I’ve not been around as long as some, only 44 years kicking about on this weird round marble, but I’ve learned a few things along the way. One of the lessons that was hardest to absorb, that took the longest and was arguably one of the more painful was simple:
It’s VERY difficult to always try to match the energy of those you care for.
When I speak of energy, I mean the distribution of that vital source of life-force, the giving away of what you wake each day with. Questions arise internal when you’re beginning to see this little truth, the heart of the message above. We ask:
Why do some of us always care more, or get more passionate about things for others than they even do for themselves?
How can we help, truly help, without absorbing their things in the process?
A few months ago, and I needn’t go into deep dark details, Sarah and I were feeling very overwhelmed with what has always been a pattern in our lives. We are, and I’ve mentioned this before here, the first line of defense for anyone in our lives that is struggling. We’re the first ear many turn to when their mouths need to vent, we’re the first door open, the first with gifts to new homes, first to hand over a card on birthday or holiday or sad day or happy day or any other day in between. I say this not to toot our own horns, not to aggrandize, just to lay the tracks so the train of my discoveries can roll over them.
Pardon the digression. A few months ago, this pattern of us giving and giving and giving and then when the rare occasion arises that we just might need something, a helping hand, a listening ear, or the occasion of one of our birthdays or holidays or something else comes…crickets. Part of this, I will admit, is that somehow Sarah and I have found in each other a partner, a best-friend, a confidant/lover/adventure buddy/stand up comedy audience/date/therapist and so the occasions where we do need more is rare. Maybe this is the beginning of it, but we have found in this pattern that most often we’re so emptied out by all we’ve given that when we do need, there’s no one willing to do so.
Frustrated by watching my wife’s tears, I said something silly along the lines of:
“I wish there was an algorithm or a formula or something that could help us determine the appropriate level of giving for us, so we’re not always so damn empty.”
“The appropriate level of giving,” ahh what a novel concept. Once again in our lives, we’d forgotten the magical rule of oxygen masks on airplanes—that if you don’t put yours on first, you can’t help anyone anyway.
“Ask ChatGPT” she said. And so I did.
I cannot recall the precise prompt, but I asked for a mathematical formula to help us determine more appropriate levels of giving in our lives. I mentioned that I thought it should probably include some metric about the closeness of the relationship, and the emotional investment they have towards us in their lives. If we’re not people that they love and need, value or consider dear, perhaps balance could be found in some strange bit of algebra?
It spit a formula out, almost instantly, and it was a bizarrely accurate, sensitively weighted bit of math that included elements I hadn’t even thought of.
G = R + EI + RC. That’s what it told us. Giving Level = Reciprocity + Emotional Investment + Relationship Closeness. Each letter was to be weighted, 1 being rarely or never, 2 being sometimes, and 3 being often or consistently for Reciprocity. 1 was minimal emotional connection, 2 was some emotional sharing and mutual support, and 3 was deep emotional connection and support for the Emotional Investment category. Finally, Immediate Family was 3, Close Family was 2.5, Close Friends 2, Casual Friends/Acquaintances were 1.5, and Colleagues or Community Members at 1.
Adding these numbers gave you a “guide” to the level of giving. Here’s what it defined each level as:
9-7.5: High level of giving (thoughtful gifts, significant favors, substantial energy investment)
7-5.5: Moderate level of giving (meaningful gifts, reasonable favors, moderate energy investment)
5-3.5: Low level of giving (small gifts, limited favors, minimal energy investment)
3 and below: Very low or minimal giving (simple gestures, basic courtesies)
We decided to try it, on a purely hypothetical basis, and tried a close friend we love spending time with (RC of 2) who rarely, if ever, reciprocates our gestures of kindness (R of 1) and offers limited emotional support or connection, as they are more of surface level close friends. The formula says: 1+1+2 = 4. On that scale, it’d classify them as a “low level of giving” and says we should consider smaller gifts for birthdays, offering more limited levels of favors, and possibly balancing our energy investment with a few more “no’s” when it doesn’t suit us.
We ran it again, changing the metrics to fit an immediate family member, and it accurately spit out that they belong in a “High level of giving” category. Appropriately so.
WE DID IT, thought we. We have a flexible guideline we can turn to when presented with these (almost constant) opportunities or invitations to invest. Finally, we can find balance.
Except f that. Except, we didn’t. We don’t. We won’t.
Here’s the truth, as my haiku below will more eloquently and succinctly explain: We CAN give too much, we CAN overextend ourselves and exhaust ourselves and find the balance completely out of whack. We CAN seek balance, and try to make the teeter totter go up and down, rather than holding us in the sky for hours at a time. We can, and I know we should, but there’s a problem with this formula, and there’s a problem with the “logic” that led to AI creating it.
It’s not US. It’s not human. It makes all the logical sense in the world, but there’s a metric, a variable missing from that ‘perfect’ formula, and that formula is our hearts, our souls, our beliefs and BuddTisms (that lovely combination of Buddhism and Autism that’s becoming the foundation of my entire ethos), our mindfulness. We give because we’re made to give, because we cannot help it, and refuse to weigh people on a scale of emotional investment, of relationship closeness, and absolutely not based on reciprocation. If we did it on the final metric alone, hell, we’d almost never give to anyone again.
We give because giving, as I’ve drilled into your minds ad nauseam on this Signal Fire, is the whole point. It’s the answer.
What we need to overcome the obstacles we’re facing is not less people giving more, it’s more people giving more. We’re the answer to this problem, well not us specifically, but the way we inherently live our lives. Our society has become one of such isolationism, such self-interest, that there is far too much expectation of reciprocation, far too little of real altruistic, humanitarian giving.
We need less logic, more love.
Maybe that’s the tagline of this place, or it should be, “Less logic, more love.” I advocate for a wander through this weird existence littering the whole place with wonder, with curiosity, with wide-eyed fascination and silliness and a pursuit of joy and connection that borders on maniacal.
Should we have a formula for giving? No. Should we check in ourselves and make sure we’re ok though, and sometimes adjust the sails so we’re not always powering through the choppiest waters? Yes. Should we put our oxygen mask on before trying to snap that weird orange mouth cone onto everyone else around us? Yes.
We can find balance, but the consequences of sacrificing who you are, the beauty that makes you, You, will never allow for this in the end. Applying this formula is temporary relief, it’s instant gratification, it’s the antithesis of what I spoke of at such great length two weeks ago when I wrote about Field of Merit.
Less logic, more love. I don’t know what comes after this, not for us who give and give and feel so tired sometimes, but I know that we won’t stop. We cannot. To betray the beating of our own hearts is the worst fate of all.
We can give too much, we can overextend, we can exhaust, but this risk is so much smaller than the betrayal of our true nature.
If you come to me, I will help, if you need us, we will be there. To hell with the rest.
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We can give too much,
overextend and exhaust.
We must find balance.
Song of the Week
Wanna give? Give my book as a gift, it just keeps on giving and giving and giving. It’s rad like that.
