Once, a good friend—a great designer—told me he wanted a sabbatical year. To help in Africa, he said. It felt inspiring, but my response still haunts me:
“Would it be better just to work and donate the money?”
It sounded right—clear, logical, practical. But his answer...
"Sometimes people need a hug."
Why did I react with money instead of emotion? Control, comfort, distance from an unpredictable reality? Or something uglier—some hidden fear of truly being present, vulnerable?
I’ve been thinking about that lately. A lot.
I carry this as a deep scar, a reminder. Helping isn't always about money. It rarely is.
Sometimes it's a hug. An unquantifiable gift.
Remember who you are.