twenty one. My social worker Joe.

I met Joe at church a few years back. He would bike there and his shaggy hair and big beard were things that made him not particularly stand out. What made him stand out was his smile. He seemed to be smirking always at this or that, finding joy in the interactions between the people that filled the pews.

I remember zoning out in church and closely watching his face from time to time. Waiting for his cheeks to be pushed up so high by his smile that his eyes would narrow.  His laugh would soon follow and never failed to be  faint; the sounds barely slipping out of his lips before he would push it back down again to his belly, waiting for a meal.

Joe and I have been through a lot. For the last three years we have seen each other through challenges and excitements.

It never really seemed to matter that Joe was homeless. He is one of those people you meet that gives you a feeling of joy after you take the time to spend time with him. He has never been a burden or a chore. He never asks for things unless he really needs it, he always says thank you, and when I am with Joe, I feel safe in mind, body and spirit.
We look after each other.

The first two years I went about our relationship as if I was his "social worker".  I insisted he call me when he needed help, and maybe subconsciously implied, "only then."
Traveling abroad taught me many things, but of the most important to this story is the fact that as soon as I take myself off the caretaker pedestal (I so quickly put myself on), the world seems to open more and relationships too in so many ways. It gives power to a relationship instead of power over one. Relationships with no score cards seem to offer me the deepest satisfaction these days.

Last week when I picked Joe up to grab some lunch, "Mexican food!!" was the craving of the day.
Afterwards, he needed a ride to go to the shelter I used to work at. Then mission: to retrieve his W2 to get some money for a new motorcycle and countless summer opportunities.

At the shelter we were running into old staff friends left and right. The executive director asked Joe how we knew each other and without even a one second delay Joe said, "Katy's my best friend."

I was taken aback. I smiled at him and later in the car I hit his arm with a sense of embarrassment. I could tell that his words had meaning.
When I asked him if he really thought that...he said of course. His face implied that this may be stupidest thing he has ever heard me say, but in the most gentle way- as Joe does.

After I dropped Joe off, I found myself pulled over on a side street.
I had always thought of taking care of Joe as one of my little projects, something that always made me feel good about myself. I thought of Joe as a part of my family, but one that I was including for the doing for "right" reasons. After all kindness was an action, wasn't it? What I didn't understand yet was that kindness does not need to be earned.

Now, suddenly what came rushing back to me were the million things Joe had done for me, for the reason that he simply is kind.

Joe always gives me the biggest hugs when he sees me.
He asks me hard questions about life, and love and reminds me as often as he can that I matter.
His emails to me (which is the way we communicate since he got his phone stolen while sleeping on the streets) are always signed, Love you.
When I was abroad it was Joe who checked in with me the most making sure I wasn't working too hard and encouraging me to find time to relax and sit in the sun with the "monkeys and lizards".
It was Joe who has spent several holidays with me when otherwise it would have been a lonesome day.
It is Joe who asks me if I am mad at him when he hasn't heard from me; he is not afraid of conflict between us, because working through it means more to him.
He reminds me that no matter how busy I am, work is no excuse to not make time for others.
I have shared more about my struggle with Joe than anyone else in Little Rock. More than anyone else in the last few years.
Joe knows me the best.

And in that moment in the car I realized that Joe was indeed my best friend too. Family for the right reasons.
I have had tears fill me up when talking to friends the last few months about leaving him to move abroad. A maybe forever thing. My other friends have family and people who notice when they are gone.
Joe does not.

What is very clear now is that my fear is not that Joe will have no one to look after him. The truth is I am worried that I will have no one to look after me.
It's a good thing I took myself off the caretaker role because I would have fallen a lot harder and hit an unforgiving ground had I not.

My professor said, this story reminded him of who is actually without "homes", who is actually homeless. Who actually lives and prisons and which ones of us are liberated?

Sometimes my failure to see reality over my ego takes away so much depth from the relationships around me.
I am glad I have spent more time with Joe since I have been home. Time spent for no other reason than to eat good food and talk about memories and future goals.
Joe always wants to move somewhere else- his plan now is Iowa.
My plan is to be in Thailand, and continue to define and do what I love. The world is insisting of nothing less.
I am leaving this place a better person, not because of my professors during the last few years at graduate school, or my work that is supposedly contributing to the world, but because of a homeless man.
You can call that man chronically homeless.
Or you can call him my social worker, brother, and heartfelt friend.

No matter what you call him, he matters to me more than I ever knew. I am lucky for that.