On Wednesday, I noticed a piece of wrinkled cardboard in the trash. Well, kind of in it–next to it, really, strapped into the same crate holding garbage bags on some old maintenance cart. Through the holes in the crate, I could make out one single word, written in blunt black marker: “Homeless.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, envisioning different scenarios that could have explained why that sign was in the trash.

What happened? Was it miraculous...or tragic? Ecstatic poetry, or brutally casual prose? Both? Neither?

Is this an unusual story? (If so, let’s hear it. If not, why are we not paying attention to it?)

In any case, something happened there. Someone, the person who made it or another, put that sign in the trash. I don’t know why, but I want to. I want to hear this person tell their story. Maybe we'd learn how to help in a more articulate way.

So, what am I trying to do here? Just reminding myself and anyone reading that there are quiet stories going on all around us that should be told; that we can hear and respond to if we make an effort. What I want is for the world to really...listen...when all those lost sign-makers out there tell their stories.

I believe most people have good intentions, which is wonderful, but it's important that you try to walk in line with your talk. It's okay if you stumble. We all fall down when we're learning to walk.

When we rely on stereotypes, when we tell ourselves someone else will do something, when we ignore what's right in front of us...that's when we all get stuck.