This time of year magnifies life’s game of give and take.
Some people give too much and become very tired. Some give only to stroke their egos or maintain some status. Some give because they want to make a difference based on their values. Some give just to help. Some tell others to give and take credit.
Some just take, and they wonder why they never feel full.
I try to give the right way in a world full of need. I try to donate time and resources as I think it will make a difference. I hope that I make a difference in my smaller circles—to students, friends, family, and maybe even a reader or two—by sharing what has helped me or by reminding them how capable they are.
But at the same time, I understand that intention does not always equal outcome. And I am also conscious of how much I get when I give. Teaching feeds my soul, for instance. It is an honor to be there for someone or get a kind note about a story I wrote. It feels good to share knowledge, resources, or time—whatever I have to give at the time. But to give wisely means to listen to those we give to and what they want or need. Not what we think they need.
True giving must come from a place of steadiness.
It’s tempting to give conditionally. Most of us have heard the argument, for instance, that goes something along the lines of “That man will just drink up any money I give him, so why bother?” Well, to my mind, that’s none of the giver’s business or concern.
We can give without expectation or condition. And if the best way we know how to give is a few dollars to a man we see on the street, we’d be better off giving it without judgment and wishing the recipient well. We can give and hope that our efforts make a positive difference. But that’s all we can truly do.
That said, we should only give when we have. To give until you are exhausted (circling back) is to incapacitate yourself from giving genuinely and fully.**
One of my brilliant alum came back to lecture my current class and reminded the students (and me) that while we need to “fill our cup,” we also need to be careful when it overflows. That overflow is an imbalance the same way a lack of something is.
We can have too much work, too many opportunities, too many responsibilities, and, on the other hand, too much time. We can have too many people to keep up with in our lives or too much success. We can even—dare I say it, Bezos? Musk?—have too much money.
All of it can be uncomfortable and heavy. Lack and overflow are perilous in different ways. One hurts the body, the other hurts the soul.
I write all this because I am grateful this time of year, and the quiet space the holidays allow often reminds me to assess how I give. But to give, truly give, is without condition, and without draining myself.*** But doing so without context or the right kind of listening (giving what people need or want, not what you think they should need or want) can be a bit of a dance.
But when we dance . . . when we engage in that heart-centered balancing act of giving and receiving, we can find something pretty damn close to true fulfillment.
This holiday, I am giving time I’d otherwise dedicate to work. I’m giving attention and those things I hope others will benefit from. I’m giving all I can give without losing myself.
That’s the goal anyway. To you, I give thanks. For reading, for being here, for your attention and grace.
Happy Thanksgiving, Friends!
**Here’s a site full of ideas for giving in small ways when you already feel overwhelmed.
***A holiday gift for paid subscribers (fill your cup).
someone sits down and lifts his head to talk. he describes his sadness arising from the recent death of his brother. you listen and affirm the importance of loss, the intrinsic importance of being connected and the long road of memory and joy and sadness associated with a relationship. and then, later, when you part and go your separate ways you drive your car to a gas station. one person purchasing gasoline is standing very still, quiet and without expression. you watch this person and think of how he stands, puts his hands in his pockets, gazes absently. you watch and construct a story, a sketch, a tiny frail model of this person's life. you look directly at this man with a car, getting gas, and you make an effort to send a shred of that model out into the space between you. you offer it up for his consideration, and then you leave. efforts to connect are fragile gifts. we try. we humans really do try.
I like when the paradigm of giving grows into one of sharing, all parties touch in the equation. To take time to learn the need is an introductory step. Many have taught us, “Reach out your hand, if your cup be empty, if your cup is full, may it be again...” (Hunter/Garcia).