I was preparing to turn left into a University of Illinois-Chicago parking garage on Tuesday afternoon. It was a usual cold and windy December day in Chicago – the type of day that steals the feeling in your face and limbs with little remorse. I noticed a panhandler standing on a raised median looking for a Good Samaritan or a sucker – depending on how you view giving money to the homeless – when he dropped something.

It wasn’t the cardboard sign he was worried about. Instead, there was a single dollar bill on the ground floating away. He ran as well as a homeless person can run, which looks more like an uncoordinated stumble, toward the money. No matter how close he got, the Chicago wind swiftly brushed it a few feet further away. It was an eternal carrot on the stick.

The bill blew into the middle of a busy intersection and, without hesitation, the man continued to stumble toward the money – ignoring all of the cars turning and speeding around and by him. I didn’t get to see if he ever got hold of it because I had turned into the parking garage. It was one of the most heartbreaking images I’ve ever witnessed.

His entire existence, a man with a lifetime of stories and most likely self-inflicted wounds and/or an unwinnable battle with mental illness, devolved into a single dollar bill floating away.

At the time, the temperature on my phone said it felt like 10 degrees out. His personal hell, like many of the homeless in Illinois, is not engulfed in flames, but it’s being stranded alone in the middle of a freezing tundra.

Growing up in Portland, homelessness was part of the scenery – living side by side with the trees, mountains, and rain. I’m no stranger to the homeless, but this event struck me more than a man sitting up against the side of a building wrapped in dirty blankets with no realization of what’s happening around him.

What scared me most about this particular homeless man was how much of myself and society I saw in him. What are we willing to risk in pursuit of the green goddess? This isn’t to refer to people going on game shows and eating pig anus or covering themselves with maggots for the chance at a payday. We may not run into the intersection for a measly dollar bill, but are we willing to sell our souls for a big salary? Are we happy to trade integrity for an office with a window?

This is not a thought about anti-capitalism – the old adage that capitalism is the worst economic system except for all the others – but about how we approach the trade-offs that come with financial prosperity. When I was in college, I considered becoming a lawyer and set up a lunch with a local lawyer. He was extremely well-off – yes, he paid for the lunch – but he talked about swallowing his morals to defend people who were guilty and how the financial boost came at the expense of rarely seeing his family.

As I got up from the table, I knew that I didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore.

However, the dilemma has come around again.

I’m going back to school with an interest in getting into the advertising world. One of my biggest fears is that I will be in a position to put together a positive ad campaign for a company or product that conflicts with my principles. Will I trade in those principles for a nice bonus? Will I be able to risk the conflict and the ramifications that come with standing up and saying, “No thanks”?

I hope that I can keep my soul. I hope that I can keep my integrity. I hope that I’m not the one stumbling into harm’s way in pursuit of a dollar bill floating away.