It's the hardest thing in the world to go on being aware of someone else's pain. ~Pat Barker

Yesterday, I was driving down an alley in Venice Beach, California in the middle of the day. It's a lively area. People walking their dogs, riding their bikes, selling their wares. Lots and lots of people playing outside, even at 11am on a Thursday.

As I approached a cross street in the alley, I noticed movement at street level. I stopped my car and stared. It was an adult male, rolling back and forth in a dried-up planter. Writhing, covering his head.

A woman who was jogging with her pit bull glanced over and kept going. Three young adults kept their conversation going as they moved along, past the writhing man in the planter.

I sat in my car. Stopped. Stared. Wondering if I should offer assistance. Six months ago, I would have been up and out of my car and by his side without thinking. But I have recently given myself some guidelines to follow when interacting with possibly intoxicated strangers.

I have a tendency to hug homeless crack heads on the street and to make sure drunks laying on sidewalks outside of bars aren't going to pass out and drown in their own vomit. I have been chastised by more than one bar bouncer for speaking to homeless people and a couple of friends have advised me to be more careful. It has become apparent to me that this is not "normal" behavior. Mine, not the crack heads and drunks.

People walk on by, don't stop to help other humans. While I can understand this may be a safety issue in certain situations, it isn't always. I'm trying to understand the common thread that keeps "normal" people from treating strangers as they would a friend in need.

It hasn't happened yet.

Anyhow, the guy in the planter. He eventually stopped rolling back and forth. He sat up suddenly. Dirty and shaking his head as if he just woke up. Like he wasn't sure how he got there. There are no words to express how much I wanted to offer him a hug. Hugging always makes me feel more okay with the world. Human connection. It helps.

I didn't hug him. I drove on by. And now I wonder about the people who walked and jogged and biked and drove by this man while he was writhing in a planter on the street. Did they feel anything? Did they even notice? Is this a normal occurrence in that neighborhood? HOW COULD THEY JUST KEEP GOING?

Not that my solution would have helped much. I mean, the guy is probably wasted on drugs or liquor or a combination of both. And what good would a hug really do a person who may be thisclose to an overdose?

But still. Still, I couldn't just move along, like he wasn't even there.