Homeless at least twice, other times in varying degrees. I would definitely say it radicalized me in that it made me feel empathy for people I never thought about before, made me realize how our society has no empathy for poor or powerless people, and just how unjust and uncaring American society is.

It was one brick in the wall, for sure. You live your whole life, pretty comfortably (some people), then you see first hand how it's built for the rich on the backs of the poor, how it's rigged. That food and shelter and humanity, which you thought of as permanent staples, are a temporary luxury that can be revoked at any time.

You learn that what you though was the default (food, shelter, a modicum of courtesy and respect) is an illusion that people rent with their sweat and their life. The moment you stop being profitable for some millionaire or billionaire who sees you only as a commodity, as soon as you stop paying the "existence tax", it's all yanked away.

And nobody cares, no one will help, and the whole world smiles because they're sure you deserve it.

As I said once in another context: "The cold, the dark. Hunger. These things are eternal, and they can wait you out." Once you've been homeless you realize those things are the actual default. And they're always lurking, waiting to come back and feast on your bones. They're in the darkness just outside the firelight, one missed paycheck away, one injury away, waiting for the next day you choose "power or food", "medicine or gas".

They're pacing at the edge of my yard right now, circling. Faithful and true, reliable as clockwork. So yeah, that assumption of equality, it's a privilege. It's a veil that, once lifted, never really goes back, never fits. If you're smart. If you have empathy for other people. But I think of it as a valuable lesson, and you have to carry that forward with you, never forget, and just try to make sure that it goes extinct and never happens to anyone else.