[Originally published on Facebook July 3, 2020]

The Shadows of My Philanthropy

I’ve been giving a lot more money away lately. Because I can. Because it feels like the need right now is so massive. Because I realize I’ve been holding onto more than I need, out of anxiety and a feeling of scarcity that isn’t based in reality.

And, I’ve noticed some challenging feelings that come up for me when I give money, whether it’s a few dollars to someone on the street, or thousands of dollars to an organization. I think someone out there might relate?

I used to donate money out of guilt as much as care. As if by giving money away, I could absolve myself of the crime of privilege. I realize now that I have committed no crime. I am not at fault for my privilege, any more than others are at fault for their lack of privilege. I now take responsibility for my privilege, but not blame. These days, I give money just because I want to lessen the suffering of other human beings.

But once I make that decision, my ego inevitably shows up to the party. She wants to be recognized for doing the good deed. “See how kind and generous I am? Pleeeeeease give me attention and love for doing this marvelous thing!” I get why people want buildings named after them for donating their millions.

And, I’ve learned to acknowledge that little girl who wants to be seen as good enough to be loved. Then I gently tell her that’s not why we’re here today. She’s a little sad about the missed opportunity, but she goes back to playing quietly in her corner of my heart.

. . .

There’s an aftertaste of sadness when I donate money, because inherent in my act of giving is an acknowledgment of the unfairness of the world. I have power I shouldn’t have, because we live in a world where the wealth gap is so great that we need to rely on the random kindness and ego of the unnecessarily wealthy to take care of basic human needs. And it doesn’t even work.

We should live in a world where charity isn’t necessary, and I feel sad that our systems are so careless of human beings. I also feel sad that my contribution will never be “enough.”

. . .

I also feel a shallow pit of fear and disgust in my stomach, particularly when it’s a one-on-one interaction with someone on the street. I give to establish some connection — “I see you, I feel your need, I’m sorry, I want to help.” But as I reach for my wallet and hand over the bills, the power differential becomes a gulf that seems to spread as my hand reaches out. I fear outing myself as someone with privilege (as if they couldn’t already tell). I feel disgusted that I am part of such a flawed system that cares so little for its humans. The obvious power imbalance is slap-in-my-face evidence of how disconnected we all are from each other.

. . .

I want to name these emotions for myself, so that I can be honest about why I do things and make sure I’m being the Me I want to be.

And, I wonder if other people feel these shadows so much that it keeps them from giving, or giving in a way that brings them joy?

[To end on a positive note, I feel really good about my choices — helping to keep artists and medicine healers afloat in the Bay Area, and training Black psychedelic healers, among other smaller contributions.]

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