Thinking about things I don't like to think about

I volunteer once a week, recording a section of the newspaper for the visually impaired. I give money to those I encounter, holding out their hand. It's not every time I see someone, but you can't say I don't try, or that I don't care.

But let's face it: I write stories about eff-it lists and wanting arms like Linda Hamilton. I decorate this blog with silly images from LOL cats. I tell the world I'm not giving up half 'n half and that it might be possible for me to find true love on Twitter.

Is that necessary? Is that bringing meaning to your life? In the grand scheme of things, do all of my frivolous musings really matter?

Hell, no.

So watching The Soloist tonight was like a punch in the gut. And watching the following two-minute video was like a second punch delivered after I'm down, crying in the fetal position.

(Facebook readers go here)

I know that I can't cure cancer, or stop war, domestic violence, or misogynistic thoughts about women, or animal cruelty or global warming. But I can notice someone on the street who will be sleeping under a viaduct that night while I make sure my bedroom door is shut so my cats won't walk on my queen-sized bed.

As I have the privilege to write this (and you have the privilege to read it), people are suffering. As I work out at my gym tomorrow, the one that is way cooler than yours, someone is going to worry if they're going to feed their children that night.

I am not hopeless or helpless, but I feel overwhelmed: this is my life that I try to live the best way I can--but wait! THERE'S MORE TO IT THAN THIS!

I have to help others.

I have a huge heart. I can share that.
I understand that I am connected with the world, the bad and the good.
But how do I begin?
With prayer?
With my wallet?
With my time?
With my possessions?

What's the right answer?

Postscript: to learn more about how one can begin to help the homeless, click here