“The greatness of a calling lies, perhaps above all, in bringing people together.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Terre des hommes (1939)

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Before attending the HRC Las Vegas Gala, I posted a simple question through West Valley Pulse:

Who will I meet?

It felt like the natural thing to ask before walking into a ballroom filled with community leaders, advocates, businesspeople, volunteers, performers, and people whose names I did not yet know.

But by the end of the evening, I realized it was not quite the right question.

The real question was this:

What happens when that many people, each carrying a different story, gather in one room and decide to create joy together?

The answer could be felt everywhere at the 2026 HRC Las Vegas Gala at Durango Casino & Resort on Saturday night.

This year’s theme was Community = Power, but another message also moved through the evening: we do not have to wait for joy. We can create it together.

Those ideas could have remained words on a screen. Instead, they became the air in the room.

Joy was in the clothing, the laughter, the embraces, and the easy conversations between people who had never met before that night. It was applause for those who stood at the microphone. It was also in the work of people most of us never saw at all.

It was celebration with a purpose.

The People Behind the Evening

A gala can look effortless once the lights are on, the tables are set, and the room begins to fill.

But nothing about that night simply happened.

Long before the first guest arrived, people were raising money, finding sponsors, coordinating volunteers, planning the program, arranging the room, managing production, and making hundreds of decisions that would never appear in a photograph.

Special recognition belongs to Benjamin Burns, Brian Martin, Latoya Holman, and Mark Sundermeier for their leadership in bringing the gala to life.

Alongside the Equality Host Committee, HRC Las Vegas Steering Committee, volunteers, sponsors, community partners, hospitality teams, and production crews, they helped turn months of work into one remarkable evening.

Together, they built more than a formal dinner. They created a place where people could feel connected to something larger than themselves.

The beauty of the evening was not found in one person, one speech, or one moment. It came from everyone.

It came from the leaders who have devoted years to this work, the volunteers who gave their time, the people serving dinner and pouring drinks, the guests filling the tables, and those who walked into the room wondering whether there would be a place for them.

There was.

Every person brought something into that ballroom. A story. A hope. A history. A reason for showing up.

Together, they made the evening whole.

West Valley Pulse pays attention to the people behind an experience. In restaurants, neighborhood businesses, nonprofits, and community gatherings, the visible moment usually rests on an enormous amount of work happening quietly in the background.

Saturday night was no exception.

Community = Power

At the heart of the gala was the collective recognition of eight organizations whose advocacy, compassion, and service have strengthened LGBTQ+ life throughout Nevada:

Abundant Peace United Church of Christ; Aid for AIDS of Nevada, known as AFAN; the Gavin J. Goorjian Community Health Center; Golden Rainbow; Las Vegas PRIDE; Silver State Equality; the Sin Sity Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence; and The LGBTQ+ Center of Southern Nevada.

They were not honored one at a time.

They stood together.

That choice gave the theme its meaning.

Community = Power was not simply about the number of people in the ballroom. It was about what becomes possible when organizations, volunteers, leaders, workers, and neighbors recognize that their efforts belong to something shared.

More Than the Names in the Room

I had the honor of meeting remarkable people, including Kelley Robinson, President of the Human Rights Campaign, along with leaders, advocates, organizers, and professionals from Las Vegas and beyond.

I also met people whose names I was hearing for the first time.

Her name was Eve.

When I raised my camera, she stepped back.

“It’s your event,” she said. “Not mine.”

But as I looked around that ballroom, that distinction did not feel true. The evening belonged to everyone who helped create it and everyone who came looking for connection.

I told her, “This event is for all of us.”

She stepped into the picture and smiled.

It was a small moment, but it held the meaning of the entire evening. No one had to remain outside the photograph. There was room for everyone.

Behind the bar that night were two more names: Vinny and Jovanny.

While the ballroom toasted and laughed, they kept working. They shook, poured, smiled for a stranger with a camera, and kept the evening moving so the rest of us could feel as though all we had to do was show up.

I do not know their whole story yet. I know their names. I know they were part of what made Saturday night feel like joy instead of simply another event.

Kelley Robinson’s name will be remembered, and it should be.

So should Eve’s.

So should Vinny’s and Jovanny’s.

A community is not one name at a podium. It is every name in the room.

What an Observer Can See

I attended the gala as the founder of West Valley Pulse, but also as I naturally move through the world: as an observer.

I was not there to place myself at the center of the evening. I was there to pay attention.

The mission of West Valley Pulse is to look closely at our community and notice the people whose work can easily pass unseen.

In that room, I saw a network of people lifting one another up. Leaders listened. Volunteers welcomed strangers. People who had only just met laughed as though they had known one another much longer.

For one evening, hundreds of individual stories became part of something shared.

What I noticed was not who had the most impressive title. It was how many kinds of people it takes to hold a community together.

The person speaking from the stage matters.

So does the volunteer check all the names and faces at the door.

The person bringing national leadership and experience matters.

So does the local organizer who sends one more email, makes one more call, fills one more table, welcomes one stranger with one arms and a smile, and shows up again the next morning to keep going over again!

Visible leadership and quiet persistence came together in that ballroom. So did old friendships and new introductions, extraordinary accomplishments and untold possibilities.

The room was full of somebodies.

Not because everyone was famous. Not because every name appeared in the program.

They were somebodies because each person had lived a life before arriving, carried something through the doors, and added something to the evening that no one else could have brought in quite the same way.

For me, the night carried something personal, too.

After more than 25 years building a business and a life in Seattle, I am beginning again in Las Vegas.

Starting West Valley Pulse means walking into unfamiliar rooms, introducing myself, listening carefully, and learning who is shaping this city.

That can be uncomfortable. It can feel lonely to begin again in a new place.

But when I walked out of the Durango Casino ballroom on Saturday night, I did not feel like a stranger anymore.

I felt like I was exactly where I belonged, surrounded by a community that understood what Saint-Exupéry meant:

The true greatness of a calling lies in bringing people together.

After 40 years in business, sales, and operations, I recently noticed something about myself that genuinely startled me.

A young man came by the house to help us prepare a few things before we eventually put our Seattle home on the market.

As he was leaving, he reached out to shake my hand and thanked me for allowing him into our home.

I shook his hand.

But afterward, I realized something.

I never actually looked him in the eye.

That stunned me. And it made me stop and wonder:

How long have I been doing that?

Here was a young man doing his job well, and somewhere along the way, I had allowed the rush of operations, pressure, deadlines, screens, constant problem-solving, and years of carrying responsibility to quietly override simple human presence.

That realization stayed with me longer than I expected.

For most of my career, I worked in businesses where every interaction carried weight. Property management, real estate, operations, compliance, customer complaints, fair housing requirements, online reviews, and the constant pressure of getting things right.

If you ran a brokerage for over 25 years, constantly navigating the threat of lawsuits, fair housing complaints, staffing issues, liabilities, customer expectations, and public scrutiny, those habits don’t disappear because you change your business card.

The habits stay with you.

The vigilance stays with you.

The professional armor stays with you.

And sometimes you don’t realize how much of that armor you’re still carrying until an ordinary moment makes you stop and ask yourself a question:

How long have I been doing that?

Not because I’m unfriendly.

Not because I don’t care about people.

But because I think many of us slowly become more guarded than we realize.

More distracted.

Less present.

The truth is, presence matters.

In business, people may respect intelligence.

But they remember warmth.

They remember calm energy.

They remember eye contact.

They remember whether they felt acknowledged.

What struck me later was that the young man and I were carrying very different things into that handshake.

He carried the openness and confidence of someone still building his path.

I carried decades of experience, responsibility, and habits formed under pressure.

Neither is better than the other.

In some ways, that’s why we need both.

The young remind us how to stay open.

The old remind us what experience has taught.

And somewhere in the middle, if we’re paying attention, we help each other become a little more human.

As I prepare for this next chapter of life, the move to Las Vegas, and the launch of West Valley Pulse, I’ve realized this journey may involve rebuilding parts of myself too.

Not rebuilding from weakness.

Rebuilding from awareness.

For years I’ve noticed how differently people acknowledge one another in different places. Whether it’s culture, pace, stress, or simply habit, many of us move through our days with a kind of invisible armor. We protect ourselves from disappointment, criticism, conflict, and the constant demands of modern life.

The armor serves a purpose.

Until one day it becomes so familiar that you no longer realize you’re wearing it.

So I’ve started practicing a few small recalibrations.

Nothing dramatic.

Just simple reminders to fully show up again.

When I shake someone’s hand, I try to notice their eye color.

I hold eye contact for a slow count of one… two… three.

Small things.

But small things change presence.

And presence changes connection.

I think many of us are relearning how to reconnect after years of distance, stress, remote work, screens, and operating at full speed.

Maybe the smartest person in the room is not always the one people remember.

Maybe they remember the person who made them feel fully seen for thirty seconds.

Maybe the question isn’t whether we wear armor.

Maybe the question is how much of it we’ve stopped noticing.

Because the habits we build to survive pressure have a way of becoming invisible.

And sometimes it takes an ordinary moment, a handshake, a conversation, or a passing observation to remind us that we’re still carrying them.

That feels worth relearning.

And honestly, I think that relearning may become part of West Valley Pulse too.

Not just understanding businesses.

Understanding the people inside them.