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So I would head to the bottom of the downtown peninsula and search for things to do. Simple things. Anything that didn’t cost money. I was easy to please, and that alone alleviated the distress of what others might consider a disgraceful social life, which was resigned to trips to the bookstore and the library with Larry, walks downtown by the waterfront and through historic neighborhoods, and window-shopping along King Street’s long line of trendy shops. On the weekends at Marion Square, there was always free entertainment, parades, or special events like the Budweiser Clydesdale exhibit. I had made a commitment—or perhaps the commitment had been made for me by default—that my social life would suffer as I fought to achieve my goals. Interesting to me, though, was the fact that it wasn’t a difficult commitment to make nor was it a difficult commitment to keep. I knew what I had to do to get where I wanted to go, and I knew that late nights partying with the beautiful, busty girls I saw on a daily basis downtown could cost me in so many ways. So I remained focused on the task at hand.

But don’t get my intentions twisted. Did I want to go to Club Habana or Wet Willie’s or any one of the other nightclubs I had walked past, places where I could dance and party all evening long with the chicks from the College of Charleston? Damn right! Weren’t the comedy shows and plays appealing to me as they were for others in my peer group? Sure, but I knew they weren’t a smart investment. Perhaps a time would come for all of that. In fact, ideas like that kept me motivated. Work hard, play hard. Knowing that one day I would have the time and resources to do so many other things with my life kept me getting up every day to do what was absolutely necessary for me to advance.

Not that any girls would have wanted to hang out with me. It’s crazy how we become the product of our surroundings. Early on, even after just two weeks into my project, I began to see myself transform. I started not to care what I dressed like or looked like. I started saying “I ain’t sure” and “Yeah, I done heard about that.” Without even thinking twice about it. While I was walking down the street, I would pick my nose and scratch between my legs. I’m sure I was quite the sight to strangers walking by, but I didn’t care. I was in my own world. I was invincible. I had more confidence than a room full of Tony Robbins’s greatest disciples. Nothing could stop me.

Now, don’t get me wrong here. I’m not saying that I went into the homeless shelter and thought, “Welp, now I can pick my nose and scratch myself and I’ll blend in.” Not everybody did that. Most of us, but not everybody. What I’m saying is that there was one of two ways that I could go with my newly adopted fearlessness: (1) I could sit around and fall into a funk, or (2) I could use it to channel my advancement. And I chose the latter. I really let go of all suppression. I wasn’t concerned with what everybody else was doing or with what they thought about me. My life was a blank canvas, and I had the freedom to create whatever kind of masterpiece I wanted to create. The confidence that came with having nowhere to go but up gave me the opportunity to really just let loose and be myself. And that was one of the greatest feelings I had ever experienced.

It was funny, too, how different people had different views of the shelter. When I would work with George on Sunday, he would lower his voice and look around and say things like, “So, you still stayin’ over there at the, y’know, the shelter?” Ha. “Yeah, man. I’m still there. And you don’t have to treat it like it is so taboo.” Conversely, I would be riding the bus and a shelter mate sitting across from me would holler something, without even caring who was listening, like, “Hey, Shep, whatchya think we’re gonna have for dinner tonight at the shelter? I hope it’s Robert’s meatloaf. His meatloaf is God-damned out of sight!” We didn’t care what people thought. We were walking our own made up fine line with absolutely no pride left on one side and an overabundance