02/04/2026
I’m hurting. I’ve been carrying a lot of weight the last couple of days. Losing an opportunity I truly believed in at the Super Bowl left me feeling low and honestly depressed in a way I didn’t expect.
What made it especially hard was how quickly things changed. Opportunities like the Super Bowl involve real planning, so this didn’t feel last minute or casual. I don’t know what shifted or what was said, but one day everything was communicated as moving forward, and the next day it wasn’t possible anymore because of time.
Today something happened that I’ll never forget.
I was down at a homeless encampment, and a group of people who have so little came together and gave me a few small things just to cheer me up. They told me they could see the hurt in my eyes. They knew I was carrying something heavy.
They knew about what happened with the Super Bowl.
I was told I was going to be part of a Super Bowl kindness campaign focused on spreading compassion and helping others. We were already in direct talks, discussing shoot dates and locations. It felt real. It felt official.
We had already met and moved well beyond exploratory conversations. Everything was communicated with certainty, with planning underway and next steps clearly outlined. At that point, it no longer felt like a possibility or a hope. It felt confirmed, and that confirmation was reinforced through our conversations and the actions that followed.
Because of that, I shared the news with my family. I called them one by one, full of excitement, never imagining I’d have to call them back and explain that it was no longer happening.
I told my grandpa, who’s in his late 80s, and for the first time in my life, I watched him cry. My dad said he had never seen his own father cry before. Those weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of pride.
And then I had to sit him down and tell him it was no longer happening, even though everything had already been communicated as confirmed.
Watching his eyes change in that moment is something I’ll carry with me for a long time.
This was one of the lowest moments of my life, not because of where I would have been, but because of how many more people I thought we could have helped. That night, I didn’t sleep. I stayed up all night mapping out an idea called Hunger Handoff, something I believed could scale nationwide and put food directly into the hands of people who need it most.
What I didn’t expect was that the very people I try my best to take care of would be the ones taking care of me today. People who are homeless. People who are hurting themselves. People who owed me absolutely nothing.
They reminded me why I do this. They reminded me that kindness isn’t a title, a campaign, or a stage. It’s showing up for each other, especially when no one’s watching.
If you pray, please pray for me. I’ve been searching my heart, wondering if I did something wrong, when all I ever wanted was to advocate for people who don’t always have a voice or a message.
I didn’t receive a chance to talk it through with their team afterward, so I’ve had to process and make peace with it on my own.
I’ve chosen not to hold onto bitterness toward Dhar Mann or his team. I’m letting this go with a clear conscience and wishing them well as I move forward.
There are more people in this world who care than we’re led to believe. And sometimes, the ones with the least give the most.
If this resonates with you, feel free to share it. Not for me, but as a reminder of how much impact small acts can have. And I challenge each of us, myself included, to feed just one person who needs it this week. One meal, one moment of dignity, one act of kindness. That’s how change actually happens.
I’ll keep going. For my grandpa. For them. For all of us. ❤️
