A homeless man with a guItar….
changed my life. Forever.
This is the story, all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down. In 2018 a man outside of an auto parts store fundamentally shifted the path of my life. I’d like to tell you his name, but I never once heard him utter it. I’ve spent many nights wondering who this man was, what made his path intersect with mine. How things could’ve gone differently that day if I hadn’t been in a mindset to receive the message. What would’ve happened if I ignored him? Or tossed him a couple dollars and got in my car. Today, I’m going to share the origin story of this beautiful music career of mine. It’s a unique and powerful story full of inspiration, at least to me. Triumphs and defeats, hard lessons and moments of absolute bliss. It’s a story of taking a chance when I thought I had already used all of mine up. It’s a factual account of an impractical journey, all started with one simple act from a stranger. This is my story of The Homeless Man.
Yo, Sublime!!
A man yelled from across the parking lot. I picked up my pace, laser focused on making it to my car without interacting with the man. Yo, sublime… I looked back in his direction and notice he’s now standing up. He’s a rather portly tall black man with a ripped up t-shirt, an army satchel, a guitar, and a pitbull. He has unkept facial hair and long dreads that look really heavy. Yo, come here Sublime….
Now he’s walking TOWARDS me. Reaching the car, my eyes briefly meet my reflection in the front window. It dawns on me that I'm wearing a Sublime t-shirt, and in that moment, I confirm he's definitely talking to me. I start digging to see how much money I have in my pockets to either a) give it to a guy that’s down on his luck, or b) use it to negotiate for my life. I turn around to greet him, silently hoping my last minutes on earth aren’t spent in an Advance Auto Parts parking lot. That’d be a real bummer, man.
As he reaches me, a radiant smile graces his face, with teeth so immaculate that they defy the hardships of street life. I consider asking him about his extraordinary oral care routine, but decide that would be out of place. Looking down, I see his pitbull obediently sitting by his side, mirroring his joyful expression. He has a cross tattooed on his forehead, and the ink looks raised and irritated from days spent in the sun.
He placed his army satchel on the ground, using it as a makeshift pedestal for his guitar. "Sublime. How you doin' today?" he uttered, followed by a prolonged sigh. There's a subtle twang in his voice, perhaps southern, but I struggle to pinpoint it – I've never been good at identifying accent . "Pretty good, man. How's your day goin'?" I replied. His smile dimmed slightly. "Honestly, it’s been rough, man. I'm homeless, and dealing with the backpack, the dog, the guitar—It’s a lot,” he shared. Doesn’t seem like much to me, I thought. I immediately start to wonder what his angle is. Am I supposed to feel bad for his minimalist load and give him some money? Having worked in New York City for a while, I had to develop a razor sharp ability to identify street hustles. Mostly out of necessity, because if I had given a dollar to every homeless person on my walk from 57th to 48th every morning, I would’ve needed a grocery bag to carry all the singles. And because I’m very passionate in giving money to people in need, when I have enough to give.
"I bet," I replied, forcing him to make the next move.
"Yeah, man. Like I said, it's hard," he continued, his smile growing even wider. "Will you take this guitar for me, help lighten the load?" It's intriguing how his lips manage to close enough, despite the broad grin, to articulate the words. His face resembled a Rastafarian Cheshire Cat. "I don't play guitar," I replied, thinking that If his intention is to persuade me to buy the guitar, that's not going to happen. The instrument was heavily weathered, with protruding nylon strings, and it's been patched together a few too many times. I'm convinced that it holds little to no value, and should probably just be thrown out. Undeterred by my answer, he pressed on. "Never too late to learn, I try to play it when I can, but my hands hurt. I want to give it to you. No strings attached, besides the ones on the guitar.” he chuckled, as if he surprised himself with a joke. “It's too much for me to carry all this,” he continued, “you can start playing it now and become a big rockstar one day, man. Change your life. You never know."
Ha… Change my life, I thought. Sorry, pal. I’ve been needing to change my life for 2 years now. I’m in a pointless marriage that has run its course. I’ve never really been great at relationships, and this one is just the latest victim of my inability to domesticate. I’ve quit smoking countless times, and relapsed countless more. I have a shaky and distant relationship with my daughter and stepson, and I have no idea how to bridge the gap. I hate my job, I’m overweight, bitter, and feeling stuck in a life I didn’t want. That I didn’t deserve. Not after everything I had been through. I didn’t survive that terrifying childhood home, that car accident, that school for troubled youths I got sent to where people were murdered in their sleep, having a daughter at 18, losing my dad at 23, a nasty divorce, and all the terrible decisions I had made after, just to end up miserable at 33.
It’s not like I was completely inactive in trying to change my life. I had started to go to the gym more often and was making better food choices. Despite hating my job, I committed to showing up every day and doing the best job I could do. In 2018, I started to attend comedy open mics, and then made the choice to get on stage and do 5 minutes of material. That first open mic set can still be found on my YouTube channel, only viewed 110 times. I told honest jokes about my life at the time, finding humor in my struggles.
Making the choice to participate in comedy open mics was the beginning of realizing I could do more. I had crippling stage fright that seemed to become less and less apparent week after week, until I noticed a few months in that I wasn’t scared at all anymore. I found I really enjoyed being in front of a crowd, up on a stage, and most of all entertaining. Stand up taught me to believe in myself and what I was doing, and others would too. Now, let’s get back to the parking lot Rastafarian….
“I’m not just going to take your guitar,” I said. I fished around in my pocket and felt some folded up cash. I pulled out a $10 bill and handed it to the man. I looked into his eyes for the first time. They were a weird mixture of greens and blues. I could see the clouds in their reflection, and the colors were so vibrant they seemed like they were somehow lit from behind.
“Nah, man. I’m just supposed to give this to you,” he replied, holding the guitar out. OK, I thought, now I have no idea what his angle is. Somehow, I’m willingly giving him money for a broken instrument. I don’t know how he did it, but he did it. He may just be the best street hustle genius I’ve ever met. “I insist.” I said. “If you don’t want it, take it for the dog. Get him some treats or something.”
I swear the dog smiled harder.
“Alright, man,” He said. “Look. I’ll take the $10 if you promise me you’ll play this guitar. But don’t promise me you’re gonna play it if you won’t. That’s gonna be our deal. I’ll take the money, and you go change your life.” There it is again, I thought, change your life. Why does this guy even care about what I do with my life, or this guitar? Why does he keep saying that? Is this supposed to be a sign, cause it’s definitely starting to feel like one. I felt a wave realization, that I can’t describe to this day, that this parking lot meeting was meant to happen. That there was something bigger at play here than just a guy down on his luck, and in that moment, I made a pact with a stranger that would completely change my life. “Alright man, I promise you, I’ll play it.” I replied.
“God bless you, Sublime” he said, and without waiting for a response, he picked up his satchel, tugged his dog’s leash, and they walked away. Never to be seen again. He looked visibly lighter, possibly due to his newly freed hand. His shoulders were pressed back, his chest was proudly pushed out, as if he had accomplished exactly what he set out to do that day and could now continue on his way. He was whistling something beautiful, to this day I have no clue what it was.
I’ve often pondered whether he was real or not. That day radically changed every single day of my life since. 3 weeks later, I came to learn that the guitar he sold me was not actually a piece of junk, it was a rare 1965 Yamaha Folk acoustic. They had only made that configuration of that guitar for 2 years and then discontinued it. If it was in playable condition it would be worth thousands, but even in it’s current rough condition, it was worth hundreds. I felt like he had to have known what he was carrying around, and that my $10 donation may have actually just been paying for a ticket to board the train that would change my life. I kept my promise to that divine Rastafarian, and I played that beat up guitar until I saved up enough money to buy another guitar to play. I practiced until my fingers turned purple and bled. I stopped going to comedy open mics and started going to music ones. I went to bed with chords and arpeggios on my mind and woke up with melodies and notes in my head. I became absolutely obsessed with everything music, and when the time came for me to play my first show on November 10th, 2018…. I was ready. The guy running the local open mic, Wally DeWall, got sick. He asked if I could cover his gig at Flinchy’s in Camp Hill, PA. I looked at my song sheet of songs I could play to see if I had learned enough to fill 3 hours, and was surprised to find that I did.
I may or may not have played some songs twice, but I had done something I viewed as impossible less than a year before. I had played my first paid show, 6 months after I had met that homeless man. I played that show, with a smile on my face, to a half full room of friends and strangers. Most of them still pop up at shows to this day, and we laugh and talk about how it all began. Since that first gig, I’ve played over 700 live shows. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, I’ve won and I’ve lost. I’ve grown into a person that I never imagined could’ve been me. I’ve opened up the show for national acts, including Lit and Better Than Ezra. I’ve shared the stage with some of my favorite local musicians in bands like Observe the 93rd and Adrian Blitzer. I’ve been regarded as one of the best solo acts in the area by my peers enough times to make me really uncomfortable.
When I look back to June of 2018, I see a man that was settling for a mediocre outcome in every area of his life. A man that was destined to survive, but never actually live. A man that was completely incapable of change. But with the newly found courage from playing music, and a real path towards fulfillment, I finally separated from my failing marriage. I haven’t had a cigarette since 2019. I repaired, and continue to work on, my relationship with my daughter. I lost 45 lbs and continue to keep it off. I was able to quit my job in 2021 and make a living as a full time solo musician. The list of areas where progress has been made goes on, and on, and on.
I share my story in hopes it motivates you to watch for the universe’s intervention. So you can walk through life being receptive to the moments that may change it’s course. So you know it’s never too late to find your purpose, never too late to start walking the path that actually calls to you. I know it’s cliche, but you didn’t come this far just to come this far. I really hope this story finds you when you need it most. When you’re lost and looking for a sign. I hope somehow, someway, that homeless man can see my story about him one day, but I also think it’s entirely possible that….
….he was watching me write it the whole time.
Here’s a few more pictures of the guitar:
