The Story of Kirk - And the Life Lessons he Taught Me

I visited the West Coast for the very first time in 2014. I was staying at a hotel near Cocarane Plaza in Morgan Hill — a serene little village, a bit away from San Francisco. My office was at a walkable distance from the hotel, so I avoided taking an Uber most of the time.

With Kirk - Our Goodbye Moment in 2014

 It was during one of my morning walks that I first noticed a man outside Walmart. His name was Kirk. I remember the day we shared a smile for the first time. He spent most of his day in the plaza outside Walmart, usually seated on the same bench. After a few days of passing by and exchanging glances, I finally initiated some casual conversation with him.

“Where do you stay?” I asked.

“This place is my home,” Kirk replied, pointing to the bench outside Walmart.

That’s when I understood — he had no home technically. At night, he slept somewhere near the freeway 101. That was his routine.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, with no particular plans, I decided to explore the shops around. I saw Kirk sleeping on his usual bench. I tried not to disturb him.

“Why don’t you buy a bicycle, Neeraj?” he asked as I passed by. I realized he wasn’t really asleep. I was impressed by his attentiveness. I smiled.

“Well Kirk, I’m here for just a month. I don’t want to buy any asset here,” the thoughtful finance guy within me responded instantly.

“You can donate it when you leave,” he said. “Donating is good for you. Don’t they practice giving there in India?” Kirk added.

I nodded and gave it some thought. Maybe he is expecting me to donate it to him, I thought. That day, I felt a bit disconnected from Kirk and avoided further conversation.

The next day, he met me again. He had just finished his breakfast. It was a Sunday and I had a whole day of free time. Kirk offered to take me hiking around.

“The fact is, I will be leaving for India on Thursday,” I said.

“Well, that’s it?” he responded, in a choked voice.

I offered him lunch that day, and he happily accepted.

“Why are you homeless, Kirk?” I asked, after gauging that I wasn’t intruding too much into his personal life.

“I was at a crossroads in my life,” he began. “There came a moment when I had to choose — settle a wrong marriage, continue the battle in court, or donate my wealth to her.”

Kirk paused, the chopsticks in his hands motionless.

“And you know, I chose the latter. I bought my freedom,” he said.

His eyes showed no faith in the judiciary. It had clearly been a tough decision — to keep fighting and ruin the rest of his life, or to walk away and live like a free bird, managing with the little finances he had left.

I remembered his advice about buying a bicycle, and my assumption that he wanted it for himself. I was wrong. Completely. I had doubted a man who had the courage to donate his life’s savings to a selfish woman, and chose to live on the streets instead of living tied to bitterness.

The last time I saw him