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Transcript

Same Storm, Different Boats

I went to Dollar General the other day to prepare for the weekend. I was just trying to get a few things and head home. That was the plan.

But right in front of me in line was this barefoot teenager — maybe 14 or 15. He was fidgeting, visibly anxious, holding two bags of Takis and maybe forty cents in loose change, mostly pennies. He turned and looked up at me, nervous but direct, and asked, “Hey sir, do you think I have enough?”

Acting casual but immediately knowing the answer, I said, “I’m not totally sure, but don’t worry about it. I can cover it.”

Just like that, his whole body seemed to light up, the kind of relief you can feel across a room. “Would you mind if I got one more thing?” he asked. I told him to go ahead. He instantly ran to the fridge section and grabbed a Sprite. I offered to let him grab another, and he did — excitedly, but he dropped it on the way back. That’s when you could see the anxiety hit. He crouched down, quickly picked it up and placed it on the counter, not saying a word, like he was afraid the moment of kindness had expired.

The woman behind us encouraged him to grab a fresh one, and he looked at her — like he couldn’t believe it — and asked, “Really? Can I?” She nodded enthusiastically. He grabbed the new bottle, came back, and I began checking out. As I paid, he scooped everything into his arms and darted out the door with a quick, “Thank you, sir.”

I walked to my truck. And at first, I couldn’t see him anywhere. Then I caught a glimpse of him in my rearview mirror. Just pacing on the sidewalk. Walking back and forth, barefoot, and uncertain. Like he had nowhere to go next and didn’t want to admit it.

I was just about to step out and talk to him again when I saw the cashier come outside. She gently called him back in and proceed to help him get some shoes.

And I’ll be honest — that’s when I broke down in my truck.

I’ve been struggling a lot lately — with feeling helpless. Watching people I love face things they shouldn’t have to. Feeling like I’m trying to hold up too many things with not enough hands. I’ve been asking myself, over and over: Am I really helping? Am I doing enough?

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But in that moment, watching that kid, all I could do was cry. It reminded me why this work matters. This country is brutal to people who are just trying to survive. And so many of us are trying to carry it all — our friends, our families, our fears — while wondering if we’re even making a dent. But sometimes, we just need to know we’re not alone. That someone is paying attention. That grace can still show up in the smallest ways.

For five minutes, that kid didn’t feel invisible. For five minutes, I didn’t feel like I’m not making a difference. Because in that moment, everyone in that store did.

We are all in the same storm, but we are in different boats. That doesn’t mean we stop trying to throw each other a line when we can.

So I’m posting this to remind myself — that it’s okay to not have all the answers. It’s okay to break down. And it’s okay to still believe that showing up for someone matters, even when the world makes you feel like it doesn’t.

Dream Big. Act Bigger.

And remember: the smallest acts can still be the ones that save someone.

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