Random Generosity

This month, having talked a lot about “being the change we want to see in the world,” our local Network of Spiritual Progressives group decided to try that out with a little holiday project in random generosity. We agreed that we would each buy a few gift certificates in small amounts to local, community-oriented coffee or tea shops and then give those away to random strangers in nearby shopping areas along with a letter urging recipients to give themselves half an hour to drink a cup of free coffee and think about how to make their holiday celebrations reflect their deepest values. The idea was that we would 1) call into question the assumption that there is no such thing as no-strings-attached generosity among strangers; 2) encourage recipients to consult their own inner compasses about how they spend the holiday season, hopefully reducing the collective stress level and calling into question the emphasis on consumption; 3) support local independent businesses that give back to the community; and 4) introduce our perspective into the public sphere. In practice, I found that the project had at least one other unintended effect: it melted some of my own unrecognized cynicism about the possibilities of generosity.

            This past weekend, I dutifully bought ten $3 gift certificates at Brewberrys, an independent coffee shop very involved in the neighborhood in which I live, and off I went to Barnes and Noble, letters in hand. My first realization as I walked around was how hard it was to approach a stranger and speak to him or her, even to give a gift. I imagined that breaking the polite Minnesotan Code of Mutual Avoidance (COMA) was much like an ice-fisher breaking through the thick ice on a northern lake this time of year. Suddenly I was aware of all of the things someone might think when I gave him or her the gift certificate: that I was doing a subtle marketing campaign for Brewberrys, that a condo salesperson would ambush them at the coffee shop, that the NSP was some sort of wacko cult worshipping coffee….After about half an hour of tracking various unsuspecting customers through the store, though, I realized I was going to have to make my move. I zeroed in on a young couple drinking Starbucks as they shopped. “I see that you are coffee drinkers,” I said, sounding even more like a marketing rep than I’d feared. “Would you like a couple of free coffees?”

            “You’re kidding!” they cried in obvious glee.

            Well, that was easier than I thought.

            Not once did I get a negative response. Not once did someone look at me as if I were a lunatic. There were several more “You’re kidding!”s; one long conversation about what the NSP was doing with a schoolteacher who, it turned out, had seen one of our flyers; one “This is the nicest thing I’ve ever heard of!”; and several more big smiles. And now I’m hooked. Tonight I’m going to another local coffee shop to get a few more gift certificates.

            The whole experience reminded me of the first time I went door-knocking in Des Moines, Iowa, during Dennis Kucinich’s presidential campaign. Everyone on our little door-knocking team thought we would surely die from the anxiety of interrupting people at home in the middle of the weekend, but we were all delighted with the reception we received and especially the number of people who were willing to invite us into their homes.

            My take-away point from both of these experiences is that people are, in general, much more eager for connection than we typically think, once one breaks through the habitual, self-protective sense of privacy we all wear around ourselves like cloaks.

            People are also eager to express their own generosity. The outpouring of support after this fall’s hurricanes is just one recent example. The problem is that there is some kind of taboo around reaching out to people, the same taboo I felt so keenly as I walked around Barnes and Noble. Why does it take a cataclysmic event such as a natural disaster to give us permission to take care of each other? What would it take to eliminate the taboo?

            Here’s a final story that illustrates the generosity latent in the communities around us. In my hometown in Ohio, a woman was gardening this summer when she heard small mewling sounds from under a bush nearby. Upon investigation, she found a stray cat who had been shot through the back of the head with an arrow but was, miraculously, still alive. Wrapping the cat in a towel, she and her kids took the animal to the vet, who told the family that the cat could be saved but would need to be air-lifted to a clinic in Cleveland for intensive emergency treatment that would cost several thousand dollars. This particular family was short on money as it was, as one of the kids had just been through chemotherapy for cancer. Their own medical bills were still pouring in, but they couldn’t in good conscience let the cat die, so they put the veterinary bills on a credit card. When the local newspaper ran a story about this family’s humanitarian act, the money started pouring in from donors all over the region until the family was able not only to pay off the vet bill but also all of their daughter’s medical bills, as well.

            Generosity is possible. It is not irrational, except insofar that we are led to believe that everyone else acts only from self-interest. In this so-called season of giving, what will you do to spread belief in the possibility of generosity?