Generosity as a practice

I'm alive today because of the generosity of others; so are you. Someone had to feed us and keep us safe or we wouldn't have survived. What we have today is also because of the generosity of others—the generosity of ideas, time spent planning and creating, tilling the earth, and so on.

Lineage of generosity (my mother, far right in back, and her mother), 1950

Generosity is the first of 6 paramitas. The word paramita means “gone to the other shore.” We might think of the paramitas (generosity, discipline, patience, enthusiasm, meditation, and unconditional wisdom) as qualities that open up the shut down parts of ourselves—so that we might move from the shore of where we are to the shore of more compassionate living. To make that trip, we must leave firm ground and become more fluid. 

Rumi writes about generosity in his tale of a man begging for a crust of bread at someone’s home, and the homeowner replying, What do you think this is, a bakery? The beggar then asks for some gristle. No butchershop here, says the man. Finally the beggar asks for at least a sip of water, and the man tells him, This is not a well. At this point the beggar runs into the house and squats to defecate. Whoa! yells the man. What do you think you’re doing? The beggar explains that since the space seems vacant and unused, that it could use a little fertilizer. 

Since it’s often difficult to see our own vacant, unused potential, I sometimes choose to practice something for a period of time—to become curious about it and how it is playing out in my life. I am currently practicing generosity. But instead of focusing on generosity as it relates to possessions, I’m noticing how generous I am with these 4 intangibles:

Praise

It feels wonderful to receive authentic praise, and I want to be generous with my praise of others. I’m noticing when it’s easy to offer praise, and when it would feel disingenuous or trite. When I feel as though I'm holding back praise that is warranted, I'm asking myself why: Am I jealous? afraid to show tenderness? Or is something else causing me to hold back? I notice also when I am praising out of guilt or a desire to be accepted or liked—or simply to fill up silence. Part of the practice is also being specific with praise. There are studies that point to how generic praise (Great job, Way to go, and so on) can actually inhibit motivation in children, whereas specific praise (You always do a great job of putting your dirty clothes in the hamper) is motivating. I wonder if that holds true with adults. I'm checking it out.

Thanks

I'm also working on being specific with expressions of gratitude: Thank you for always being on time. I appreciate how you tuck the sheets in extra tight on the bed. I feel welcome when you smile at me. Expressions such as Thanks for all you do aren’t wrong, of course, but I’m trying to offer more personalized expressions of gratitude—the stuff we might remember for a long time.

Space

I am currently on retreat in Canada. I arrived on a Friday; my luggage showed up 4 days later. I got to the abbey late at night, ready for a good night’s sleep, when I learned that I would be living offsite in a cabin with 4 other women. The prime spaces were already claimed, with personal belongings in place. It was interesting to watch my mind turn flips as I considered how to mark my territory without physical belongings. I’m still working on ways to loosen up in my sharing of physical space, especially when space is at a premium.

Christmas dinner at the abbey: Not much room. A lot of space.

Silence

Silence is a formal practice here much of the time, but even when it’s not, I’m focusing on letting my generosity with praise, gratitude, and space speak louder than my conversational speech. It usually doesn't require many, if any, words to share in these ways, which leaves me in silence a lot. I am certainly listening a lot more than usual, and trying to speak words that promote peace and love.

With That Moon Language, by Hafiz

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud;

otherwise someone would call the cops.

Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.

Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye

that is always saying,

with that sweet moon language,

what every other eye in this world is dying to hear.

7 questions about giving

May these questions promote generosity.

What do I give to my people?
Who are “my people”? Am I giving them the respect, gratitude, patience, and kindness that helps them realize how important they are to me? Do I tell them that I'm proud of them, that I love them, and so on? Do I look them in the eye and smile? 

Am I spending time or money in ways that no longer promote wisdom, kindness, and good health in my life?

What changes can I make to release myself from the hold of defunct habits, belongings, obligations, and so on?

Thank you for making a new habit of watching an old show with me

Do my finances reflect a heartful life?
Do I give from a heart space, or do I give because I feel obligated? Life Coach Martha Beck says that before doing or giving something, we might check our motives by asking a question: When I imagine doing or giving such-and-such, would I call the feeling that I get “shackles on” or “shackles off”? If the answer is "shackles on,” maybe I shouldn't push forward to give or do—perhaps I could wait and reconsider.

Do my physical surroundings promote an attitude of generosity? 
Is there clutter that keeps me busy and preoccupied? Is there better use for some of my "things"? Do I honor possessions by keeping them clean, maintained, organized, and so on? Are there areas in my life where I skimp or do without, when being more generous with myself would provide resources and tools that could bring about ease? Are there areas where I go overboard or waste?

Thank you for organizing storm supplies (and camping out on the floor)

Can I give more respect to my body?
Are there changes that I can make to become physically stronger and more flexible? In what ways could I be kinder to my skin, teeth, and so on?

What am I afraid of that keeps me holding on to items that no longer fit my life?
Are there gentle but direct ways to address that fear? 

Does a particular person or group make my heart sing?
What “small” or “big” something can I offer to make their work and life more effective, simple, and happy?

Thank you for making me happy

May we always give from the very best of who we are. 

Happiness is not so much in having as sharing. 
We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give. 

-Norman MacEwan

An intimate tribute to my sweetheart

At the end, one didn't remember life as a whole but just a string of moments. -David Levien

I love how he thinks about money. We’d like to have a house on the beach someday, but unless it’s earned by doing what we love, we’ll be happy landlocked. I love that our money is spent on great coffee, books, music, and home and car maintenance instead of dinners out and new furniture. I love that he gives gifts to our mail carrier and to the woman who cuts his hair.

I love that neither of us wants children but that he would consider having a pig for a pet at some point, and that he gives real thought to my questions about what a pig might eat or whether a dog might pick a fight with a pig as I walk it down the street. I love that he checks the locks, the lights, the stove, and the faucets a second time before coming to bed.

I love that he says that he won’t stay up late, then I feel him snuggle in way past midnight. I love that he twitches and heats up when he’s dreaming. I love that he dreams. I love that he’s a sleepyhead in the morning and how it feels to slip out of his arms when I get out of bed to go downstairs for coffee and morning writing. I love putting a pillow beside him and tucking the blanket around his chin when I go. I love that he has the coffee beans ground and that all I have to do is add water and press the button.

I love that we pretend to punch and throw high kicks at each other. I love that he’d rather poke himself in the eye than watch the Super Bowl. I love that he reads the obituaries. I love that the TV stays off almost all the time at our house. I love that he gets excited over Apple products and puts songs that he thinks I’ll like on my iPod without asking.

I love how he enjoys working out with weights and eating ice cream and potato chips. I love that he enters all of his expenses on a spreadsheet and backs up his computer every day, sometimes more than once each day. I love that he reminds me to back up my computer so that my writing won’t be lost and asks me to email him a copy just to make sure. I love that we sometimes stay in our pajamas all day.

I love that he tells me when I poot on him during the night and how he tries not to laugh. I love that he sometimes cries when he hears about violence and war and people being mean. I love that he pretends to be my butler and bows before leaving the room. I love when he impersonates our dentist.

I love that he sent me and my sister for a spa day when she was having a rough time. I love that when I talk about a dream that I have for my life, he says, “You’ve got to do it, Sweets!” I love that we made a song in Garage Band called “Gonna Kill You.”

I love that when I challenged him to a race in the long corridor of a hotel, he took off at breakneck speed, leaving me laughing so hard that I had to stop. I love that he must have time alone every day, sometimes much time, sometimes for many days. I love that when I leave for days or weeks that he loves his life, and that we sing a song called Male Independence before I go (there’s a Female Independence version for when he leaves).

I love how we sleep. Sometimes I awake underneath his shoulder or breathing in his face. Sometimes I am holding his hand. I love that when I asked him if he’d be angry if I burned down the house by accident that he said Yes. I love that I do the grocery shopping and the cooking, and that he comes downstairs saying, “Mmmmmm, that smells amazing-amazing” and makes me say that I’m a food genius.

I love that we respect the feelings that we have and hold the space for all of them, even when it’s not comfortable. Once when I was going through a few weeks of depression, he didn’t try to fix it, figure out what was wrong, or cajole. He put an extra blanket on me and rubbed my head. When he is deep and dark and brooding, I trust that he can hold the tension and that it will pass when it’s supposed to. I scratch his head, rub his shoulders, and make him grits for breakfast. I love that we meditate together and that he sometimes says “Man, I’m messed up” when we’re finished.

I love that when I’m channeling the brusque speaking mannerisms of my grandmother who sometimes cooked squirrel for dinner, he tells me that my delivery is lacking. I love that he corrects the pronunciation of some of my words and lazy speech habits. I love that he knows more than I about American history and politics, despite his having been raised in another country. I love that he loves to try different foods, and that a bottle of booze will go unopened for months at our house while a carton of chocolate milk won’t last a week. 

I love that we’ve declared that if one of us ever wants out of the relationship that the other will help with packing. I love that I can’t imagine the sadness that we’d have were our relationship to end but that the sadness would be tinged with the joy that runs through all of our todays. I love that with our sad-joy we’d keep our hearts open to loving again.