Optimism in the Face of Reality

For some people, the cup is half full, even when it's empty.

The stocky, middle-aged man who approaches me in the Cottonwood Walmart with an excited expression on his face is the kind of guy who cries at a wedding, laughs at a funeral, and eagerly anticipates a trip to the dentist.

"You can call me Tim from Walmart," the man says with a laugh.

Tim laughs a lot these days, but it's really hard to imagine why.

Tim was born and raised in Detroit, the product of a working class family. As a young man, he served four years in the Navy, but he has spent the majority of his fifty plus years on this planet searching for his calling.

Things never really came easy for Tim. He wasn't exceptionally good in school, and so work for him has always been just that; work.

But the past few years had been good to Tim. He found himself in a steady relationship, became a father, and decided it was finally time to do something meaningful with his life. So he leveraged his low level position in the hospital he worked at to go to nursing school.

He would work during the day to go to school at night. Studying and test-taking were a chore for Tim, but he was determined, and he had a passion for becoming a nurse. When it came time to take the biggest test of his life, Tim was incredibly nervous.

"I didn't know what to expect, so when I found out I passed, I couldn't believe it. Only two people passed, and here I was, this simple guy from Detroit, and I was finally going to be a nurse. I really feel like it was my calling. It was what I was put here on the planet to do."

It may not sound like much to some, but for Tim, this was redemption. For all the times he was told he'd never amount to anything, for all the times he'd felt completely lost, this was his moment.

Unfortunately, that's all it was. A moment. Because not long after realizing his dream, Tim had that dream taken from him.

"My old lady's father," he tells me, letting his smile slip ever so slightly for the first time since he approached me, "he never liked me. Me and her had an argument one night, and the next week, I find out that he reported me for domestic abuse."

Tim maintains his innocence, but I can not in good conscience say I believe him. Through the course of our conversation, "I never touched her" becomes "I only pushed her after she pushed me, and I never hit her of course."

I'm not here to judge.

What I am here to say is that, whatever mistakes Tim has made in the past, he is paying for them now.

With the claim of domestic abuse, his nursing license was revoked. Unable to secure other work in the current market, he found himself without the funds to afford rent and hopping between friend's couches. For the past two weeks, he has been living out of a green minivan outside the Cottonwood Walmart.

"There's a lot of us stuck out here," he tells me, motioning to the various vehicles parked at the very back of the massive parking lot. "But I'm okay. It's nice to have some alone time in the van. It's peaceful."

To Tim's credit, he is searching for work.

"I've got a second interview with the Wendy's over there on Monday. But, man, I tell you, even there they don't make it easy. It's like running for political office."

It's a sad statement from a man who less than a year ago was working in his dream job.

Tim never stops smiling as he says it.