This summer, when a Japanese friend of mine asked me where I lived I told him I was homeless. In essence, I was. I was a nomad benefiting off free airplane tickets and hotel rooms provided by my job with no true ties to any other habitation. My friend freaked out a little bit, he was worried and wanted to help me. I mean, there's always that language barrier but I though to myself that maybe I shouldn't use the term so cavalierly.

Homelessness is simply something that I don't understand. This was a strange realization I had one day talking with a homeless man in the streets of Houston, Texas where every stoplight hosts a someone asking for food or money. As I talked to him, I realized that I would never be homeless. No matter how terrible my life got, a parent, a friend, a great aunt or second cousin would give me somewhere to sleep. I absolutely cannot conceive homelessness. 

Which is why it's so unokay that I failed to celebrate this day. I was too busy to take a second and do something even the small act of finding someone to hand my McDonalds gift card. I'm in a city with so many homeless for crying out loud! It wouldn't have been too hard. 

But I was too busy examining Ikea products and buying bulk oatmeal for my new home to do that.