Not So Weekly Karma #8

Several years ago, while in New York City for business, I encountered a panhandler who was seriously ripe with child. She was sitting on the sidewalk with her back against the wall. Her belly was enormous.

I did what everyone else on the sidewalk was doing that day. I tried to pretend she wasn’t there.

It wasn’t as if she were the first panhandler I’d ever ignored, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Yet something about her preyed on my conscience. I couldn’t stop thinking about how hard her life must be, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her baby, either. She and her baby haunted me. I could have helped them, but I’d ignored them instead.

I pledged to never ignore another human being in need ever again.

This, my friends, was a pledge that got me into a bit of trouble. Perhaps you already saw that coming? The trouble surfaced when I began mentoring a very young aspiring writer who happened to also be a single mother. The young writer began telling me about her financial difficulties. Soon I was offering her $500 to help her repair her car. Next thing I knew, she was calling me whenever she needed money. For her, life was one on-going emergency and I soon became her 911 operator.

Our conversations were one-sided. She told me about her problems. I listened. I eventually uncovered numerous inconsistencies. Some of what she told me just didn’t add up. Some stories conflicted with other stories she’d told me in the past. I began putting distance between us.

One day, after I had not returned several of her calls, she showed up at my house and turned on the tears, claiming she was about to be evicted. For various reasons, it was a story that I did not quite believe. Still, I wrote the check.

And then I took on the difficult and delicate task of cutting her out of my life.

It wasn’t easy.

After that, I began sorting people into two categories:

1) People who deserve my help.

2) People who don’t.

This category sorting made a great deal of sense to me until my Buddhist meditation teacher began nudging me to give selflessly.

I hedged: Won’t people use me? What if they take the money and use it to buy drugs? What about the greater good? Isn’t it better to give money to someone who will make a better use of it than to someone who is just going to piss it away?

And then there was the biggie: What if I give so much that I run out of money? Who will help me if that happens?

My teacher was gentle. She told me that my mind was tight. Once I began giving, my mind would then become more expansive. When that happened, I would realize a paradoxical truth: The more I give away, the wealthier I will become. I knew she was talking about being wealthy on the inside – about being peaceful and happy – and not necessarily about being wealthy in my bank account. Still, it seemed like a worthwhile goal.

A few weeks later, I was at a fast food restaurant. The computers were down and the place could only accept cash. I had no cash so I walked about a quarter mile uphill on a 98-degree day to a nearby ATM. My overly hungry and tired kid whined and complained the whole time. The whole time I threatened to not buy her the very unhealthy lunch she wanted if she didn’t stop whining. I got the money, got my whiney kid back to the fast food restaurant, and I bought some seriously unhealthy food that I’m too embarrassed to name. As we were walking out of the restaurant, I heard the woman behind me in line say, “The credit card machine doesn’t work!?! I don’t have any cash! How am I supposed to buy anything? What am I supposed to do?”

I thought, “That’s probably a good thing. You shouldn’t be eating the crap they sell here anyway. I shouldn’t have bought this food, either.” And I kept walking. In the parking lot, as I turned the key in the ignition, I thought, “Why didn’t I offer to buy her lunch? What would it have cost me anyway? Five dollars? If I had bought her lunch, it would have proven to her that there are good people in the world. It could have changed her worldview. What did not helping her do? It didn’t do any good. Now I feel guilty and she’s still hungry. Where’s the good in that?”

Still, rather than walk back into the establishment, I drove away. But I pledged to do better. I was still a generous-person-in-training. Next time I was at a fast food restaurant and the credit card machines weren’t working? I’d buy lunch for everyone in the whole joint. That’s what I would do!

At the first traffic light, there was a homeless guy with a sign that read, “Will work for food.”

I ignored him.

It wasn’t my best day in terms of generosity. Let’s just leave it at that.

In the coming weeks, I helped some people. I ignored some others. I found that I always felt better – wealthier if you will – when I gave. I always felt worse – poorer – when I didn’t. Some of this was because the people I helped usually responded favorably. One man even shouted, “Bless you, miss. Bless you!” But there were other times when I found a way to give anonymously and, as a result, got no credit. This felt just as good. For instance, I once tipped a very chipper waiter more than 50 percent. I wrote “keep spreading the joy” on the bill and walked out before he’d had a chance to see how much cash was on the table. I drove away with a huge smile on my face.

But I didn’t just become emotionally wealthy. I became financially wealthy, too. The more money I gave, the more money I got in return. A massage therapist, for instance, refused to let me pay her. A makeup artist offered to sponsor me, outfitting me with roughly $1000 in mineral makeup. A Bed and Breakfast offered me a free room. My mother offered to buy me a new wardrobe. I returned home from vacation to discover I’d somehow overpaid my mortgage, electric bill and health insurance. I didn’t owe any money on any bills for many months.

And I suspected that I had not overpaid these bills at all. I suspected that someone had covered the costs for me.

But I couldn’t prove it.

I’ve thought about that pregnant panhandler a lot. I wish I could help her now, but we just haven’t crossed paths.

I have, however, crossed paths with Mr. Will Work for Food. About a week ago, I pulled up to his intersection near the fast food restaurant. There he was with his “Will Work For Food” sign.

How many times had I driven past him before and either not seen him at all or pretended he wasn’t there? Twice? Ten times? More?

It was a hot day. It couldn’t be easy for him to stand there at a busy intersection for hours on end, all the while keeping his “will work for food” sign in the air. It looked like incredibly hard work—work I was happy I didn’t have to do.

“Damn it,” I thought. “I am giving him money.”

I reached into my wallet. I only had a $20.

“Shit,” I thought.

I hesitated. “A twenty dollar bill? Really?”

And then another calm, steady, knowing voice said, “Yes, really.”

I rolled down my window. I handed him the twenty. His eyes opened wide, almost double their initial circumference. He placed his hand to his throat. That’s when I noticed the mechanical voice box.

“Oh my God. Thank you. Oh my God, thank you so much,” he said.

“I hope you have a wonderful day,” I said as I looked at him and really saw him for the first time ever. He was a veteran, and he had tears in his eyes.

What are your experiences with giving? Do you struggle with it? Or does it come easy for you? Do you think some people are more deserving of your generosity than others? Why or why not?

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