On my way to Dreamforce this year, I hitchhiked 1,000 miles in a painted caravan full of people with jackets that read “Bandit Tour.” The running joke was that anytime strangers in the towns we passed through asked if we were a band, we said yes and made up a place we were playing that night.
There was a lot of laughing. But there was also a lot of holding back tears. As part of the tour, we volunteered for nonprofits and did everything from stuff backpacks full of clothing for foster kids to rip out clumps of invasive scrub grass from the beaches of California’s Humboldt county.
I can’t recall feeling so touched. Or so shaken to my core by acts of raw human kindness.