One Month Homefree – A Recap of Life on the Streets of West Los Angeles

There are a lot of things I don’t have these days, but I’ve never been short on follow-through. In January, I committed to finally give up the comforts of housing to experience what life would be like for me as one of the tens of thousands of homeless in Los Angeles.

You can see my initial post to better understand what led me to this decision and what I intend to do with this project.

Throughout the month of February, I lived out of my car, a 2006 compact Hyundai sedan. Super comfy, as you can imagine. Unfortunately, I’m not five feet tall, but fortunately I’m less than six feet tall. In fact, I fall right in the middle, which made doing the sleeping portion of this project just barely doable.

I remember at the end of January, it was Friday night, the last day of the month, and I was emptying my trunk wondering how I would fit everything I need. It worked out. I ended up primarily with clothing, two full suitcases, plus another plastic trash bag full of hoodies and sweaters. I figured I wouldn’t want to be doing laundry every three days, and I tend to go through a lot of clothing since I sleep, exercise and work in different outfits, and may go through all three in any given day.

You can probably already tell I’m not your typical homeless individual, at least not the one we might imagine when we picture the word “homeless”. I don’t fit the stereotype, nor does my demographic information, but we’ll get to that at some point in the future.

The first night was pretty uneventful, I woke up sweating on a street called “Shetland” which reminded me of the ponies I saw in Scotland over the summer. The night was cool, so I hadn’t cracked the windows, but now the sun was pouring in and my dog and I were both panting. We got out and walked around a little. Immediately, I felt different, like an outsider.

Some teenagers were walking up the street with a box of chocolates, presumably doing some fundraising, and I didn’t realize I was watching them as if I were invisible until the one girl among the three smiled and said, “Hello.” I wonder if the homeowners would also have been friendly to me if I’d run into any of them. I suppose from day one my biggest fear was someone pounding on my windows threatening me with police intervention, or calling me pathetic and telling me to leave. This small act of friendly acknowledgment though, honestly made me want to cry, even if she didn’t have any idea that I’d just slept on that street, in my car, with my dog. She smiled at him too.

And away we went.

Those first days were tough in some ways. I hadn’t yet purchased any coverings for the windshields or windows, so privacy was nonexistent in the absence of complete darkness, which is hard to find. Ironically, several people I’ve discussed this project with suggested sleeping under street lights. Great in theory to deter thieves who might prefer to be shrouded by darkness, not great when you’re trying to sleep and be unseen.

Another problem was the temperature drop at night. I think a lot of people imagine Los Angeles as being warm year-round, night and day, but over the past couple of years I’ve noticed significant changes in the summer and winter. Heatwaves in the warmest months are now a norm, where before summers were pleasant and even mild. Winters, this one included, now see temperatures at night in the low 40s. At least I had a car which would shelter us from the wind, insulate us somewhat, and if need be, could be turned on and used as a heater.

The low temps led to my significant other kindly offering to put me up one night that was particularly cold. At first I demurred, thinking I ought to tough it out as others would have to, but desiring to be with the person who cares about me over loyalty to my project, I caved. These sleepovers happened many times this month, and though I didn’t keep track, I imagine I spent at least a week, if not 10 days, shacked up in comfort and love, which most homeless people are without. By the end of the month, I decided I would do better over the following weeks in March. My S/O and I agreed to only one sleepover at their place per week, but potentially and hopefully seeing each other more often than just that. Of all my sacrifices, this might be the hardest, but things could certainly be worse.

One other important detail I’ve skipped over so far is that I’d maintained my job throughout the whole month. I was lucky in that I’d already been working at this restaurant for nearly three years, and even more lucky that the owner and manager is extremely laid back. Before I moved into my car, he said it was fine if I brought my dog to work and kept him crated in the break room during my shifts. I doubt there are many bosses who would be so accommodating. The boss also wasn’t nosy, never asking why I needed to do that, though I didn’t offer a reason. It was ideal, and over the month my dog and I got in a rhythm where in exchange for him resting quietly in the crate for a few hours, he’d get a rawhide. It took some getting used to, as he’s not the most compliant dog, but after about two weeks of our routine, he settled down and accepted the situation.

The highlight of my month might have been on that first day, after waking up in the hot car on Shetland, and feeling touched that a teenager smiled and said hello. Later that day, I drove to 24 Hour Fitness in Santa Monica and signed up for a membership. Afterward, I returned to the parking lot and laid back in the driver’s seat of my car, killing time on my phone before starting my shift at the restaurant.

I heard a man and his wife getting into their giant militarized Jeep parked next to me. They sounded like Texans, and I wasn’t listening to their conversation, but did notice them both go quiet for a moment since both our windows were down. From above my passenger’s side window, the man leaned down and said, “Hey,” throwing a $5 bill into my car, “this is from us.” I was so confused. I asked, “What’s that for?” and he said, “Just cause,” smiling before backing out to pull away. I only managed to say, “Oh,” while they were still in earshot, not “thank you” which I might have managed if I weren’t so baffled and surprised. Day one and someone actually threw money in my car, completely unsolicited. I guess I did look stereotypically homeless after all.

That didn’t happen again, but it did raise a lot of mixed emotions in me at the time. I felt gratitude nearly as much as I felt insulted. I felt puzzled but could also understand how they judged, and judged rightly, my situation. Of course, I’m assuming they realized I was homeless, but funnily enough, my car didn’t look that different from its normal state of cluttered chaos.

This initial month of being without a home passed by quickly, and was a whirlwind of new experiences, insights and challenges. I’ve felt and seen things I never would have otherwise, and experienced concerns which would not have even crossed my mind if I’d just found another room to rent as I had so many times before. As my journey progresses, and I become more adjusted to my situation, I imagine I’ll see even more than I have these first few weeks. Still, first impressions are important.