And so it is here. Not only is it the end of this twenty and nine days, but it is also the end of the year. My reflection this month has not only been on giving and contributing, but also on the multitude of events and experiences of the past twelve months that lead me to making monthly commitments to myself. I'm intrigued with the way this project grew into somewhat of a 'bettering of self' task. Initially, my thinking was that it would be more of an opportunity to make time to do the things I find a million excuses to not do, or to try something I have never done, or to finally start a creative endeavor that has been sitting on the back burner for years. I tend to get antsy during the summer, so finding someway to inspire and motivate myself seems a natural byproduct of my restlessness. I did not anticipate how I would over-analyze each and every thought in the process, ultimately leading me to some difficult self-reflection. This is how this project morphed into an attempt to shape myself into the person I want to be.
This leaves me both eager and sad. I am looking forward to finding new ways of challenging myself, pushing myself to grow, and keeping my heart and mind open; albeit laced with a tinge of sadness around the realization that maybe I haven't been living as that person. However, rather than dwelling on melancholy, I will take with me into the new year, motivation and inspiration to continue to do so.
So on that Ebenezer-esque note, see you next year.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Day Twenty four
Uh oh.
Including today, it has been twice that I have dropped some change into the little-red-tin to which I am beckoned by the tired bell-ringers of the Salvation Army. J. warned me against such actions, preaching that the S.A. was a fundamentalist Christian organization that hates women and gays. On that particular day I resolved to give this issue of not donating to an organization (whose noble mission is to help those in need), simply because of a religious affiliation, some deep thought. I concluded that while I am not a religious person, I also don't see the world in black and white. I don't have a problem with Christians or Christianity per se, especially when represented by a community of people living true to the teachings of Jesus: compassion for others-even our enemies, giving so that we do not drown in excess while others starve, and...the hardest F-word...forgiveness. These are mighty and admirable codes of conduct. I would proudly support people on a mission to spread this message around the world.
After my rather minuscule donation this afternoon, to the infamous red-kettle, I came home to read up on the Salvation Army. What I found was terribly disappointing and has left me feeling conflicted and sad. First, the Salvation Army is a church organization-legally classified as a "church or convention or association of churches". I found this problematic in that my intent is to aid humanitarian efforts, not religious agendas. Second, the afore mentioned status makes the Salvation Army exempt from filing Form 990 with IRS. This means that there is no financial information available to the public about the organization. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I tend to be distrustful of companies-particularly those with so much charitable clout-who are not transparent in regard to finances. And third, the Salvation Army is very upfront about their stance on homosexuality and abortion. These are polarizing issues on which we are opposites. I strongly believe everyone is entitled to their own opinions; however I will not blindly support entities whose stance on human rights drastically differ from my own.
But today, that is what I did. And so I trust that my measly two dollars will find it's way to helping someone with an open heart and an open mind, someone who will spread love and acceptance throughout the world.
Salvation Army Position Statements
Article: why NOT to donate to the Salvation Army
Including today, it has been twice that I have dropped some change into the little-red-tin to which I am beckoned by the tired bell-ringers of the Salvation Army. J. warned me against such actions, preaching that the S.A. was a fundamentalist Christian organization that hates women and gays. On that particular day I resolved to give this issue of not donating to an organization (whose noble mission is to help those in need), simply because of a religious affiliation, some deep thought. I concluded that while I am not a religious person, I also don't see the world in black and white. I don't have a problem with Christians or Christianity per se, especially when represented by a community of people living true to the teachings of Jesus: compassion for others-even our enemies, giving so that we do not drown in excess while others starve, and...the hardest F-word...forgiveness. These are mighty and admirable codes of conduct. I would proudly support people on a mission to spread this message around the world.
After my rather minuscule donation this afternoon, to the infamous red-kettle, I came home to read up on the Salvation Army. What I found was terribly disappointing and has left me feeling conflicted and sad. First, the Salvation Army is a church organization-legally classified as a "church or convention or association of churches". I found this problematic in that my intent is to aid humanitarian efforts, not religious agendas. Second, the afore mentioned status makes the Salvation Army exempt from filing Form 990 with IRS. This means that there is no financial information available to the public about the organization. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I tend to be distrustful of companies-particularly those with so much charitable clout-who are not transparent in regard to finances. And third, the Salvation Army is very upfront about their stance on homosexuality and abortion. These are polarizing issues on which we are opposites. I strongly believe everyone is entitled to their own opinions; however I will not blindly support entities whose stance on human rights drastically differ from my own.
But today, that is what I did. And so I trust that my measly two dollars will find it's way to helping someone with an open heart and an open mind, someone who will spread love and acceptance throughout the world.
Salvation Army Position Statements
Article: why NOT to donate to the Salvation Army
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Day Seventeen
As expected, I have been thinking a lot about the nature of giving and helping. When and where these two overlap, how they differ, as well as the process of seeking out opportunities to do so versus doing it just because. I have been struggling with the feeling of dis-ingenuousness about making a point to give or help each day. As though what I have to offer is less meaningful when I am - for all intensive purposes - making myself do it. That said, I have also noticed how incredibly easy it is to offer up some spare change for a good cause or donate the things I don't need to people who do. I am pleased that I am becoming someone who says 'yes' to giving. Essentially, I simultaneously feel guilty and proud. Some days I feel like have done more and others, not so much. I feel guilty for my pride or guilty that I haven't done enough. The key word here seems to be guilt. I should revisit this.
I have also noticed that in the last few weeks, I have returned to some of my patterns of negativity. I am most aware of it when I hear myself complaining or while unnecessarily shouting and swearing at other drivers. In these moments, I think to myself "How is it that I am able to do good for people I don't know but cannot offer patience, respect, or forgiveness for the old lady in the parking lot today who was honking at me so I'd know not to back out into her as she drove by, but wasn't actually driving, just sitting there honking, consequently making it impossible for me or anyone else to get out of the parking lot? How?"
This led me to thinking about more extravagant methods of giving. Those folks who start charities for life-threatening diseases, attend black-tie dinners to help dwindling populations of animals, or build wings of children's hospitals. Philanthropists: people who give...a lot...because they can and presumably want to. Since the true meaning of philanthropy is "the love of humanity", it is natural to assume that those who engage in such forms of giving truly hold this idea close to their hearts. I believe that many of them do. However, given my own recent experiences with both giving and calling elderly drivers the vile 'B' word, I realize that there can be a significant disconnect between doling out money, no matter the amount, and inherently being a good person. This is not a ground-breaking revelation, I know, but it was certainly eye-opening given that only two months ago I was working on being a less negative person. Yet, here I am this month, trying to be a better person in a new way and inadvertently backsliding on my previous goals. So, while it may not be a profound realization about humanity, it is an important awareness to carry with me as I move forward in the remaining days of this month.
Good God. Self-reflection is exhausting.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Day Six
So, what is tricky about this endeavor is finding something to do everyday. It seems to me that the most meaningful giving involves time. Time and planning. In order for me to have contact with people who are directly benefited from my help, I would have to do some scheduling. That can be hard this time of year! However, as I write this, I realize that maybe that is really about what would be the most meaningful for me. Okay, so maybe that is something to get over.
I have also noticed that I am very quick to dismiss certain types of giving. It isn't until the opportunity has passed, due to my flippant avoidance, that I recognize it as such: a missed opportunity. For example, when I receive phone calls for 'Miss Luna' and 'Hype-uh-tee-uh' it is a knee-jerk reaction to say, "Sorry, she's not here right now. Can I take a message?" Imagine my shame when their response is, "This is just a call on behalf of (insert noble cause such as women's rights, endangered animals, or the environment), looking for her support..."
Damn.
I have also noticed that I am very quick to dismiss certain types of giving. It isn't until the opportunity has passed, due to my flippant avoidance, that I recognize it as such: a missed opportunity. For example, when I receive phone calls for 'Miss Luna' and 'Hype-uh-tee-uh' it is a knee-jerk reaction to say, "Sorry, she's not here right now. Can I take a message?" Imagine my shame when their response is, "This is just a call on behalf of (insert noble cause such as women's rights, endangered animals, or the environment), looking for her support..."
Damn.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Day One
I had an experience last month that has been haunting me ever since.
I was on a delightful Sunday run around the neighborhood. It was my first run since the half-marathon and the first day of clear skies after a short cold/wind/rain spell. I was feeling invigorated. Strong. Proud.
Suddenly, I felt something bump against my heels. I did a sort of half-turn, expecting to see nothing of importance, such as a branch or a plastic bag. Instead, I saw a dog. Following me-and batting at my heels-was a tiny, and I mean tiny, white dog. I had spotted him about a block earlier and thought nothing of it. Apparently, he did. He had followed me this far and continued to follow me while I tried to run out of his territory. I soon came to discover that he had no territory, at least not anywhere near where we were. When I stopped, he stopped...and sat. He stared up at me with seriously cute puppy-dog eyes. When I ran, he ran. He had that floppy puppy bounce where he was a little distracted by everything around him, but also really wanted to keep up. I was at a total loss as to what to do. I began to retrace my steps hoping he would wander back home or I would come across someone who recognized, or better yet, owned him.
Nothing. I asked everyone I saw, and no one knew him. A number of people said, "He likes you. You should keep him." which, needless to say, was not helpful. I guess it is a nicety that people offer when secretly they are thanking the heavens that they aren't the sucker who picked up a cute stray puppy and now has to decide it's fate.
So, I let him follow me home. I temporarily named him Christ's Sake, because the entire walk home, I kept muttering to myself, "For Christ's sake. What am I doing? What am I going to do with you?" When we got home, J. made the executive decision to take him to the shelter. When we arrived there I insisted that J. take him in and take care of the drop-off. He wouldn't. If you have ever been to an animal shelter, for any reason, they are awful. They are pretty much my idea of hell. Even the nicest of them are the saddest places you will ever be.
While handing over C.S., I completely crumbled. I couldn't stop crying. You know that hysterical, hyperventilating type? But it wasn't only for him. It was for all those poor animals. All those sad, homeless, family-less, little animals. I was a mess for the next week.
One thought I kept returning to over the course of that day, and the days that followed, was that the people at the shelter must have the hardest job in the world. Then I thought about the people who work at orphanages, and how hard that must be. Or homeless shelters. Or battered women shelters. Those people are strong. Those people are the unsung heroes of each and every community.
Naturally, I began to question my own job. Yes, I am a teacher, but for a private school. A private school that is one of about 100 private schools in the area. While our humble little school does not harbor the wealthiest of the city; in fact, many of the families are middle class in search of an alternative to the traditional educational setting, it is still a population of children with access to resources. I began to fret, and slightly obsess, about how I am not making a difference. This is why I teach! I want to change the world! I just couldn't shake the thought though that if I wasn't at this school, someone else just as good would be. I was having a crisis of conscience: what is the point if I'm not making a difference?
I stewed in this for a while. Once C.S. was finally adopted from the shelter (yes, I kept tabs on him via their website) I relaxed a bit. I do love my job, and I'm not currently in a position to leave and take on something new, however, I cannot shake the feeling that I can be doing more.
So with that, I set my intention for the next twenty-nine days: I will give, contribute, and help. I do not mean be 'helpful' but to actually give back to my community each day. How I will do this every day, I am not entirely sure. Some days it may take the form of a financial contribution, while others may be a tangible donation, and still others may be something completely different.
There is one caveat . My grandfather once told me that if you have to tell other people about the nice thing you did for someone, it doesn't count, because then you really only did it for yourself. Yes, yes. I also know the stance that charity is never really about the recipient and is more about the feeling of giving, nevertheless, this idea has stuck with me my whole life. So, in honor of my grandfather, I will refrain from sharing too many specifics (honestly, I was a little hesitant to even mention this 29 at all) and just focus on the experience.
Thank you C.S., for inspiring me to be a better person.
I was on a delightful Sunday run around the neighborhood. It was my first run since the half-marathon and the first day of clear skies after a short cold/wind/rain spell. I was feeling invigorated. Strong. Proud.
Suddenly, I felt something bump against my heels. I did a sort of half-turn, expecting to see nothing of importance, such as a branch or a plastic bag. Instead, I saw a dog. Following me-and batting at my heels-was a tiny, and I mean tiny, white dog. I had spotted him about a block earlier and thought nothing of it. Apparently, he did. He had followed me this far and continued to follow me while I tried to run out of his territory. I soon came to discover that he had no territory, at least not anywhere near where we were. When I stopped, he stopped...and sat. He stared up at me with seriously cute puppy-dog eyes. When I ran, he ran. He had that floppy puppy bounce where he was a little distracted by everything around him, but also really wanted to keep up. I was at a total loss as to what to do. I began to retrace my steps hoping he would wander back home or I would come across someone who recognized, or better yet, owned him.
Nothing. I asked everyone I saw, and no one knew him. A number of people said, "He likes you. You should keep him." which, needless to say, was not helpful. I guess it is a nicety that people offer when secretly they are thanking the heavens that they aren't the sucker who picked up a cute stray puppy and now has to decide it's fate.
So, I let him follow me home. I temporarily named him Christ's Sake, because the entire walk home, I kept muttering to myself, "For Christ's sake. What am I doing? What am I going to do with you?" When we got home, J. made the executive decision to take him to the shelter. When we arrived there I insisted that J. take him in and take care of the drop-off. He wouldn't. If you have ever been to an animal shelter, for any reason, they are awful. They are pretty much my idea of hell. Even the nicest of them are the saddest places you will ever be.
While handing over C.S., I completely crumbled. I couldn't stop crying. You know that hysterical, hyperventilating type? But it wasn't only for him. It was for all those poor animals. All those sad, homeless, family-less, little animals. I was a mess for the next week.
One thought I kept returning to over the course of that day, and the days that followed, was that the people at the shelter must have the hardest job in the world. Then I thought about the people who work at orphanages, and how hard that must be. Or homeless shelters. Or battered women shelters. Those people are strong. Those people are the unsung heroes of each and every community.
Naturally, I began to question my own job. Yes, I am a teacher, but for a private school. A private school that is one of about 100 private schools in the area. While our humble little school does not harbor the wealthiest of the city; in fact, many of the families are middle class in search of an alternative to the traditional educational setting, it is still a population of children with access to resources. I began to fret, and slightly obsess, about how I am not making a difference. This is why I teach! I want to change the world! I just couldn't shake the thought though that if I wasn't at this school, someone else just as good would be. I was having a crisis of conscience: what is the point if I'm not making a difference?
I stewed in this for a while. Once C.S. was finally adopted from the shelter (yes, I kept tabs on him via their website) I relaxed a bit. I do love my job, and I'm not currently in a position to leave and take on something new, however, I cannot shake the feeling that I can be doing more.
So with that, I set my intention for the next twenty-nine days: I will give, contribute, and help. I do not mean be 'helpful' but to actually give back to my community each day. How I will do this every day, I am not entirely sure. Some days it may take the form of a financial contribution, while others may be a tangible donation, and still others may be something completely different.
There is one caveat . My grandfather once told me that if you have to tell other people about the nice thing you did for someone, it doesn't count, because then you really only did it for yourself. Yes, yes. I also know the stance that charity is never really about the recipient and is more about the feeling of giving, nevertheless, this idea has stuck with me my whole life. So, in honor of my grandfather, I will refrain from sharing too many specifics (honestly, I was a little hesitant to even mention this 29 at all) and just focus on the experience.
Thank you C.S., for inspiring me to be a better person.
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