By Maksim Grinbgerg
Building a life in New York from the ground up teaches you things you can’t learn any other way. The long nights, the difficult and sometimes grueling work, the studying done on too little sleep, the constant uncertainty about whether it will all add up to anything — that experience leaves a mark. For me, it left two: a deep empathy for people still in the middle of that struggle, and a conviction that those of us who made it through owe something to those who haven’t yet.
The immigrant journey is, at its core, a story about hope and hard work meeting a place that was, at least sometimes, willing to give a chance. I never forgot the people and moments that gave me a chance. And I’ve tried to organize my life around being that chance for others — the door that opens, the hand that’s extended, the person who says I’ve been where you are, and you can make it too.
That’s why so much of my giving is aimed at people in the thick of it: families struggling financially, newcomers trying to find their footing, anyone burdened by circumstances that aren’t their fault. I recognize myself in them. I know that the difference between making it and not often comes down to whether someone shows up at the right moment.
New York made room for me. The least I can do — the thing I feel genuinely obligated to do — is help make room for the next person. That’s not charity, in my mind. It’s paying back a debt to a city, and a journey, that gave me everything.