The Return on Generosity

Not long ago, someone smiled at me and said, “Tim, you’re too generous.”

I don’t think it was meant as a compliment.

This particular person thought I spent too much money on other people, gave away too much of my time, made too many introductions, sent too many handwritten notes, and said yes too often when I could have politely said no.

I laughed because this wasn’t the first time someone has told me that which I usually just ignore, but today, I thought about this observation more than I have in the past when I heard those exact words.

Perhaps they were right. To their credit, I am always the first person to secretly hand my credit card to the wait staff with a slight smile before we even order, so that they know I want to be the one to pick up the tab at the end of the meal. I am the first one to offer our guest room to complete strangers because their house was going to be unavailable for three days while work was being done on their house. (Alvin reminded me that he lives here too and before turning our house into a bed and breakfast, I probably should have consulted with him first!)

There was also a time when Alvin, Piglet and I were celebrating Thanksgiving at our home in the Georgia Mountains. I remembered everything on the shopping list except for chicken stock. I was so thrilled to find out that about 3 miles away, a Dollar General remained open during the holiday. When I arrived to pick up a few quarts of stock, I overheard a family doing grocery shopping. I could hear them saying they just didn’t have the resources to get everything on their list. Their cart was full of frozen meals, snacks, some candy for the kids, and a stuffed pumpkin that I imagined would be displayed as their centerpiece. They happened to join the check-out line right before I did. They noticed I only had a few items and offered for me to go ahead of them. I smiled and said, “Thank you so much.” I also told the cashier to add the items in the cart behind me to my transaction. They cried explaining how tough times have been and even asked to get a selfie with me which I agreed to…who doesn’t like a good selfie? Despite our own perhaps over-indulgent feast, the one thing that made me feel the best about this particular holiday was that we were able to make another family’s celebration brighter.

The more I thought about that one person telling me I was too generous, the more I reassured myself that if people remember me for anything, I hope generosity is high on that list… not because I want credit for it…because honestly, I just don’t know another way I’d rather live.

I’ve never looked back and wished I’d answered fewer emails from someone who simply needed encouragement. I’ve never regretted slipping the waiter my credit card to buy dinner for a friend, sending a handwritten note, writing the recommendation for someone who was applying for their next job, making an introduction, or taking a few extra minutes to tell someone they mattered.

If anything, I regret the times that I missed the opportunity to show generosity in situations that were sitting right in front of me.

Maybe that is because when I stop and think about my own life, almost every meaningful opportunity can almost always link back to someone else’s generosity: someone answered an email they could have ignored; someone introduced me to someone they didn’t have to introduce me to; someone took a chance on me perhaps before I did anything to deserve it.

Looking back now, I can see how many of those seemingly ordinary moments quietly changed the direction of my life.

Not one of those people owed me a thing…they simply decided to help. I think that’s why I feel such a responsibility to do the same for someone else. It doesn’t feel like paying something back. It feels like keeping something alive.

I’ve also noticed over the years that the most generous people I know almost never talk about generosity. They just live that way. They remember birthdays, send handwritten notes, and stay after everyone else has left. *****

Most of those moments don’t seem important when they’re happening but years later, they’re often the stories people still remember.

Come to think of it, I think leadership works the same way.

We spend a lot of time talking about vision, strategy, communication and all the things leaders are supposed to do well. Of course, those things matter. I just don’t think we talk nearly enough about generosity as we probably should.

The best leaders I have had the honor of learning from make people feel seen and heard. They encourage and invest time in people before those people believe in themselves.

The same idea has shaped the way I think about fundraising. People often describe fundraising as asking people for money. I’ve never really liked that description because it skips over almost everything that matters most. Long before there’s ever an “ask”, there’s the act of generosity. Generosity in listening, in being curious about another person’s story instead of rushing to tell your own, and in helping someone discover that what they’ve been given can become hope for someone they’ve never met.

When a donor decides to make a gift, the relationship has already done most of the work. In my eyes, real fundraising isn’t about convincing someone to care. It’s about helping them discover they already do.

To be clear, generosity isn’t a strategy. The moment we’re generous because we’re hoping for something in return, we’ve probably missed the point. I don’t buy dinner because I expect someone to buy mine tomorrow. I don’t mentor people because I’m hoping they’ll help my career one day. I don’t write thank-you notes because I’m keeping score.

I do those things because somebody once did it for me, and I hope the people I’ve been fortunate enough to help will someday “pay it forward”.

I think that’s how generosity moves through the world. Not all at once. Just one person at a time, one act of generosity at a time.

As I have evolved into the person I have become, I find myself thinking less about what I want to accumulate and more about what I want to leave behind. I am confident that people won’t remember how many dollars I raised, but I hope they will remember the kindness I showed… and that is all I could hope for.

As I’m writing this, today marks six years since Alvin and I stood together and promised each other forever.

People often think marriage is sustained by the big moments, the anniversary trips, the celebrations, the milestones. Don’t get me wrong…those things are wonderful, but I’ve discovered it’s usually something much quieter.

Generosity.

It’s being patient when you’re tired, assuming the best instead of the worst, putting them first a little more often, and it’s about doing a hundred little things the other person may never even notice because after all, love isn’t built through grand gestures nearly as often as it’s built through ordinary ones.

When I look back over these past six years, I don’t think first about the places we’ve traveled or the photographs hanging on our walls. I think about the quiet moments no one else saw. Those moments are the real foundation of our marriage.

In fact, the more I think about this, the more I believe that’s true of almost every relationship worth having whether we’re talking about marriage, friendship, leadership, or fundraising. I think they all quietly ask the same question:

Are you willing to give more than you may receive?

Maybe that’s where the best parts of life have been hiding all along.

As time passes, I have come to realize that generosity is not always about what we give. Instead, it’s about what another person is still carrying years later, even after we’ve forgotten the moment ourselves.

This anniversary weekend, I’m reminded that the most meaningful things in life have never been built on keeping score… they are built on giving more grace than is expected, more encouragement than is required, more love than seems practical, and more generosity than the world tells us is reasonable.

I happen to think that’s a pretty good way to live and if there’s a return on generosity, maybe that’s it.

Maybe that’s the legacy any of us can leave behind.