“Anything Helps, God Bless.” Slowing my vehicle as I drive to a busy intersection, I engage the brake as the traffic light flashes red. I see a person at the corner holding up a sign asking for help. I sigh. I am not proud of this sigh. This scenario is not unusual here in Asheville, or in other cities. And I confess, at these times, I wish more than usual for the light to change to green. As I wait, I would prefer to hide. But I am exposed. Although I’m tempted to offer up a dollar or two, I don’t. But, I feel conflicted.

I have always had a bleeding heart, you see, and I stand by these beliefs and values: No one is better than anyone else. We are all deserving and worthy recipients of good deeds, no matter our circumstances, our roots, or our past and personal history.

I have given readily in the past and will do so in the future. But, I need to feel empathy in order to feel in tune with my offering. The holder of signs at major intersections, or at the far end of a highway exit ramp doesn’t provoke my compassion anymore. More often, I find myself questioning the sign holder’s ability and willingness to help himself or herself. Why? Maybe, I’ve grown hardened, or I’m not as compassionate as I thought. As I write this, I try to deconstruct the web of emotions, attitudes, and thoughts that contribute to this dilemma, a change from earlier years.

So, in an effort to scrutinize my thought process, and the emotions behind them, I consider scenarios where I have given freely, gladly, and without hesitation.

Last fall, a skinny black man was talking to himself as he pushed a bicycle, and limped down a residential street. I was walking to the nearby bookstore when he hailed me. “Honey, you got a dollar or two to spare?” He mentioned having been hit by a car, and that he was recently at the VA hospital. “They didn’t give me nothing for the pain,” he added.

Without hesitation, I drew a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and handed it to him. He responded with a wide grin, and said, “Bless you! You’re an angel! Thank you, thank you!” He then asked me if I had any children, and I told him that yes, I did. And he wished me and my children well and went on his way.  That man will live in my memory for a long time. I felt good giving him that ten dollars. I would have liked to do more.

Not long afterwards, I encountered a disheveled fellow beneath Asheville’s Route 240 overpass. He was sitting close to the sidewalk, muttering under his breath, and not looking at anything in particular. He had a cockeyed gaze, and his posture was contorted. I’m sure he suffered from debilitating physical and mental health conditions. I nodded hello, and went on to complete my task, but my heart went out to him. I decided I would offer some assistance after finishing my errand.

Upon my return, the man was still under the bridge, so I slipped into a nearby deli and purchased lunch for him. As I approached him, I did need to embolden myself, a little. He appeared oblivious to his surroundings. His eyes were unfocused, and he was still muttering. I passed him the clamshell container and a bottle of water, and he readily accepted it. Just took it from my hands. I walked on, and looked back, hoping he would eat his lunch while it was still fresh.

Yet, I avert my eyes from the young man with the beard who is holding his sign up, as cars pass by. He is planted at the exit ramp onto Brevard Road. The traffic light is red. I sense that I’m being held captive by his presence and expectations, and by my guilt. It would be an exaggeration to say that I feel preyed upon, because I am hardly a victim. I’m fortunate. I’m safe in my vehicle. I have enough money, a secure and safe place to live, and plenty of food to eat.  As I consider this, I still keep my car window closed and stare at the traffic light, and am glad when the light changes.

Then, I ask myself, is one person more deserving than another? My answer: No.

So, I consider: By offering a gift of money, am I really helping the guy with the sign? For that matter, am I helping the guy under the bridge, other than to assuage his hunger? To both these questions, I answer: I don’t know.

So, what is the difference?

 Well, it appears that the guy with the sign had the forethought to make the sign, to find the materials, and to place himself in a location where he can’t be avoided. He has the stamina to stand for long periods. Most often, he has a bundle or knapsack at his side and is sometimes holding a beverage, or there is evidence of food nearby. I reason that he might have the ability to help himself in other ways. But the guy under the bridge and the man with the bicycle appear compromised to the point that self-care and self-advocacy are limited, at best.

To my mind, even if my reasoning is illogical, I need to establish some guidelines for myself. I need to feel that I’m in control of my own resources. I would like to feel content with my offering.

As to whether I should feel more compassion for the sign holders – honestly, I don’t know. They could be escaping domestic violence, drug addiction, mental illness, a recent layoff . . . They could be on the sex offense registry – these people are often prohibited from accessing homeless shelters and have difficulty finding employment. I will never know the whole of anyone’s story.

After much consideration, I’ve reached a conclusion, though I’m no wiser: Sometimes, there is no right or wrong. I’m compassionate in some instances, giving freely, and there are other instances when those who seek help would benefit from fewer donations and more self-reliance. I can’t tell the difference.

So, every so often, I will give the person with the sign that dollar or two, and the benefit of the doubt.