Sometimes I’ll pull up to a stoplight and see somebody flying a flag. For those who don’t know what I mean, it’s the cardboard sign: Need help. Anything helps. God bless. And sometimes I just sit there and look at the person holding it. Because I’ve been that guy. There was a time when I was living in an alley on the south side of Fort Worth. I’d walk around the corner and fly a flag. And if I’m being truthful, a lot of the time I wasn’t trying to get money for food. I wanted drugs. I was addicted, struggling mentally, homeless and living a life that seems almost impossible to me now. But I remember the people in those cars. I remember looking through their windshields. Sometimes I could see pity in their eyes. Sometimes contempt. Sometimes they tried really hard not to look at me at all. And now, all these years later, sometimes I’m sitting at the same kind of stoplight… Only now I’m on the other side of the windshield. That’s a strange feeling. Because I catch myself looking at the guy with the sign and wondering what his story is. Is he hungry? Is he addicted? Is he struggling mentally? Is he lying? Maybe. I lied plenty. But I also know something the people looking at me back then couldn’t possibly have known: My story wasn’t over. That guy living in an alley wasn’t going to stay there forever. He was going to get sober. He was going to rebuild relationships. He was going to have a family. He was going to help start a recovery program and eventually spend his days trying to help people who looked a whole lot like he once did. Nobody sitting at that stoplight could have seen any of that. Hell, I couldn’t see it either. So when I see somebody holding that cardboard sign today, I try to remember that I have absolutely no idea how the rest of their story is going to be written. Because once upon a time, I was the guy on the corner. Today I’m the guy behind the windshield. And God, am I grateful to be sober today. ❤️