that he had turned inward. “I see benefit in being completely selfish in every situation in life, making it all about what I get out of it.” My skin began to crawl as I viscerally reacted to his statements. “I’m a firm believer that I am God like and this universe revolves around me.” Doing as trained, I choked back internal reaction. “I have a deep respect for what you do, those people are lucky to have you, but I don’t care about them, I don’t care about the homeless people on the street.” Concluding what he said, realizing the bold statement that he just made, I had a choice; I had a choice to sit there and not stand up for myself, not to stand up for what I believe - I also had the choice to say something, to act with dignity for myself, my colleagues, for my clients, for my way of life.

I’ve been faced at this crux of life a few times, choosing the path of least resistance, allowing him to have a sort of power over me and submission to this sort of thinking. "No, not this time." I old myself.

He looked at me and stated “I’m not a bad person.”

I looked at him, putting my hand on the table, “No... you’re not a bad person, you’re an average person.”  

I reached for my jacket gently as we sat in silence after my comment, shock not leaving his face. I felt the straps of my backpack as I placed them around my shoulders. I turned my head to the bartender, placing my credit card, signing the bill and walking out the door without a second glance.

I left.

I left with dignity for myself, for my clients, for my profession, and honestly, for humanity.

For the first time I profoundly stood up for myself, for what I believe in, and for that I am proud.

That, that is healing.

The Sun is Rising

Finding Home

Soft spoken, eyes deep with shadows, skin rough, moving his hand to touch mine. 

 “Steven, I need help” tears filling his eyes. 

 Homeless for ten years, tossed around from hospital to hospital, shelter to shelter. Alcohol dependence that surfaced after a mental illness diagnosis, self medicating symptoms. A history of physical abuse, environmental trauma, a case file that read more like a horror story, my own tears soaking into the documents as I poured over them. 

 It isn’t often when a client reaches out in such a strong way, igniting a fire within my heart, the same fire that brought me into this work, “not this man, not today, we… no I, I will not fail him.” The next four weeks of my life would be spent in housing trainings, hundreds of phone calls, hours of paperwork, plenty of arguing, and one less than glamourous outburst. Sitting at my desk on a Thursday afternoon, paper spread from floor to desk, an email would come, “Steven, he’s been accepted.” My back braced against the wall as I let out a sigh, as the tears came, as my emotions caught up with my voice. His life was about to change. 

 I informed the hospital social workers, joyful screaming erupting as I explained the details. Walking on unit the next day, ready to go over details of his new home, the nurse informed me they hadn’t told him, “We wanted it to be you.”  I looked into the day room, finding him drinking his morning coffee, staring out the window. Saying his name, he turned toward me, “we’ve done it, we’ve found you a place to live.” His coffee crashed to the ground, tears filling his face as he laugh cried into my shoulder,

 Two weeks, bags in hand, new cell phone, bidding goodbye to the medical team that fought for him just as much as I.  He finished the last of his hugs and we were off to his new home. “I have a chance at a life now, because of you.” He told me as the car weaved through rush hour traffic. Looking at me with tear soaked cheeks, he stated, “No one listened to me until you, no one cared, I will never be the same because of you, thank you.” 

 Words will never be enough to describe that moment, the beauty, the humanity, the raw emotions. This career is anything but easy, but it will always be worth it. 

I wouldn’t trade another lifetime for how I felt that day.

Peace in Death

"Steven..." I waited, listening in the long pause, the exasperated breathing coming from the other end of the line, "he's gone."

                It took a few moments, pulling memories of voice, story, stored information. As it became clear, I realized my previous supervisor was on the line. Immediately coming to terms with why she was calling, my heart raced, my eyes watered. "He said your name, he said your name in the ambulance and I, I had to let you know." She went on for a few moments as my world went gray, as noises weaved together into nothing, falling to my knees, hot tears pouring down my face. My first client, the first client I saw come off the streets, clean up from drugs, begin a life, he's gone.  

                Walking into the apartment, I moved a man who lived great pain into a new life. Once street homeless for not less than ten years, this individual had finally been deemed worthy of housing after a decade of hospitalizations, hazardous shelter environments, cold winter nights. I breezed over his chart, diagnosis, family history, ignoring the majority of information for the first meeting. Me, a student intern in his second year; him, my first assigned client. I began my prepared spiel of regulations, services offered, until I noticed the tears. Stopping, I dropped my paperwork on the bed, "welcome home, it's yours." Gripping me in a hug, I felt his tears hitting my neck, "home, home, this is my home."

                We grew together over the weeks and months that followed, knowing that homelessness, in itself, isn't solvable by just housing. We shared candid moments:

C: "you're the fucking intern, they gave me the fucking intern, what good are you?"

Me: "Yeah, they gave you me, I'm just the fucking intern, but you're stuck with me. I'm not good at everything, but I'm good at somethings, so let's figure it out together."

Or my favorite:

C: "You're a fucking cunt."

Me: "I'm the biggest fucking cunt you've ever met."

C: "Fine, I'll take my medication."

                We shared trips to the hospital as his cancer was diagnosed, as the ambulance rides became a frequent event. Nothing prepares you for when a grown adult man looks you in the face, tears in eyes, and tells you he's terrified of dying alone. I remember the moment he grabbed my hand and stated he didn't feel alone anymore. I remember the day he told me that for the first time he felt cared for. I remember the day he said he was done drinking.

                I worked with this man for a short few months, we shared stories, pain, tears, and life together. He lived a life that no one should have to live. His daily struggle would be unbearable if I had to live it. Today I remember him for who he was, what he taught me about life, how to stand up for myself, how to listen better, how to be nonjudgmental, and how to be myself.

I'll never forget him.   

A Journey in Healing

          Placing the card into my hands, he smiled,

then spoke, "I know your story Mr. Pokorski, I'm grateful your with us." Tears forming from my eyes as I read the card to myself. A statement of healing, mastery, and becoming. I grasped those words that January evening, holding them close as I began a new chapter.

          Nearly two years ago I embarked on a life change. Moving to a city unknown, leaving supports, friends, and family in hopes of finding meaning. Wounded from tragic events that plagued my soul continually, I searched for a way to give back the support I had been given. I arrived at NYU Silver with an open mind and heart for change and healing.

          Depths of despair, heights of resilience, I've learned a deeper sense of what it is to be human. The pain of my past, now my power. My heart cry continually being that injustice will not prevail in the life of the individuals' put before me. My story, my pain, has found meaning.

          Every tear, heartbreak, failure, disappointment, injustice, today they all make sense. I wouldn't be the man I've become if it weren't for the lives that have touched me, the people that have loved me, and the pains that have formed me.

Continually healing, but increasingly whole.

The Sun is Rising