The closest I’ve ever come to poverty was when I first moved to Colorado. I left New York with very little and arrived in a new city without a job, without a place to live, and without a friend in site.
It didn’t take too long to find all three, but still I went without more than with for close to a year. I lost more than 30 pounds during the winter because I couldn’t afford to eat as often as I should have. I picked up change off the ground one month in order to feed myself for the weekend. Some days the only reason I was able to eat at all was thanks to the charity of others.
Often I woke up not knowing where my next meal would come from and yet I have never known poverty.
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