Throwing Starfish, Fixing Wi-Fi, and Wondering If It Matters

As I built the website for MSH, I kept asking myself: What's something that could makes us different? Why would someone come here, to our piece of the web, to see something they probably saw yesterday? How do we show up for those who don’t need shelter—but still need something?

Basically, how do I build a mini nonprofit of service through notes. Right?

So, I started blogging. Even then, the vision was clear, but I didn't know (and still don't, honestly) who would read this journey and see support in my perspective. And, even then, I said to myself: what if one day I decide to stop writing? Or what if I ran out of things to blog about? What would the impact be? The other day, I said that again but this time, out loud, on a call from a place of frustration from needing to do, be, and the finalization of the "To-do List"... I wondered if anyone would notice if I just.. simply.. stopped.

I was on a call with my Finance Assistant, at the time, who unexpectedly said... "I read it." and I said, "Great! I'm bearing my soul to a party of one."

Gulp...

Let me remind you, I’m the CEO of a nonprofit. Not the fancy-lunches-and-networking kind of CEO (though, I mean, I wouldn’t turn down a catered meeting - maybe)—but the mop-the-floors, fix-the-wifi, write-the-grants kind. I’ve worn every hat at Meryl’s Safe Haven—case manager, facilities coordinator, sometimes unofficial therapist, always official fire-putter-outer. It wasn't until after that call that I realized I've started to lose sight and I had to dig it out of frustration and, if I'm honest with myself, self-pity. There's a parable most of us know - especially in the nonprofit sector: The Starfish Thrower. A man walks along a beach littered with thousands of starfish, all washed ashore after a storm. He sees a child picking them up one by one and throwing them back into the ocean. The man says, “Why bother? You can’t possibly make a difference.” The child throws another one back and simply replies, “It made a difference to that one.”

Since that discussion, I’ve had to remind myself of that story, but not just because of the blog postings, in the work that I do everyday! Somehow, I've made myself believe that if I cannot, personally, get through to someone or help them get on track - I have failed; if the people/population I have built an organization around do not care to follow the outline of the program which benefits them - I have failed; if gratitude is not shown after I have gone the extra mile - I have failed; and while it is impactful, it is untrue.

Vision? I had it. Still do. Passion? That, too. But even vision and passion together aren’t enough when you’re drowning in logistics, deadlines, and the bone-deep exhaustion of constantly proving your value. I've been so focused on trying to save all the starfish. And in the process, I forgot to check if I was still standing in the water.

As the CEO of a small organization, I take pride in not just knowing "something" about our families and participants, but knowing enough to pick up a resource and say, "This made me think of you," and/or picking up a cake to acknowledge and celebrate their birthday; I take pride in being near and far but there's a gap - a gap between who I was when we began and who I’ve had to become to keep this ship afloat. That gap can feel lonely. And that’s the part nobody warns you about. There's a people gap: attempting to maintain continued evaluation of what you are building while also supporting staff, then there are the checklists, KPIs, and budget lines. Necessary, yes—but they’re not the heart. They’re not the starfish.

And here’s where "The Starfish Thrower" came back to me—to remember that even if I can’t do it all, what I can do still matters deeply to someone. To one youth. To one mother. To one team member. To an individual considering the start of a nonprofit organization.

And that brings me to the real point.

If you’ve been feeling like the storm is too big, or the beach too crowded, or the work too heavy—I see you. I’ve been you. Maybe I am you. But I promise, the smallest action—the quiet kind, the unseen kind, the exhausting kind—can still make a difference to that one. And that’s where we start again.

If you believe in second chances, if you believe in the kind of change that begins with one person reaching for another, then this is your invitation. Throw a starfish with us. Not because we can save them all at once—but because one day, someone will say, “I’m here today because someone showed up when it mattered most.” And maybe that someone was you.

I'll Meet You On The Beach