The Things We Carry
What one encounter in Ybor City revealed about struggle, generosity, and the people around us.
Over the last few weeks on the campaign trail, some incredible things have happened. Life has always been an adventure for me. I’ve never known what waits around the next corner. But lately, I’ve struggled to find the words to describe what I’ve been feeling.
Tonight was one of those nights. Like any candidate trying to be in two places at once, I bounced between a pair of fundraisers. By the end of the night, I found myself in Ybor City finishing out the last one, and if you’ve ever spent time in Ybor, you know that sooner or later your night ends with a hot slice of pizza.
I walked into the shop, picked out my slice, and even splurged on two slices. I stood there waiting for them to come out of the oven, already anticipating that first bite that burns the roof of your mouth because you couldn’t wait. I loaded them up with crushed red pepper, parmesan cheese, oregano, and garlic powder, ready to feel the bliss of the first bite
As I took my first bite, completely lost in that simple moment of happiness, a man in a green shirt walked by. He looked at my pizza, held up a box of Cheerios, and asked, “Want to trade for a slice?”
In that moment, I looked at him and recognized that we were simply two people trying to make it through difficult times, and when I looked at that man, I saw something familiar. I saw someone carrying burdens most people never notice. He was hungry, and that slice of pizza was just out of reach and I had two.
So I asked him if he wanted it.
At first he looked embarrassed, almost ashamed that he had asked. I handed him the slice anyway. I gave him a plate so not a single piece of pepperoni or drop of cheese would be wasted. He accepted it cautiously, as though I might change my mind at any second.
And suddenly everything clicked, in fact we clicked.
We got to talking, and like so many of us here in America, he was struggling with the rising cost of food, rent, and healthcare. He told me he had recently lost his job and was staying with a friend while trying to get back on his feet. He was walking home from the store where he had gone and bought what he could afford.
As we talked, I shared some of my own struggles. I shared how some months I wonder how I’m going to pay rent, how I have four broken fillings that I can’t afford to fix, and some days the pain feels like a nail being driven through my gums. But like so many people in this country, I push through it. I take another naproxen, tell myself I’ll deal with it later, and keep moving forward because that’s what people do when they don’t have another choice.
The gratitude in his eyes and smile on his face is something I’ll never forget.
He asked my name, and then he said, “I’m Isaiah.”
Now, as a good Catholic boy, I know that name well. I learned about Isaiah, the patron saint of sign makers, years ago from an Irish nun named Sister Catherine, who taught my catechism class. She loved telling stories about how the world wasn’t nearly as broken as people thought it was, and how ordinary people had the power to make it better.
Standing there in that pizza shop, Isaiah felt like a sign. Not a sign about politics. Not a sign about campaigns, but a sign about gratitude.
Over the last few weeks, especially around Memorial Day, I’ve been thinking a lot about service, sacrifice, and community. This year, alongside a group of fellow veterans, I helped organize a Memorial Day ceremony honoring local heroes who never made it home. Standing before hundreds of people, I searched for the right words. I didn’t want to talk about politics. I wanted to talk about the people we lost, the friendships we built, and the families we found in one another through service.
I spoke about brotherhood. About carrying each other’s burdens. About finding the strength to keep moving forward when the road ahead feels impossible.
And maybe that’s why meeting Isaiah meant so much.
Because lately I’ve realized that even in the hardest moments, none of us are truly alone.
At more than 400 events since November, I’ve met people who are hurting. People who are worried about paying bills, affording housing, finding healthcare, and building a future for their children. But I’ve also met people filled with hope. People who still believe tomorrow can be better than today, many of them my fellow candidates and volunteers.
There is something happening across our communities. I feel it everywhere I go.
People are tired, but they have not given up.
People are struggling, but they have not stopped caring about one another.
People are looking toward the future and choosing hope anyway.
I said something on Memorial Day that has stayed with me ever since: “I have seen things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
I meant every word of it.
But I’ve also seen extraordinary kindness. I’ve seen courage. I’ve seen resilience. I’ve seen people share what little they have because someone else needed it more.
The world can be a difficult place. Working to make it better often comes with obstacles and setbacks. That’s reality.
But progress has never belonged to those who stood still.
As I once heard said, “Hope is not something you find. It’s something you choose.”
And every day, we get to choose it.
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