The Return of the Stingy

I’ve been noticing that I’ve gotten stingy in a way I hadn’t been in a while. I noticed it first when a college classmate called a couple of years ago. “Could I give to the annual fund drive?” I began to explain my hesitancy: the fixed income. He interrupted. “Lots of us are in that boat.” Of course, we are. We graduated sixty years ago. “Even a small amount would be wonderful.” They were more interested in the percentage of class still giving than the amount raised. Our class had set some sort of record at our 30^th.

I’m giving less to all my charities. Am I slipping back into the Mind of Poverty? I thought I was cured me of that. My Mind of Poverty began to loosen midway through my doctoral program.  For four years, I ‘d worked full-time and gone to school full-time, taking occasional days off to write term papers, falling asleep reading sociology in front of the TV. Joan and I lived on two salaries until the doctoral program demanded more of my presence. If I wanted to get my degree, I needed to be seen more, to hang out in the sociology offices. I cut back at the hospital to half-time. Our income dropped by 25%. Then the Universe took Joan in another direction. She quit teaching and went to work as a volunteer with the Sierra Club office at the UN. Our income plunged to 25% of what it had been. And we were fine. I didn’t feel impoverished. We were just living on less.

Years later, on the streets with Bernie for the first time, with nothing in my pockets, no money, no wallet, on a warm April day, meandering along the East River after a bitter cold night in Central Park, on a bench facing the East River, stretching my legs, I wasn’t worrying that my wallet would slide out of pocket. No wallet, no worries. In my head, Janis Joplin was singing, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

But there was still my stinginess, hanging tight to what money I had. Bernie tried to loosen the grip of my poverty mind. Bernie had asked me to serve as chair of the ZCNY board. He had a fundraising idea, to lead a tour to Japanese Zen sites. As board chair, I would have a big role in organizing this, in recruiting the deep-pocket participants. It sounded exciting until Bernie yanked the rug. I was expected to shell out the big bucks for the trip as well. Bernie tried to explain. It would be easier for me to ask for money when I too had stretched my capacity. I was terrified. When Bernie dropped the tour plan, the pressure was off, the learning postponed.

I didn’t get it until years later, raising money for our charter school network. I was raising a big-bucks mala, $5400 for a small bead.  Bernie was right. Finally, I learned that the more Dee and I gave to other causes, the easier it was to ask for beads, the more I received. Three bows, Bernie. I finally got it. I finally wasn’t holding on so tight.

And then in the words of immortal Maxwell Smart, “I got it, I got it, I don’t got it.” Stingy is back, and I thought I’d put it behind me. Where is this coming from? It’s the fixed income. There’s something here still to digest, a new lesson. We’ll tackle that in a week.