On August 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina changed New Orleans and it changed me. My home filled with water, my neighborhood was unrecognizable, and I stood in the ruins with no idea where to begin.
A firefighter from New York walked up, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Pick a corner, start there. Everything will fall into place.” At the time, it felt impossible. But those words became a lifeline,not just for rebuilding a house in New Orleans, but for learning how to rebuild a life.
Weeks later, in a small-town Walmart, I found myself in the coffee aisle when I noticed a woman crying. Through tears she whispered, “They don’t have CDM coffee.” That cry wasn’t really about coffee. It was about New Orleans. About home, about normalcy, about longing for something familiar when the world had been washed away. I hugged her, and without words, we both understood.
That’s what resilience looked like in those early days after Katrina—not pushing through alone, but finding comfort in kindness and connection.
A few years later, when floods hit Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a group of us from New Orleans drove north. We knew what it felt like to lose everything, and we wanted to stand with them the way strangers once stood with us. We cooked, we listened, we simply showed up. And that trip reminded me that the chain of kindness that started in New Orleans after Katrina could keep growing—one act, one connection at a time.
Over the years, those lessons have followed me everywhere: from helping after hurricanes and wildfires to sitting with families after earthquakes and wars. And no matter the disaster, I’ve learned the same truth—resilience isn’t about being strong on your own. It’s about showing up for each other.
When I spoke at TEDx, I shared how even the smallest actions can spark something bigger than we ever imagine. And when I stood at the United Nations in Geneva years later, talking about disaster response, I wasn’t thinking about accomplishments. I carried in my heart the people of New Orleans who helped shape my path to get there: that firefighter who told me to pick a corner, the woman in the Walmart aisle crying for coffee, the neighbors who carried my ruined furniture to the curb.
Those are the people who taught me what resilience really means. They brought me hope when I had none. Their kindness became the foundation of every story I tell, every framework I share, and every community I try to serve. Because people showed up when it mattered most.
Those moments of connection are what carried me forward—and what still carry me today.
Twenty years later, the memories of Hurricane Katrina still sting. But they also remind me of something powerful: that the spirit of New Orleans—its people, its culture, its stubborn will to survive—can turn even the darkest moments into sparks of resilience.
If you’re facing your own storm—whether it’s a hurricane, a loss, or a change you never asked for—remember this:
Pick a corner and start there.
Let someone show up for you.
And when you can, pass it on.
Because that’s how New Orleans rebuilt—and that’s how we all rebuild. Together.