Money again / Keeping things simple
Something happened tonight that left me feeling really angry and conflicted, and that was that at a meeting of the board of directors I'm on I was shanghai'ed into making a donation of several hundred dollars I was (am) not prepared to give. A new board member, excited over the opportunity to make a favorable first impression, I suppose, started by very ostentatiously offering $400 toward the replacement of a crucial piece of equipment that has unexpectedly gone kaput. Then she challenged everyone else at the meeting to give a similar amount. And then, just so nobody could fail to follow through, she got out a piece of paper and sent it around the table with the instruction that everyone should sign their name and the amount they were committed to give.
I'm guessing I wasn't the only person at the table who was taken aback by her approach (there was an uncomfortably long pause before people started ponying up). But I'm pretty sure I was the only person there who makes less than a hundred grand a year, and I know for a fact that at least a few of them have considerably more than that. In the house we were meeting in, as an example, the living room alone is larger than our entire house. The guest cottage at the back of the property is also larger than our whole house. And this isn't even their main place—it's just their weekend Wine Country getaway. Most of the time they live in an even bigger house in the city.
All of which I'm sure is very nice for them, and why shouldn't people enjoy the beautiful things in life if they're lucky enough to have access to them? (For the record, the very gracious and generous person whose house we met at is not the one who made this challenge.) But I don't like being bullied into forking over the equivalent of several days' pay I had not planned on losing. And I think it was incredibly uncool of her to put everyone on the spot like that. Why didn't I say anything about that? Simple: because I felt like to call her on it in front of everyone, at her very first meeting no less, would have been even more rude than what she'd just done. So I silently seethed as the paper made its way around the table, then—seeing that everyone else had written the requested amount—stayed true to myself (and the realities of my bank account) by writing next to my name an amount that I felt comfortable with. If everyone thinks I'm stingy and cheap, too bad. I've already way overspent this month.
The whole thing made me want to burst into tears, run away and hide, or send a huffy, enigmatic letter of resignation: "It's obvious to me that my contributions of time, energy and professional expertise are not valued by this board as much as the size of my checking account. Therefore, screw you! I quit! So there! Et cetera!" But the whole reason I've stayed on as long as I have is because I want there to be at least someone making decisions for this organization who isn't so blinded by their own good fortune that they can no longer comprehend what it's like for a normal person to try to live around here. I stayed because I want to advocate for the common person... and then the moment a situation arises in which I could actually say something, I get so flustered and offended that I don't say anything at all.
Why do I always feel like I need to know exactly what I'm going to say and how I'm going to defend my position, before I ever open my mouth? Why am I so afraid people are going to disapprove of me? What do I care what they think? Why didn't I say, "Y'know, what you've just done is a great example of the kind of experience I think a lot of people have when they come to our organization. They like what we're doing and they want to contribute and participate, but we are continually giving out the message that unless they have a lot of money, they're not really wanted here."
I can think of a million things I could have said. But then I think of a million things they could have said ("So if you're so unwilling to be hit up for money yourself, what are you doing on a board whose sole function is supposed to be fundraising?"—a good question I'm still trying to answer for myself), and pretty soon I've argued myself back into silence. Because I really don't want to get into it with these people. I mean, suppose I had come right out and said, "I'd love to help but I don't have that much cash to spare right now, and I resent being publicly pressured into giving money I can't afford to give." First, even if I'd left out the second part (which is true but maybe not necessary to say) it would've made every single person at that table feel instantly uncomfortable. Second, it would've made me feel even more marginalized than I already do, and not just for that one meeting. Third, it would have turned a simple funding request (an awkwardly presented one, but still only a request) into an Issue.
The thing is, it IS an issue. For me, it's a huge issue. Money. I'm not comfortable with it. It's never been important to me to have a lot of it, and until moving here I'd never been around so many people who make it the center of their existence. I'm losing all sense of proportion. What's enough? What's too much? I spent most of the weekend bemoaning my over-abundance of possessions—wanting to throw away everything that doesn't fit in my bike bag, and ride away with everything I own strapped onto my back—and then I go to this meeting tonight and leave feeling more impoverished than the poorest Sudanese refugee. It's ridiculous!
There's no sense of priority. Why am I spending even one minute promoting an arts organization when there are people literally starving in the world? Why is anyone doing anything else, when there are people to be fed and housed and healed?
Life can be so simple. A simple life can be so good—is so good. It stormed all day yesterday and just watching the rain come down through the trees was several hours worth of beautiful. The dogs were staring at me while I was making their dinner tonight, stirring in some leftover soup and melting a little chicken fat in with their warmed-up crunchy kibble, and they were both so happy to have it—wagging their tails and grinning from ear to ear and even yelping a bit in joyous anticipation.
But then even that can get complicated. For instance, why do I keep dogs when there are people who don't have enough to live? Some people believe it's morally wrong to keep animals as pets, just for that very reason.
Well, everyone makes their choices. I keep dogs because I love them, and they love me, and that love helps me keep my heart open to the rest of the world, including humans, who are in some ways harder to love than dogs are.
A few thoughts I want to record for my future self: 1. I'm aware of my own privilege. 2. Sharing is important to me as a way to show that I'm grateful for what I have. 3. I am okay with the fact that money is not the most valuable or abundant thing I have available to share. 4. I'm not ashamed of the way I live, or of the amount of money I make (or don't make, as the case may be). 5. The simplicity of my life is something I'm actually kind of vain about. I work hard to keep my impact low. 6. I did not say anything about the money issue tonight because I was embarrassed and caught off guard, but next time this group is together, in January, I will. Not about my personal irritation over being humiliated tonight, but about the idea that people with limited funds don't feel welcome here. That needs to change.
Also: Maybe I really will resign this year. I need to find something better to do than this.
I'm guessing I wasn't the only person at the table who was taken aback by her approach (there was an uncomfortably long pause before people started ponying up). But I'm pretty sure I was the only person there who makes less than a hundred grand a year, and I know for a fact that at least a few of them have considerably more than that. In the house we were meeting in, as an example, the living room alone is larger than our entire house. The guest cottage at the back of the property is also larger than our whole house. And this isn't even their main place—it's just their weekend Wine Country getaway. Most of the time they live in an even bigger house in the city.
All of which I'm sure is very nice for them, and why shouldn't people enjoy the beautiful things in life if they're lucky enough to have access to them? (For the record, the very gracious and generous person whose house we met at is not the one who made this challenge.) But I don't like being bullied into forking over the equivalent of several days' pay I had not planned on losing. And I think it was incredibly uncool of her to put everyone on the spot like that. Why didn't I say anything about that? Simple: because I felt like to call her on it in front of everyone, at her very first meeting no less, would have been even more rude than what she'd just done. So I silently seethed as the paper made its way around the table, then—seeing that everyone else had written the requested amount—stayed true to myself (and the realities of my bank account) by writing next to my name an amount that I felt comfortable with. If everyone thinks I'm stingy and cheap, too bad. I've already way overspent this month.
The whole thing made me want to burst into tears, run away and hide, or send a huffy, enigmatic letter of resignation: "It's obvious to me that my contributions of time, energy and professional expertise are not valued by this board as much as the size of my checking account. Therefore, screw you! I quit! So there! Et cetera!" But the whole reason I've stayed on as long as I have is because I want there to be at least someone making decisions for this organization who isn't so blinded by their own good fortune that they can no longer comprehend what it's like for a normal person to try to live around here. I stayed because I want to advocate for the common person... and then the moment a situation arises in which I could actually say something, I get so flustered and offended that I don't say anything at all.
Why do I always feel like I need to know exactly what I'm going to say and how I'm going to defend my position, before I ever open my mouth? Why am I so afraid people are going to disapprove of me? What do I care what they think? Why didn't I say, "Y'know, what you've just done is a great example of the kind of experience I think a lot of people have when they come to our organization. They like what we're doing and they want to contribute and participate, but we are continually giving out the message that unless they have a lot of money, they're not really wanted here."
I can think of a million things I could have said. But then I think of a million things they could have said ("So if you're so unwilling to be hit up for money yourself, what are you doing on a board whose sole function is supposed to be fundraising?"—a good question I'm still trying to answer for myself), and pretty soon I've argued myself back into silence. Because I really don't want to get into it with these people. I mean, suppose I had come right out and said, "I'd love to help but I don't have that much cash to spare right now, and I resent being publicly pressured into giving money I can't afford to give." First, even if I'd left out the second part (which is true but maybe not necessary to say) it would've made every single person at that table feel instantly uncomfortable. Second, it would've made me feel even more marginalized than I already do, and not just for that one meeting. Third, it would have turned a simple funding request (an awkwardly presented one, but still only a request) into an Issue.
The thing is, it IS an issue. For me, it's a huge issue. Money. I'm not comfortable with it. It's never been important to me to have a lot of it, and until moving here I'd never been around so many people who make it the center of their existence. I'm losing all sense of proportion. What's enough? What's too much? I spent most of the weekend bemoaning my over-abundance of possessions—wanting to throw away everything that doesn't fit in my bike bag, and ride away with everything I own strapped onto my back—and then I go to this meeting tonight and leave feeling more impoverished than the poorest Sudanese refugee. It's ridiculous!
There's no sense of priority. Why am I spending even one minute promoting an arts organization when there are people literally starving in the world? Why is anyone doing anything else, when there are people to be fed and housed and healed?
Life can be so simple. A simple life can be so good—is so good. It stormed all day yesterday and just watching the rain come down through the trees was several hours worth of beautiful. The dogs were staring at me while I was making their dinner tonight, stirring in some leftover soup and melting a little chicken fat in with their warmed-up crunchy kibble, and they were both so happy to have it—wagging their tails and grinning from ear to ear and even yelping a bit in joyous anticipation.
But then even that can get complicated. For instance, why do I keep dogs when there are people who don't have enough to live? Some people believe it's morally wrong to keep animals as pets, just for that very reason.
Well, everyone makes their choices. I keep dogs because I love them, and they love me, and that love helps me keep my heart open to the rest of the world, including humans, who are in some ways harder to love than dogs are.
A few thoughts I want to record for my future self: 1. I'm aware of my own privilege. 2. Sharing is important to me as a way to show that I'm grateful for what I have. 3. I am okay with the fact that money is not the most valuable or abundant thing I have available to share. 4. I'm not ashamed of the way I live, or of the amount of money I make (or don't make, as the case may be). 5. The simplicity of my life is something I'm actually kind of vain about. I work hard to keep my impact low. 6. I did not say anything about the money issue tonight because I was embarrassed and caught off guard, but next time this group is together, in January, I will. Not about my personal irritation over being humiliated tonight, but about the idea that people with limited funds don't feel welcome here. That needs to change.
Also: Maybe I really will resign this year. I need to find something better to do than this.
4 Comments:
Wow! You must have been really mad to post this twice, lol!
I comprehend so fully what you are saying, all of it, there's really nothing left for me to say, but trust your heart. It's a good 'un.
♥
I relate to this. And have felt it in my own life in varying degrees. I actually think you did the right thing in the moment, and I applaud you for not comforming to the outrageous amount that they think everyone should be fine with. I hate this kind of presumptuosness. It is the worst kind. But I do think you should bring it up at some point.
It's crazy what's going on out there: first no days off for Christmas and now this.
Tina, don't let the bastards get to you. I wouldn't contribute the money, even though you committed already. 10 bucks, if that's what you can afford, is more reasonable. Don't let them guilt you!
Love,
don
I gotta say this is the first time I've ever heard of a board who's supposed to be fundraising be treated as if THEY are the funds. Jeezalou, I thought fundraising meant soliciting from OTHERS. I can certainly understand why you bit your tongue in the moment...and I doubt I would have done the same. I think what that woman did was completely inappropriate. As for the Xmas plans, I would have been royally ticked off...and then the more enlightened part of me (and sometimes I wish she'd just shut the hell up) would think there must have been a reason it all worked out that way. Hmmm. Life. It's exhausting.
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