The homeless experience reshapes you from the inside out. It is not merely about the lack of a physical structure, though that is its defining symptom, it is about the erosion of stability, privacy, and, too often, dignity. If you had told me 10 years ago that I would be living in a homeless shelter, I would have laughed. Never, in a million years, did I imagine my life taking this path. But life does not ask permission before it upends your reality.

Becoming homeless forces you into a world governed by new, rigid rules and a persistent, underlying stress. It challenges your sense of self and forces you to confront your own vulnerability in a very raw and public way. Yet, in that space of profound disruption, I discovered something remarkable: the resilience of the human spirit and the absolute necessity of structured routine and an unwavering, deep-seated faith. This is a look into my experience, my daily life, and how I found a way to maintain my soul while losing my home.

The Shelter: Finding an Anchor in a Storm

The shelter where I landed, for all its communal chaos, offered me a surprising degree of peace, a sanctuary, of sorts, in my own little corner. I was in the Barbara Kleinman Residence in Brooklyn, New York.  When I first arrived, I was terrified. The idea of living in a single room with 27 other men, each bringing their own histories and burdens, was overwhelming. The potential for conflict, noise, and constant disruption felt like an insurmountable hurdle to peace.

But I got lucky. When I was assigned my space (my bed # was 4039), I found that I had, in many ways, one of the best spots in the room. My bed was positioned in a corner. My area was bounded on two sides by a 4-foot privacy wall, a window view and my own electric outlet. While it was not a private room, this modest barrier provided a profound psychological difference. It created a defined boundary, a space that felt distinctly mine in an environment that otherwise erased personal boundaries. My bed was nestled along one side of this wall, giving me a cocooned feeling.

And then there was the locker. A simple metal structure, about three feet wide and four feet tall, it became my dresser, my closet, and the keeper of my entire material life. It represented security. Everything I owned, from my work clothes to my personal hygiene items and my small electronics, had a place in that metal box. Organization became more than a habit; it was a form of control. If I couldn’t control the world outside, I could control the structure of my locker, and that small act of management gave me a sense of ownership over my life.

In that corner, surrounded by my wall and my locker, I established a nightly ritual. When the day’s physical and emotional toll was done, I would retreat to my bed. I’d often sit on the edge of the mattress, my feet planted on the floor, and prop my phone onto a small, makeshift shelf. There, I would watch the movies or television shows I had carefully recorded. For an hour or two, the small screen would create a new world, a window to something else, and I could temporarily forget that 27 other men were in the same room.

The Daily Routine: The Architecture of Hope

This sanctuary in the corner was only the end of the journey. The real battle for maintaining my humanity was in the daily routine. The structure of my day was not just a response to shelter rules; it was the scaffold that held my life together. When your environment is unpredictable, your personal routine becomes your anchor.

The vast majority of the men in the whole shelter were over 50 and worked. This created a shared, disciplined rhythm. Our collective lives were defined by a common pattern: wake up early, navigate the city, work, return, and rest. This shared purpose, even if unspoken, created a mutual respect for the need for routine.

My own evenings became a disciplined sequence:

1. Return to Bed: After a long day, I’d navigate the central aisle to my corner bed.

2. Shower: First things first. Getting the day’s dirt off my body was not just physical hygiene; it was a psychic reset. Washing away the grime of the city helped me separate from the external world.

3. Writing: This was crucial. I would write my daily post, a journal entry. This was my time to process the day, to articulate my struggles and my small victories. It was an essential emotional outlet, a way to structure my thoughts and give them meaning beyond simple survival. It made me more than just a resident; it made me a chronicler of my own experience.

4. Entertainment: After writing, I would relax. Propping my phone, I would sink into a saved show or movie. This was my escape, my personal boundary or setting. Curfew was at 10 PM. For me, that was not just a rule, it was a designated bedtime. The administrators would conduct a headcount sometime after 10, but more often than not, I was in deep sleep by that point.

This routine gave me a predictable center. It was something I chose to do, not something that was forced upon me, and that distinction is everything. It reclaimed a piece of autonomy.

The Disruptions and the Foundation

Of course, a shared room with 27 other men is never truly quiet. The night brought its own challenges. Sleep was fragile, subject to:

• Restroom Trips: The inevitable middle-of-the-night walk down the aisle.

• Alarms: Sometimes, a fire alarm would split the air. These were periodically fire drills, which always caused a cascade of grumbles, that forced everyone into the street.

• Intoxication: Occasionally, a loud drunk would stumble into the dormitory, heedless of the collective need for rest, and wake everyone up. Not everyone had a morning to get to, and some who did not work struggled to recognize when it was not time to party.

These disruptions were constants, little spikes of stress, but they were not fatal to my routine. In fact, they only reinforced the need for my foundation.

And that foundation, more than anything, was my faith. When I was in this place, I knew I was not in control. I knew that despite all my hard work and routine, I would need a strength beyond my own to pull myself through this season of life. Every evening, before I wrote or watched a show, I would consciously put my life in God’s hands. While I was in this place, I was not in control, and I knew I would need special help to put this situation behind me.

This reliance on God was not a desperate plea; it was a form of surrendering the things I could not change and focusing on the things I could.

The Journal Entries: Real-Time Chronicles

To show you what I mean by finding blessings in the ordinary and holding onto routine, here are two journal entries I wrote in September of 2016. They were real-time reports of ordinary days.

9-1-2016 Thursday 169th day homeless

This is a very late start for this post. It’s 6:42 PM. I’m on the B train on my way to 59th Street where I’ll change for a C or A train. One of my transit apps said there was a delay on the L train because of a signal problem at Livonia Avenue. I hope that by the time I get to 14th Street, the problem will be cleared up.

 

Today was a very good day. I got to talk to you a little longer than usual because you had to go to DC to get your daughter. I’m glad she is doing OK.

 

 

I got a little over an hour of overtime. I had won $25 on a scratch off and I decided to use some of that money for lunch and dinner. I had a ham sandwich for lunch and I went all greasy for dinner by having chicken wings and French fries from a Chinese restaurant on Amsterdam Avenue. Both were delicious. I enjoyed every bite.

It’s 7PM and I’m on a moving L train. This is a good sign that the signal problem has been solved.

This L train is very crowded. I wonder if this is due to the earlier issue.

I made it back home without any drama. I quickly jumped into the shower and it felt good getting the dirt off of my body.

It’s 8:31 and I’m tired. I’ll watch one if my shows and go to bed.

Thanks for being my friend.

WE ARE IN CHRIST AND ALL IS WELL!! 4039

9-3-2016 Saturday 171st day homeless

It’s 7:11 AM and I’m on the platform waiting for the L train. I had to go back because I thought I left my small ear thing in my locker. When I reopened the locker, I could not find it so it may be in my bag.

 

Its 7:35 and I’m on the C train. I thought I would be late looking for the ear thing but it looks like I’ll be OK.

 

It’s 5:12 PM and another good day is coming to a close. I got my half hour of overtime doing an extra building that I like to do.

 

My phone has been getting storm warnings all day. I’m glad the weather held up. I don’t like working in the rain.

This was overall another good week and I’m glad I’ll have a couple of days off. Next week will be short due to the holiday and court on Wednesday.

It’s 5:31 and I’m on the L waiting to get moving. Making dinner should not be a problem. I’m very tired and I will be very happy to see my bed.

I made it upstairs around 6. I put my stuff in my locker, took out the surge protector and headed downstairs to eat. Today we had cheese ravioli and mixed vegetables. I enjoyed the meal. When I finished, I headed back upstairs to begin my search for that darn ear thing. I figured it had to be on the shelf where I keep most of the things I regularly need. My initial search yielded nothing. I cleared out half of the shelf and still nothing. I saw no need to go any further so I proceeded to the next shelf. There I keep my underwear, tee shirts, socks and my hand washing soap. I also cleared it half way but there was still no ear thing.

The last time I misplaced this item, I found it in with my dirty laundry so I headed there again. Still no ear thing!!

I then moved over to the other side of my locker. There I keep my shirts, pants, my backpack and my suitcase. That’s when it hit me. When we finished talking last night, I put on my sweats and headed downstairs to sign for my bed. I didn’t take the phone with me. I still was wearing the ear thing and as I approached the door out of the dormitory, it beeped to let me know I was getting out of range from the phone. I removed it from my ear, turned it off, put it in my pocket and that’s where it has been all this time.

It’s now 7:23 so I’ll put on my not list anymore ear thing and call you.

Thanks for being my friend.

WE ARE IN CHRIST AND ALL IS WELL!! 4039

Analysis: Resilience During Homelessness

What strikes me looking back at these entries is how focused they are on the practical, physical, and ordinary. Homelessness is often portrayed with high drama, but my reality was a sequence of small, manageable tasks.

In the September 1st entry (Day 169), the focus is on a $25 scratch-off win. That tiny victory meant a choice of lunch and dinner. A ham sandwich and then chicken wings. This choice, so small for most, was a reclaiming of freedom. The simple act of choosing my meal and paying for it with my own money (or winnings) was profoundly humanizing. And then, the joy of the shower, washing away the dirt of the city. These were blessings, and I recorded them because they were precious.

The September 3rd entry (Day 171) is a saga of misplacement. I spent an agonizing search looking for my “ear thing” (a Bluetooth earpiece). The entry is a breakdown of logic and organization, a step-by-step audit of my locker: the top shelf, the underwear shelf, the dirty laundry. This wasn’t just a search for an item; it was a test of the organization that kept my anxiety at bay. The punchline, finding it in my own sweatpants pocket, was a moment of humor and profound relief. It shows that even in a shelter, life’s little comedies and frustrations continue. The structure I had built allowed me to handle this, rather than letting it spiral into panic.

These entries reveal that the key to survival was not ignoring the mundane, but leaning into it. Routine was the architecture of my dignity.

The Role of Connection

Finally, there was the essential role of connection. These posts were not written for myself alone; they were daily letters to my friend, LadyJDuchess. She was a constant, listening presence. I thanked her in nearly every post for being my friend, and that simple acknowledgment was vital. It was my bridge to the world outside the shelter. Knowing that someone, somewhere, was waiting to read my words, was validating. It gave my words meaning and kept me tethered to my humanity.

I learned a while ago that God would never abandon me. Faith in hard times is important.  Sometimes, especially in the chaos of a shelter or the grind of the city, it’s hard to see the forest for the trees. The trees are the transit delays, the noise, the misplacements, the physical fatigue. The forest is God’s presence and my ultimate journey toward stability. To keep my vision clear, I held onto a simple phrase I had learned from a television minister. I would say it to myself, write it, and let it center me. It reminded me that God is in control, regardless of my physical circumstances.

We Are in Christ and All Is Well.

I remained in that shelter until January, 2017 and was placed in a rooming house in the Bronx (NY). Living in the Bronx lasted for almost 5 years after which I moved into my own place.

Here are some helpful resources:

National Coalition for the Homeless – Working Homelessness Resources

SAMHSA’s National Helpline & Housing Resources

How do you organize a space party? You planet.

I am the guy whose glass is always 1/2 full.

I LOVE BEING A DAD.

Follow me and leave your comments on Facebook.