Learning to Let Go with Grace
(the power and powerlessness of requests)
I am a part of a philanthropic organisation, which has been built one person at a time. It consists of people who bring their experience and passion and intelligence to help nonprofits, which value this free guidance much more than a cheque.
And as always, lots of people come in, stay the course, become committed to the causes and the concept. Some understand they have different callings and move on. The monetary aspect is taken care of by a small yearly contribution which helps in funding the nonprofits.
The other day, a particularly favourite partner wrote in saying that he wanted to pause for a year, so he wanted to step down as a partner. This is something which often happens, and what I requested in my reply is that he continue without involvement but at least not let go of his yearly contribution - which in any case is tax deductible, and is as small as a family’s one-day cost in a Switzerland holiday! And a firmly-worded reply came that he did not want to give any money.
I was of course dismayed, at various levels - the loss of a partner who had the power and wisdom to change the fortunes of nonprofits (he was that good!) as also the loss of funds which had already been earmarked.
And I felt worse at another level - I had specifically requested for continuance to someone I had ( I thought) a good equation with - and was refused.
Of course, like all of us, I have been on the other side too. And this incident gave me pause to reflect on how I would have responded.
And unequivocally, my reaction has always been of giving primacy to relationship over cost. The tone and tenor always indicates the importance of a request. That’s critical, that’s me.
This person had been with us for a couple of years, he had made tons of difference to some terrific nonprofits, and that was something. Possibly this is where it was meant to end, possibly he himself did not know the gift he had, perhaps his largesse was meant for somewhere else.
But, as life has shown time and again, in the overall scheme of things, these things matter and don’t matter, because in the crucible of tragic inevitabilities lie good things. So what it did do was to sober me up.
Even as I sat down to reconcile myself to all of this, I also understood how little we know of people we think we know. And maybe - it was vital to take it all as it came, and celebrate things as long as they lasted.
Here’s a poem I love, called “Departures”, with a fantastic piano score by a friend Sayan Mukherji.