I’ve seen this man at Starbucks in Marin City many, many times. Every time, I would tell myself I should invite him to lunch—but I always found an excuse not to. Maybe fear, maybe discomfort, maybe just being in my own bubble.
But today, everything felt different. I woke up lonely. I didn’t want to spend another day feeling disconnected. And something whispered to me that I should act. So I walked up to him, placed my hand gently on his shoulder and asked, “Would you like to have lunch with me?”
That man’s name is Tarec Atkinson. He grew up in Jamaica, a boy with big dreams—he wanted to play soccer. He got recruited in school. But life turned sideways when he had trouble in his teenage years. That derailed those early dreams.
He moved to the United States eight years ago. But for the past year, he’s been living in a tent beside the freeway. Some nights go by without food. Sometimes, he eats only what he can find—berries, whatever scraps are there. He spends the majority of his time alone. He has no friends here, and no family in the States to rely on. Days, weeks, pass with no shower. No stability.
When I realized he hadn’t bathed for over a month, I brought him back to my place. He got a hot shower. And you could see something shift—small, but real. These little human dignities often get dismissed until you actually see someone’s face after they feel clean again.
He struggles with more than hunger and homelessness. Applying for jobs seems straightforward to many of us—but what if you haven’t eaten in days? What if you don’t have a computer? Or someone to walk with you, to speak with you, to help make the barriers seem smaller?
I told Tarec I would help. That I would drive with him, show up with him, fill out those applications—whatever it takes—to help him get back on his own feet. We agreed: meet at Starbucks the next Friday at 9:30 AM.
On that Friday morning, the next step was clothes. We went to Ross, and he picked out a shirt and some slacks. And right away—a radiant smile. He stood up straighter, even walked differently. He wanted to tuck in his shirt; I talked him out of it. Some wins are small, some are big.
We spent the following two days walking into every place that might be hiring: Walgreens, CVS, Safeway, Home Depot, even Starbucks. I would go in with him so he wouldn’t feel invisible or intimidated. It’s overwhelming to walk into a business when you don’t know what the response will be—especially when you’re already carrying so much. I was proud of him.
There were some polite “no’s,” some “come back online,” some “we’ll call you” answers. But mostly, we ran into the big obstacle: access. Access to computers, access to reliable internet, access to someone to guide you, access to confidence.
Tarec had to go to the library just to apply for jobs. Watching him struggle with filling out forms—lots of them—walking through websites I’ve taken for granted—I was reminded just how many systems in our society assume people have resources that many don’t.
Still, we kept pushing. After a week of phone interviews, he landed an in-person interview at Safeway. I remember—driving there, my heart pounding. I looked over at Tarec and asked: “How are you doing?” He turned with a calm that surprised me and said, “I got this.”
I believe in you, I told him—and then dropped him off. Twenty minutes later I saw him walk out with a huge grin and a thumbs up. We clinched it. Something shifted that day—a glimmer of hope, of possibility.
We celebrated with a little ice cream. Because even in our simplest joys—food, laughter, companionship—there is meaning.
Tarec told me he yearns for more: a purpose, stability, someone to love, to feel loved by. He dreams of family. He wants a normal life—one where he doesn’t have to fight just to survive.
What struck me most isn’t just his resilience—it’s how close any of us could be to having our own life drastically changed. A few wrong turns, bad timing, missing a support system. We are not so different.
This isn’t just Tarec’s story. It’s a reminder that many walk through life carrying unseen burdens. And sometimes, all someone needs is a friend. Someone who notices, extends kindness, shows up.
If you’re reading this—take a second. Think about the people you see every day, the ones you don’t really see. To be the reason someone says “I got this.” Today. It matters more than you know.