To be a fundraiser, let go of fundraising

To be an advocate, let go of advocacy.

The other week, a friend sent me an article in The Atlantic by Arthur C. Brooks on learning how to let go. Woven throughout Brook’s piece is the story of German professor Eugen Herrigel, who in 1924 set out to study Zen Buddhism in Japan. Because Herrigel lacked the language proficiency to apply himself as a student of Zen philosophy, he was required to learn a skill—kyūdō, or the way of the bow: “This would indirectly impart the Zen truths that he sought.”

“It made me think of you,” my friend wrote. “You and archery and wellness now have a shared permanent place in my schema.”

In 2012, I became an archer. I wasn’t a hunter (though my teachers and peers were) or a competitor (though I eventually did join an amateur league) or a student of Buddhism, but in search of a sense of flow that could replace what writing meant to my life. I shared more about my archery practice in a piece for Why Is This Interesting? Not long after it published, I realized I had more to say. I realized I am in pursuit of the lessons archery taught me once again, this time as an artist.

In March, I began folding origami cranes when my sister and company were visiting. One morning, while everyone else slept, she and I drank coffee and taught ourselves how to make them through YouTube tutorials at the kitchen counter. We’d watch a few steps of an instructional video, pause, fold; watch, pause, fold. After a few botched attempts, they began to look pretty good! Mostly like cranes!

Since I already had several dozen patterned origami papers among my art supplies, I kept folding and tossing cranes into a big wooden salad bowl on the dining room table. I didn’t have a goal other than wanting to commit the steps to memory, and to make more symmetrical birds with better beaks. But I discovered that folding paper is centering and meditative. I grew a tad obsessed, like after the NYT acquired Wordle—making a bird became the first thing I did every morning. I pass an art supply store running errands, so eventually I bought more papers. Now, close to seven weeks later, I’ve made about three hundred little guys. While that sounds like a lot of cranes, no joke, it took me almost that many to grasp how aligned and precise my folds need to be to achieve results I want—precise to a sliver of centimeter.

What will I do with this many birds? As my wooden bowl overflowed, and more cranes took up residence in paper bags lining the living room wall, I determined to produce a thousand in the Japanese tradition of senbazuru, a symbol of peace and hope. With a goal, I also developed a timeline—let’s get these babies folded by July, or before the monsoons come, in case I make a display of them outside. With a timeline, I had a quota. Ten cranes a day? Twenty? How long will this take? Then another friend gently reminded me that art is in the process.

Like Herrigel, I am a seeker of truth. I don’t pursue it as an idealist, but a realist. Drive and ambition haven’t made me a better archer or artist, and they don’t always serve me at work or in relationships, either. My achievement-oriented mindset has rendered me more prone to making mistakes; rushing discovery, process, and learning; and frustrating myself and others.

In relationships that are based on roles, like leader and follower, manager and employee, professional and client, etc., connection and transaction are always in play. This is true in my work as a coach—I can’t want someone’s evolution more than they want it for themselves. It’s also true in my advocacy and fundraising. I can’t force another person to share my perspective, vote like I do, or support my cause, though it’s still my job to make the request. Value the connection only, and the relationship loses purpose and intention. Focus too intently on the transaction, and you risk the other person feeling pushed, manipulated or used.

In this political and cultural moment, I find myself wishing more citizens would take up fundraising and advocacy on behalf of causes they care about. My stand is that this can be a Zen practice, too. Fundraising and advocacy also invoke frameworks and structure, and anyone can learn these skills … except the training is often overlooked or shortchanged. Why, though? I didn’t pick up a bow and begin shooting on my own. I took lessons, then studied with mentors who had decades of experience. I’ve made hundred of attempts at these cranes, and it’s only paper.

When you consider that you will also be transformed in the practice of advocacy and fundraising, the assignment becomes more than a responsibility. It becomes an opportunity. Eventually, you relax into a quality of presence in each conversation. You learn to arrive fully in the moment, focusing on the person across from you. What do they value? How are they evolving? Where does their story meet our cause? Now, the conversation has entered a state of flow. From this place, when it’s time to ask for something, the request is easy. You aren’t forcing the shot. The arrow releases itself.

“Don't think of what you have to do, don't consider how to carry it out!" he exclaimed. "The shot will only go smoothly when it takes the archer himself by surprise.”― Eugen Herrigel, Zen in the Art of Archery

• Related to this piece, I am interviewing executive directors and professional fundraisers on how board members are doing as ambassadors, advocates, and fundraisers. How’s everyone doing? I’d love to speak with you if you’re curious to participate. It would be a 30-45 minute conversation via Zoom. Email me, and we’ll set up a time to talk.

• Thanks to the 20-plus executive directors and board members I’ve interviewed so far—very grateful for your willingness to share. (I don’t want to tag you because I want to preserve your confidentiality. But thank you.)

• In addition to the interviews, I’ve created a short survey to capture quantitative data. If you are a volunteer board members of 501(c)3 organization, I’d love you to fill it out. Note that your answers will be recorded anonymously unless you choose otherwise, and please feel free to share it with your networks.