Living Out of a Box

Everyone has a story to tell, a box to unpack about their life. About ten days ago, I was able to unpack mine as part of the Human Library project during their stop at UNLV. The Human Library, which has origins in Copenhagen, Denmark, allows readers to check out a "human book" and listen to them share an often difficult story about their past.

The mission of the organization is to "build a positive framework for conversations that can challenge stereotypes and prejudices through dialogue." What is incredible about the Human Library is that it allows each person to talk about what is important to them about their life. Some use the opportunity to share an adventure such as the woman seated next to me who had hiked the Appalachian Trail or the explorer who had discovered an ancient artifact in a desert cave. Others felt empowered to share a secret, such as the man who told of how he contracted HIV after being slipped a date rape drug or the woman who had worked as an escort. For me, it was finally a platform to share the confusion surrounding my upbringing in which my family was on a constant shift from one home (and I use that term loosely) to another and how I had never let this uncertainty of where I would sleep from night to night detract from my education. I called my book Living Out of a Box: From Homelessness to PhD. The goal of my talk was to remind listeners they should never let their history restrict their future.

At first I was anxious that no one would show interest in my story, but as my two-hour shift "on-loan" began, my checkout card rapidly filled. I shared with students both young and old how my family moved over and over again like gypsies, from homes, to apartments, to seedy motels. I spoke of sleeping in friend's basements and on spare room couches, never considering myself as homeless but always wondering why we never stayed long in one place. To me, homeless meant not having a roof over my head, something that despite our seemingly non-stop trajectory across the country, we always had. I told of how I could fit all of my possessions into one box, which sadly disappeared during our second cross-country trek. Someone asked how that affected me, losing everything I owned. I answered that it resulted in a lifetime of collecting possessions, not as a hoarder necessarily, but  often treasuring what I own more so than friendships and people.

The experience was cathartic, uncovering dormant emotions and undiscovered revelations. However, the afternoon was not without conflict. One reader mocked my story by stating "well, you didn't have it that bad, you had your family with you and it sounds like you were loved". I was stunned by her assumption and judgment. There was nothing "loving" about tearing a nine year old away from her extended family because some distorted sense of adventure beckoned or moving her to a new school every year because you had a fight with the landlord again. Plus there were the wounds of secrets I had not shared. Fortunately, she was the sole transgressor as I shared my plight, and before her seat could get cold the sweetest freshman girl took her place and we chatted for over 30 minutes about my history and her journey in college and everything in between.

While I am not sure if I changed anyone's minds or hearts that day, it changed mine as I listened to my own story told and uncovered memories long buried. And I thought and wondered, about that box.

For more information about The Human Library visit http://humanlibrary.org/