My Year Of Giving
Trying to Say “Yes” Every Time Someone Asked For Money in 2013.
I’ve never made very much money. And I suppose that was the reason I never felt I could give much to charity.
If friends asked me to donate to their upcoming race, I’d be quick to point out it hadn’t been a good year. “But maybe next time!” I’d always promise.
I was always certain to cross the road at the nearest sight of an HRC/Planned Parenthood/Children International street fundraiser. I’d snicker as they’d attempt to block my path, asking if I had a second for gay rights/women/children. “Just let me walk to lunch in private!” I’d think.
And I refused to dole out a single penny to a subway busker or panhandler, no matter how good they were at almost kicking me in the face while swinging from the handrails. I was certain there were more reliable charities I could donate to that would help these kids in a positive, accountable way. Of course, I never actually took the time to Google those charities.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I never gave anything.
Sure, when it seemed the whole world was compelled to open their wallets, say, on 9/11 or after Katrina. I would donate $10 or $20 and pat myself on the back for my selflessness. “When I’m old enough, then I’ll give,” I would promise the universe. “But now, I have to look out for myself—given the economy…”
Last New Year’s Eve something changed. Maybe it was the amount of causes I was aware of that could use financial help. Maybe years of guilt were finally bubbling to the surface. Or maybe it was turning 30 and questioning when “old enough” was going to be. So I decided to make a half-thought out resolution: if someone asked, I would give. For a year. It didn’t matter how much—a dollar? $5? Whatever I felt I could afford. (Which I still assumed wasn’t very much.) But the point was I would give something.
And so began my grand experiment in philanthropy.
Those first months went easy enough. I gave to AIDS Life Cycle in January after a friend participating in the ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles asked. He took the time email me so I could take the time to send him $10. And it was easy. Just a few clicks, my credit card information, and it was done. In February, when a friend reached out about the American Heart Association Heart Ride, I gave another $10. And then another $10 to the Lifebeat NYC Half Marathon team. And then another $10 to the Red Cross.
I kept track of my spending online and was surprised there wasn’t much of a dip in my finances. Sure these were not big amounts of money (I’ve spent more on a cocktail in New York City) but I was giving and it felt good to say yes. And there were so many ways people could ask me for my money now: Facebook, email, Kickstarter—even in person. So I decided to try giving more.
In the Summer I gave $25 to a friend’s AIDS Walk New York team. $25 to my friend’s emerging non-profit for LGBT athletes, GO! Athletes. $25 to a friend’s Off Off-Broadway play. $50 to my brother’s AIDS Vaccine 200 team. $100 to LGBT story archive I’m From Driftwood.
And when a tragic accident left a friend’s mother in a coma, I didn’t just say a prayer. I opened my wallet and gave what I could. With donations like mine, her family was able to raise $24,898 to cover what Medicare couldn’t.
By Yom Kippur the impact of my donations—no matter how small—were sinking in. At the Jacob Javits Center listening to appeals for Congregation Beth Simchat Torah’s new synagogue, it became clear how big a difference a group of people could make if they worked together. As soon as my fast was over, I gave to CBST’s Open Door Fund—and two more charities just because I could: The Trust For Governors Island and Friends of Hudson River Park. This wasn’t Jewish guilt or an extra attempt at repentance. I was being an active citizen of my community.
Soon I saw opportunities to make change everywhere, not just when people asked me. I gave on holidays ($10 to the Pat Tillman Fund on Veterans Day), I gave to my alma mater ($10 to Colorado College to improve its financial aid), I gave to political parties ($5 to the Working Families Party), I gave in honor of great memories ($50 to save the NYC Village Halloween Parade). I even gave to Wikipedia—because I could spare a few dollars.
Far and above, I gave the most to Stonewall Quarter Share, a young philanthropy group at the Stonewall Community Foundation who helped me understand the power of my giving.
Here was a bunch of 20 and 30 somethings just like me who wanted to make a difference but only had $25 a month to give. But that donation, multiplied by 150 people, is powerful. Together the group raised $60,000 over the course of the year for LGBT grants and scholarships.
I even got to help organize one of those grants. We called it the Critical Impact Grant, a $15,000 grant that would have a major impact on a small, needy LGBT non-profit in New York City. I was so proud when we awarded it to MCCNY Charities for mental health services at their homeless youth shelter Sylvia’s Place. My contribution, however small it seemed, had made a significant difference in the life of this organization and the people it served. It was an incredibly empowering experience.
In writing this article, I looked back at how much I’d given during my “Year of Giving.” And to be honest, it wasn’t that much. This act of charity I had long forestalled due to what I thought was my lack of finances turns out to be less than that new laptop I bought in April. Or that vacation I took in June. Or even a single month’s rent.
Sure, everyone’s financial situation is different. And everyone’s capacity to give is different. But it is that we give something that is important.
So next year I will give more. Maybe even dangerously so. Because I know my capacity to give is bigger than I previously thought it to be.
Recently I did something I swore I wouldn’t do: I gave money to a group of buskers on the Subway platform. It was a three piece soul group and they were good. Really good. They felt it and so did I. So why not? I was waiting for my train and I had a single. And it was so easy.
