Community can be a lot of things. Sometimes it’s your neighborhood. Sometimes it’s the people in your industry who make you want to be better. Sometimes it’s that friend who texts you memes at exactly the right moment. But at its core, community is just this: people who get it, and people who show up.

Earlier this year, a fire tore through our home. It was… a lot. Confusing, terrifying, and surreal. The good news: no one got hurt. The news that I didn’t think I needed until I did: a very intuitive firefighter asked if I wanted to sit in the fire truck. And you know what? Little Kid Me lost his mind with excitement. It was exactly the distraction I didn’t know I needed while my adult self was shaking like a leaf in the driveway.

We didn’t lose everything, but we did lose the safety of home. And I am endlessly grateful to the 31 firefighters who put the blaze out. They worked like a well-oiled machine, sketching floor plans, calling out directions over radios, moving like they’d rehearsed for this exact house. It was a masterclass in communication I would have appreciated more if our garage hadn’t been raining water in my woodworking shop from the hoses.

Stuff is replaceable. Sentimental things aren’t. But nothing prepared me for the 7 a.m. knock the very next morning from fire mitigation companies “here to help.” You know what’s not helpful? Branded hats and sales pitches before the smoke’s cleared. These guys rolled up with gloves, masks, and business cards, but not a shred of empathy. My favorite part? They wanted us to make decisions right now. Buddy, the fire’s been out for eight hours. We haven’t even had breakfast.

While the embers were still smoldering, our neighbor, being the rockstar she is, started a GoFundMe for us, and she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Sarah and I were hesitant. Asking for help felt huge and awkward.

Meanwhile, Rachel and I were in the middle of recording Cheers & Tiers, reconnecting with AIGA design leaders we hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. I didn’t realize how much I needed those conversations until we were having them. Even though I kept the fire situation quiet, those connections gave me air when everything else felt smoke-filled.

And look, my story isn’t the biggest tragedy. This year, a fire in Los Angeles completely destroyed the homes of some of our AIGA members. But here’s the truth: GoFundMe works. Low effort for you, high impact for the people you care about. No one can magic away loss, but a little financial help can make standing up again a hell of a lot easier.

We’re still navigating insurance fine print and the slow, frustrating crawl of rebuilding (more “hurry up and wait” than actual progress, and if anyone has an “in” to the King County Permitting office, please contact me). And through it all, the AIGA community has been there, even after years apart. People who barely knew me, people who hadn’t seen me in a decade, they showed up.

I don’t have the right words to explain how much that means. So here’s what I’ll say:

Thank you, AIGA. For proving, yet again, that community isn’t just a nice idea. It’s real, it matters, and when it works the way it should, it can pull you through things you never thought you’d face.

Written by Erik Cargill, cohost of the Cheers & Tiers podcast.