redactedLast night, I was coaching my son's baseball team when my friend and co-coach left hurriedly at the conclusion of our warm-up. We had just been throwing batting practice together—neither of us well, but both with great intentions to help our young charges prepare for a game against the league's best team. As we walked back toward the dugout, I mentally preparing to guide the team through the game; he said to me, "I have to go now. My daughter has been in a car accident. My wife is there. I need to go be with her. Please take care of my son for me. I will call you." He jogged toward the parking lot. What he knew about his daughter in that moment, I had no idea, but the distress on his face told me something serious had just happened. The Game Continues Our team didn't play well for the first two innings. A very young pitcher threw as hard as he could against his older opponent. He threw strikes, which is all we ask. But we were betrayed by nervousness, making error after error, resulting in 8 runs across the first two innings. From that point forward, the team settled in and calmed down. We threw more strikes, and we made the plays. And we prevented them from scoring for the remaining four innings of the game. Our team pushed the pace when at bat, too, with the action reaching a crescendo in the bottom of the 6th when my son hit his first home run—a screaming line drive over the left-center field fence that scored two runs. But, ultimately, our rally fell short, and we lost. A Child in Limbo And while all of this was happening, I was watching my co-coach's and friend's son play despite his concern about his sister. He knew there had been an accident, and he knew that his father had left the field in a hurry. After the game, I pulled this boy aside and told him that we would be bringing him home with us and that he would have dinner with our family. He asked for news about his sister. I had none, but I promised that as soon as I did, I would share it. We brought him home. I was so gratified that my son, not knowing the severity of the circumstance but no doubt perceiving the worry in his teammate's mind, took care of him with grace. After dinner among our family, some video games, some basketball, and conversations about school, sports cars, and flag football - ultimately futile attempts to distract him from his fears about what might have happened to his sister - I received a text from his father that it was time to bring him home. The Moment Everything Changes When we arrived, his father came directly out to the car. He gave me a glancing hug, took his boy by the hand, and led him back up the driveway to the house, where I could see his mother standing in the front door waiting for them. As I got back in my car, appreciating the gravity of this circumstance and the tragedy of that sight, I opened my phone to see a text message from our fellow coach alerting me and the other coaches to the fact that the boy's sister - my friend's daughter - had died in that car accident three hours earlier. And I immediately realized that this boy's life - this boy who had moments ago been sitting at our dinner table and eating with our family - had been irrevocably changed in the moment he walked into that house. He faced his mother in her anguish, held his father's hand, and learned that his sister had died. Trite But True It feels trite when these things happen to say, "Appreciate every day, appreciate every moment." Trite but true. But the feeling this inspires in me is a reflection about why we do anything. I'm so grateful that this boy could spend his dinner with us. I'm grateful that my children had the opportunity to give him care and some semblance of comfort. And I'm grateful that we could give his parents a moment’s feeling of ease, knowing that their boy was safe and loved and cared for as they processed the horror of their new reality. And it strikes me that in all other aspects of life—what the fuck else are we to do? A Reframing of Purpose I spend much of my day interacting with people or focusing on the concept of entrepreneurship, which can be mutilated into an ego-driven, narcissistic pursuit of self-aggrandizement. It's an experience like this that makes me wonder: what are we on earth for, if not to help others? If not to ease the suffering of others? If not to lift up others, whatever that means? This just reminds me that we have this opportunity not only in times of tragedy and trauma, but also in other moments. It's every day. And as entrepreneurs, it's every attempt. It reminds me to reframe every contribution I try to make in terms of how it helps someone else. Because, as desperate as I feel right now, as heartbroken and anguished as I feel for that family, I also feel grateful that when asked, I could give. The Entrepreneur's Higher Calling It feels like a metaphor for what's available to the entrepreneur: when asked, when called to create, you can do so as an act of generosity. Generosity towards the eventual team you will assemble to help you achieve the thing that is your vision. Generosity toward the world that will benefit in several ways from the thing that you create. Generosity for the contribution you may eventually make to other entrepreneurs or society at large with the proceeds of any success you may find. What else are we here for?