Listen to my Everywhere podcast episode on Generosity right here.
Why do we talk about generosity? Isn't being generous something you quietly practice in the world? But alas, humans are more complex than that. Perhaps in every performance of generosity, is a little selfish nodule, and we’re too uneasy to admit it?
Don’t see me, but see me as I bestow you with my humble generosity. In our very humanity, we tend to be ingredients of both self-serving, and generous. So stay with me here, my philosophy is that sometimes talking about benevolence that happens whilst on the road, does absolutely inspire others to offer up a little extra of what it may be: kindness, or dollars. So it’s with this sentiment that I share some of the big-heartedness that I have experienced.
Let’s travel to the great undiscovered country of Laos. She holds deep secrets and traditions that whisper only to her visitors. When you walk the dusty streets of a sweet town like Luang Prabang (a UNESCO World Heritage Site, no less) you might hear locals talk quietly about the Laos New Year. Dubbed Songkran, this yearly festival in April marks the start of the monsoon season, and compared to any of the neighboring countries, maintains a strong authentic tradition. Subtle festivities rise with the sun: there is almsgiving (“tak bat” I have learnt to say) in the way of handing out food to local monks on the street, followed by the pouring of water on the hands of elders. Such simple acts of kindness have mutual ramifications of joy for all; and that’s the real rapture I feel here.
It is with Almsgiving where I learnt the true spirit of generosity. Before sunrise I wake up with the gentle sound of a gong and make my way outside onto the quiet street. And there I quietly sit cross legged on the sidewalk holding a giant golden bowl filled with cooked sticky rice. After a few moments in the distance I see a centipede of color - monks clothed in identical saffron robes walking in procession. As the monks silently pass me, I offer each a handful of rice. With my other hand, I touch my heart. Each shaved headed monk, with swelled robes carrying their own golden bowl, stops for his libation. And in the eyes of the monk, I see myself. We become mirrors of each other - showing each other our humanity, our kindness, and our generosity.
I believe you can only see in others what you have in yourself - so when you see hatred, anger or joy - it’s because you recognize it within yourself. Here the monk and I mirror our most special essence - generosity. I offer simple rice, and he offers me wisdom, and a moment to see myself clearly.
It is here in Laos, a country with untainted nature where these quiet commemorations are on offer to you every day. A slow pace of this understated life murmurs and keeps me in the present time. Exactly where I belong.
And acts of generosity aren’t always where you’d expect them. In Egypt, the main attraction is probably the Pyramids. I was here for the new Cairo museum’s soft opening hard hat tour - I rocked up at the museum but my fancy tour was canceled. And so I turned to the streets. It's a city of more than 20 million people. There is an adventure waiting for me anyway.
I was strolling around and found the city’s famed Citadel that looks across this ancient metropolis when I noticed a small cafe - I knew that they served chicken as they had badly photoshopped food items on big posters outside the door. I peeked my head in, English? Francaise? English would do. So good sir, if I gave you a 100 USD how much food would that be? The gentleman’s eyes enlarged and he chatted to his kitchen crew - a lot, he said. I said great, here’s a clean hundred dollar bill please could I have some chicken and rice. About 45 minutes later I was standing next to the towering Mosque holding boxes and boxes of food. No I wasn’t that hungry, this was for a pack of stray dogs.
It was hard to open all these styrofoam and cardboard boxes of food fast enough as the puppies descended on me. A few dozen of them stormed the feast, and soon enough some students studying under some trees came to assist. The dogs were loving the action, sometimes mistaking our fingers for snacks as they plowed through all this food. Suddenly the students and I had something in common - we had broken through awkwardness and different cultures, and I had stopped being the Other (capital O), and so had they. Names were exchanged as the puppies started playing and rolling around in the dust. We were pup-feeders, and somehow friends.
At some point one of the dogs lifted their little heads, and stared right through me. Her eyes looking beyond my eyes, her eyes letting me in behind hers. We stayed in this trance for a long time, just being. Fully connected. This is the same look my dog, Ella, and I have with each other - an understanding, an acceptance of each other. I would even call it true love. And suddenly my new friends invited me to dinner at their nonna’s house. I said, Nonna? You’re Italian Egyptians, who knew! So, of course, all I wanted was to either take all of these dogs home with me, or come to feed them everyday. But luckily a security guard nearby came to tell us that the taxi drivers share their sandwiches with the dogs every day - kindness begets kindness.
Of course, at dinner (you know they served roast chicken right?) At my new friends’ home I discovered their grandpa runs the original Parker Pen franchise in Cairo, and in his spare time still works for Egypt Air as a sort of happy maker. I visited him the next day in his dusty old store in downtown Cairo - and he showed me a collection of Parker Pens that he’s amassed over decades. He’s taken over this little shop of curiosity from his father and now sells stationery. One of the pens had Marilyn Monroe’s signature on it, and another was so heavy it was hard to write with it as it was solid gold. We swapped travel stories and he told me where he would love to stay in London on his Egyptair flights when he traveled there - on almost zero budget he would hunt out other Egyptians around Victoria Station and find a bed, and home cooked food for five British Pounds. And suddenly travel isn’t just about me, it’s about all of this.
When I was a rebellious teenager, I decided to run away from home. I knew my parents would go to a fancy travel agent office and book their travel - so that’s exactly where I went one day after school and booked a flight to Cape Town. The travel agent had known me my whole life and was used to booking travel for me, so they didn’t even question this devious transaction. She handed me a plastic folder with plane tickets and hotel bookings whilst smiling, and off I went. You can imagine what a smart idea this was, right? I was traveling solo, didn’t care and I was going to find some freedom. Somehow the world traveling rules for a minor weren’t that strict at this point, because I doubt you could do this today.
My parents were fast asleep and I quietly packed a small sports bag with my favorite t-shirts, some cool sunglasses (because I was an idiot), my huge, white brick iPod loaded with Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill, platform sneakers, and this wad of cash I had amassed. I remember kissing the dogs goodbye and walking down the driveway thinking I was ready for any adventure. I thought I was a grown up.
Of course, Mother figured it out shortly and was on a plane to come fetch me. But before that happened I did have a few days of thrills. What do you do as a teenager cruising around Cape Town? You go lie on the beach, lie about your age and order cocktails and then you go party all night at the nightclubs because luckily you look roughly 18. The feeling of being untethered stuck with me, I felt like there were no plans, no rules and I could just sip on this world I now commandeered. But when I think back to this trip the things that I now remember are the small acts of generosity people showed me.
Next to me on the escape airplane was a woman with eyes that I can still recall right now - she looked at me and said, I’m not sure what you’re doing but whatever it is - remember to split your cash up and hide it all over you, your shoe, bottom of your bag and just leave a little in your wallet. I was all kinds of silliness, probably flashing it around accidentally or something.
There was a night I was cruising around Long Street, the main drag in Cape Town, where all the bars and clubs are. It’s notorious for fun, and a little trouble. I was just milling around when someone pulled a knife out, I was such a fool that I didn’t quite know what to do. They wanted my bag of course, and my giant yellow Nokia cellphone that had Snakey as its main attraction, that I was probably holding in my hand for everyone to see. The situation was hairy, and I was about to make a run for it - and let’s face it, I am a long distance runner not a sprinter! Out of a busy bar fell three big rugby players, they saw what was happening and chased my assailant away. Chivalry, for a young gay teenager, oh boy. Generosity comes in so many forms...
So think about that fabulous weekend you planned with your closest friends to New Orleans. You flew first class on American Airlines (Ching), you booked into The Pontchartrain (Ching), you found a James Beard nominee’s restaurant to dine at (Ching), you’ve had single malt whiskeys all over town (Ching Ching). It’s a weekend of a couple of thousand dollars. But as my dearest friends, let’s call them Little’s parents, taught me: when you’re spending on yourself, you could also spend on others. I’ll leave you with that thought.
Just a small act of generosity - whether it’s monetary or not. Share what you have with others, and see how that feels.