I went into my neighborhood Ralph’s yesterday to pick up a few basics—nothing major, just some odds and ends. But the moment I walked in, I stopped dead in my tracks.

 

Beer. Mountains of it.

Not just a few endcaps of Bud Light. I’m talking about massive stacks—seven feet tall, six feet long, four feet wide. And not just one or two. These stacks were everywhere.

They weren’t confined to the beer aisle. They were planted in nearly every aisle of the store. I counted three in Aisle 4. Another three in Aisle 6. They flanked the main entrances and boxed in the checkout lanes. It was like walking into a warehouse designed by a frat-house architect.

I was stunned.

And then it hit me: Coachella.

Of course.

Over the next three weekends, more than a quarter of a million people will flood into the Coachella Valley—armed with tickets, tents, and high expectations. And my little grocery store? It’s not just preparing. It’s bracing for impact.

Still, I had never seen this much beer in my life.

My curiosity got the best of me. On my way out, I popped my head into the manager’s office.

“Bob,” I said, “What is going on? This has to be for the Coachella Music Festival, right? But tell me—how much beer did you actually bring in for this?”

He looked up, deadpan.

“Eight hundred thousand dollars’ worth.”

I blinked. “You have to be kidding me.”

He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve been doing this for ten years. I know exactly how much to bring in. And we’ll sell every last case over the next three weekends.”

I walked out shaking my head—equal parts stunned, amused, and—if I’m being honest—a little conflicted.

Coachella: A Miracle and a Machine

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-fun. Festivals like Coachella matter. They give people a break from the grind, a chance to lose themselves in music, dance, community, and self-expression. And the ripple effect on the local economy is real—hotels fill up, restaurants boom, Uber drivers thrive, and yes, grocery stores move serious beer.

But as I stood there thinking about that $800,000 figure, something inside me twisted a little.

Because $800,000 also happens to be half the annual budget of a foundation I started twenty years ago—the Edge Foundation. We work with young people who struggle with executive function challenges—students who are bright and capable but who, without the right support, often fall through the cracks.

Every year, we fight to raise that budget. We stretch every dollar. We fund coaches, develop programs, and train professionals. And then, on an ordinary Tuesday, I walk into Ralph’s and see that same amount of money—in beer—for one store, in one town, over three weekends.

The Jarring Disconnect

I’m not here to judge. People want to have fun. I get it. But the contrast felt… jarring. A tidal wave of alcohol in a place where, in quieter corners, there are kids whose potential is hanging by a thread.

Maybe I see the world differently at 80 than I did at 40. Maybe I’ve just seen too many kids who needed someone—someone to coach them, believe in them, fight for them.

And maybe it’s hard to ignore that reality—even in the middle of a desert party.

Walking the Aisles

There’s something surreal about walking through a grocery store and realizing that—for three weekends—beer will outsell hope, at least in dollar terms, by a 2-to-1 margin.

But here’s the thing: I’m not giving up on hope. If anything, I’m doubling down.

Because if one grocery store in one town can move $800,000 worth of beer in 21 days, then surely we can muster that same kind of passion, urgency, and coordination for the kids who need us most.

The students on the margins. The ones trying to get a foothold. The ones who just need someone in their corner.

So yes, I’ll smile at the crowds. I may even catch a set or two. But I’ll also keep walking the quieter aisles, doing the work that matters most to me.

Because beer flows for a weekend.
But belief? That lasts a lifetime.

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