Here’s something weird. Or, well, something that’s normal for me:
The moment I publish a book, I’m done with it.
I’ve been immersed in its contents for a while, and once it’s available and the moment arrives to talk about it more … I’m sort of fed up with it myself already, and my mind moved on to greener pastures.
Not smart, marketing-wise. (But hey, when did that ever stop me?)
But when my heart’s not in something … it’s just not happening.
But lately, my heart’s in my books more.
Maybe because a new book has announced itself, and I’ll probably start writing it this fall.
Maybe for an entirely different reason. Whatever it is: I feel like sharing about my books again.
So in that spirit, here’s a chapter from the latest book.
Enjoy!
Love,
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Chapter 8: Transactional Generosity
Last week, when I went shopping, mumble-man asked for money. That’s what my partner and I call that small, toothless man who often parks himself at the supermarket’s entrance.
Sometimes, I give him something. Sometimes, I buy him something to eat.
But this time, this thought came:
“I don’t want to give you anything.” And I walked inside, pretending I didn’t hear or see him.
As I walked through the aisles, guilt rose: dammit, Brigitte! That’s cold! You don’t have to always give something, but you can at least acknowledge his existence! And come to think of it: maybe you should always give something? If only a little bit? I mean, you have it so good! The least you can do is share it with others!
These thoughts came and went without leaving a trace. I just watched them come and go faster than it took me to put eggs in my basket.
That didn’t use to be the case. These thoughts usually came the moment someone asked for money. And usually, I gave something.
Not always because I truly, genuinely wanted to share. No. I felt obligated. Guilt-tripped myself into donating a few bucks. Or propped up my self-image: look at me being generous! And kind! What a good person I am. If everyone was more like me, no one would lack anything anymore!
I know I’m not the only one who thinks this way. For many, giving can be a performance. A transactional act aimed at gaining something in return for what was given.
Whether it was avoiding guilt or shame or receiving help later on: you gave with an agenda. You had a payoff in mind from the start. (And when it didn’t come, you felt cheated. How dare life not reward you for your good behavior!)
Giving became a tool for self-worth. A mask for guilt or superiority. A spiritual contract: what you give will (must!) come back to you.
When giving is transactional, it does more than expect something in return:
It preserves the identity. It reaffirms the belief in separation: there’s a giver, and a receiver. Two or more, not one.
There are not. There is no giver, no receiver, and no gift. Just life, dancing its own dance, with itself.
The purest giving leaves no trace. Not even a sense of being generous. It’s just what happens. Without reason. Without transaction. Without a giver or receiver. Just movement. Just what is.
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P.S. this is a chapter from the book ‘Money: The Illusion of Safety, Scarcity, and Self’
You can read more and get the book here
P.P.S. Liked this blog?
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