Every once in a while, there are nights that remind you why we do this work. Nights where philanthropy doesn’t feel like a word or an industry, but something alive in the room, something electric. That’s exactly what happened when I had the chance to spend an evening with the Canucks Autism Network, surrounded by youth, families, and volunteers who came together to celebrate inclusion, awareness, and community. None of us expected just how unforgettable it would become.

From the moment families arrived, you could feel the anticipation. Parents juggling schedules and routines, kids buzzing with excitement, volunteers smiling as they guided people in—it was an atmosphere of belonging. For many of these families, nights like this don’t happen often. Autism can make the world feel complicated, even isolating. But in that room, it felt like everyone was seen, everyone was valued, and everyone had permission to simply be themselves.

And then came the surprise. Carey Price walked in with his family. The reaction was instant—gasps, cheers, wide-eyed kids pulling on their parents’ sleeves to make sure they weren’t dreaming. Carey Price, the Montreal Canadiens legend, wasn’t there as a celebrity passing through for a photo op. He came as a father, a husband, and a human being who wanted to stand alongside families living with autism. His presence brought the night to another level. Suddenly, kids who had posters of him on their walls were shaking his hand, getting high-fives, and realizing their hero cared about them. Parents cried. Volunteers smiled through tears. It was one of those rare moments when the gap between “star” and “community” disappeared completely.

What struck me most was the humility. Carey wasn’t performing; he was present. His family joined in, making it clear that this wasn’t just his appearance, but something they believed in together. That authenticity resonated with everyone in the room. The energy shifted from surprise to pure joy. Laughter echoed, conversations sparked, and kids carried themselves a little taller. For families who often feel invisible, the message was clear: you matter.

For me, the night was a masterclass in what philanthropy should look like. Awareness wasn’t raised through speeches or statistics—it was raised through shared experience. Inclusion didn’t happen because of programming alone; it happened because people came together and believed in one another. And the “impact” wasn’t measured in dollars that night, but in smiles, hugs, and moments of connection that no one there will forget.

This is why I believe so deeply in experiential philanthropy. If you had been in that room, you would have understood instantly why giving matters. You would have seen it, touched it, and felt it. You would have walked away changed, just like I did. These moments are powerful because they don’t just change the beneficiaries—they change us, the givers, too.

As I reflect back on that night, I think about how generosity multiplies when it’s shared. The Canucks Autism Network created the platform, Carey and his family brought their authenticity, and the community showed up with open hearts. Together, they created something unforgettable. That’s the essence of philanthropy—not just raising awareness, but elevating lives through genuine connection.

I left that night inspired, grateful, and reminded once again that when we step into spaces like this, we don’t just witness generosity—we experience it. And once you’ve experienced it, you can’t help but want to create it again and again.