Generosity

I am beginning to feel myself closing down.  I’m not introducing myself to new guests anymore.  I have stopped trying to get to know residents I have not already met.  And this morning during my kitchen clean-up shift, I felt annoyed by a pair on private retreat who kept interrupting with requests for snacks they could take on a hike.  The high of new bonds and meeting challenges is fading into a deeper layer of living in community – the tedium of routine tasks and the inability to escape from people and situations that feel draining.  I am beginning to feel squeezed by constant demands on my time and attention that leave little space for me to sink into much of anything for nourishment.  For the first time since arriving, I am feeling asked to give what I am unable or unwilling to give.  And in times like these, an old story about myself surfaces: I am selfish.  I manipulate situations to my advantage from a belief in scarcity.  I do not deserve generosity from others, and I cannot reciprocate their kindness.  Others will eventually see that I am insincere and ostracize me.

During my first week here, one intern was very appreciative of me, admiring me for being hilarious, for being “emotionally detached, but available”, and for having a rare ability to understand her and the way her mind worked.  She was also on retreat to seek solace from the turmoil of being an entrepreneur, raising four children, and managing an alcoholic husband.  My ability to understand her situation from my own experience with addiction and co-dependency was precisely what made me feel cautious about her flattery.  I did not want to be on-call for her needs, I did not want to be the one mirroring her gifts, and I did not want to be the one she would turn on when the force of her gratitude turned into the force of her resentment.  I listened as best I could and took breaks when I needed, and I gradually saw her reaching out to others instead.  I felt a divide grow between myself and the other interns, especially after I moved into my own room.  They sought each other’s company and comfort, and although I did not regret my choice to step back from the jokes and conversation topics they shared, I felt the sadness of being outside a tribe that had once filled me with energy.  And I began to wonder why this story always seems to play out when I am in a group.

I have always admired people who are widely loved for being giving – for knowing the perfect thing to say when someone is in distress, for being able to give someone who is sick exactly what they need to feel better, for arranging a perfect gift or perfect celebration for someone’s birthday or wedding, for being able to graciously hold space for hours for someone’s rage or grief.  I have friends who do this brilliantly, and I am in awe of how they intuitively seem to know what is needed.  And it is sadly a source of shame for me that I do not have this gift, and that I feel I am somehow less human for it.  All the things my friends love about me – my wit, my insights, my enthusiasm, my eagerness to share gratitude, my transparency – do not begin in my mind to make up for my lack of generosity.  I believe this deficit is why my marriage failed, why my circle of friends is always shifting, and why I have trouble sticking with a job for long.  If I could be selfless, I could have more continuity in my relationships and homes, and a deeper sense of security, peace, and fulfillment.  My inherent inability to know what others need and provide it destines me to a life of perpetual drifting despite my deep need for community and connection.

Ironically, my belief that I am inherently relationally flawed has made me vulnerable to compromising attachments.  Because I do not believe I am deserving of generosity from those who expect nothing in return, and at a deeper level I question whether unconditional giving is even possible, I have been easy enthralled by those who unconsciously give with ulterior motives.  This insincere abundance of generosity makes proclamations of love before it really knows the object it adores.  It gives intimate assistance without trust and safety being established, such as offering an airport pick-up to someone you’ve recently broken up with, delivering a special mix of herbs to someone you’ve just met in a public place, or listening to the details of someone’s story of grief on a first date.  It feels so good to be filled and adored, but because the generosity is given from a fragile place of need, it is always accompanied by inconsistencies – being fully present one moment and fully distant another, giving on one’s own terms, and giving to impress or inspire others to love or value us.  I know this sort of giving because it is in me too.  It is a form of social currency that is undoubtedly useful, and can draw others to us, but does not provide the nourishment of generosity in its purest sense.

Something about living in a community of people committed to their own spiritual development, and being able to intimately observe them, is beginning to shift my beliefs about myself.  I have seen each person give in their own way and be embraced by the community with a unique appreciation.  There are those who tell incredibly vibrant and inspiring stories from sacred texts, those who cook amazing meals, those who are soft and gentle, those who are always ready to dance and celebrate, those who articulate inefficiencies and challenge the routine, those who divert conflict, those who are tireless and reliable workers.  Those who are sought out by others for the pleasure of their company stand out, because they are in the minority.  And they are by no means the only ones who are valued.  I also recognize this diversity in the support I have received for my journey.  Some friends have given me cash, some have given advice, some helped me move my things, some gifted items for my trip, some helped me sell furniture, some have read and responded to every blog post, some have taken me out to dinner and offered me a place to stay, some listen to my dreams and worries patiently.  And all of them, every single one of them, means the world to me.

What I am coming to suspect is that generosity is not something that we are – something we can plan out, achieve, and then fully, blissfully inhabit – but something that is born of a moment’s impulse based on what we notice in the world around us and how our hearts are moved to express our unique gifts.  Generosity in its purest form is a brimming over of the abundance already in us.  It is our unique, organic action inspired by an attitude of willingness and a belief that “I am that” – that our thoughts, feelings, words, actions, lives and communities are as inextricably entangled as the roots of an old growth forest, rich with a seemingly endless array of life forms each replenishing something vital so that all can thrive.  Recognizing this is exactly how we are nourished by our own generosity.  We are not isolated particles negotiating our own survival.  We are not vulnerable when we miss opportunities that we simply don’t see, or fail to give something that isn’t in us.  Only when we withhold or constrict what is organically pouring from us do we experience the chill of isolation, doubt, and meaninglessness.

In my short time here, I have distanced myself from some people in need because of their behavior, I have passed on some enriching group activities, I have judged and criticized others, I have taken short-cuts, I have complained, and I have walked passed an injured bird without stopping to help.  I have also shared my secret stash of fruit and chicken, I have withheld the urge to judge and criticize in favor of prayer and reflection on my need to control, I have stayed up late to finish my tasks, I have opted for activities I did not enjoy in order to support the group, I have listened to others when I was tired, I have expressed gratitude, and I have compromised with those who were agitated.  I am no more or less human than anyone else here, no more or less worthy of love and belonging.  I am simply different.  And perhaps accepting the way I uniquely serve the world is a far better use of my effort than trying to figure out how to emulate those I believe are more lovable than me.

The intern I judged myself for neglecting left us with a grounded radiance I would not have imagined in her when she arrived two weeks prior.  She received what she needed during her time here, and her gratitude for each of us was based on what we had each uniquely provided her.  It is only my pride, my insecurity, my envy, that wishes I could have given her something different.  Things unfolded for us all exactly as they needed to and we all received a personal sort of insight and healing.  And isn’t that a thing to celebrate?

Nancy

Trust that what you have to give has value. Trust that you will be shown when and how to give it.  And be ready for the moment when it arises, for that impulse plays a vital role in a vast network far more intricate and beautiful than we could ever consciously create.