Friends, At the very start of the climb, before the trail went into the trees, we could see the top. It was the peak we looked up to, the one we were walking toward. When we finally came up over the last rise of the ridge with heavy packs and ice axes in hand, there it was. Snow, rock, and nothing above it but sky. For about four seconds I believed I had made it. This is great, I thought. Then I looked further out. Past the ridge was a second peak, higher than the one I was standing on. It had been there the whole time. The peak we had been looking up at since the first day stood in front of it and hid it. Between us and the real top was a deep valley. We would have to go all the way down before we could start up again. That is how the place got its name. It's called Disappointment Peak. You can't see the real top from the beginning. Then a blizzard came in and pinned us there. We spent more than a day in tents, cold and quiet, playing cards and waiting. Nobody talked much about the top. When the storm passed, we packed up, walked down into the valley and started climbing again. Where the build isThis fall I've had my own four seconds more than once. The first came from a question people keep asking me: who else is doing this? It's a fair question, and I couldn't answer it well from where I stood. So I stopped building and went looking. I spent real time learning what other organizations are already doing about money that has been set aside and isn't moving. I thought I knew that ground. From further out, there was more of it than I'd seen. The second came with the advisory council. Something meant to outlast me can't rest on one person's view of the mountain. So I've been asking people who have spent their careers in giving to help shape it. Almost every conversation has shown me a ridge I hadn't noticed. The third was smaller. My website went live and I thought that part was done. Then someone who builds websites for a living told me, kindly and plainly, that a visitor couldn't tell where to start. So I went back down, and I'm rebuilding it. The false top in givingGiving has its own Disappointment Peak, and almost nobody calls it that. A family puts money into a fund after a business sale. A board closes a campaign and holds the celebration. A thank-you letter goes out. Each one feels like the top. It's the peak everyone could see from the beginning. The hard decision is made and the generous thing is done. The money has moved, but it hasn't arrived. The real top is when it reaches the people and causes it was set aside for. Nobody wants to say that out loud, because everyone involved is being generous. I don't think the problem is the people. From where they stand, the top looks like the top. You have to look further out to see the second peak, and further out is not where anyone is looking on the day they celebrate. What I think the view looks likeI can't see it from here. But I can picture it. A family that opens a fund and, within a year, can name what it did. A nonprofit leader who hears yes and sees the money arrive while it can still change the plan. A donor who knows that the thank-you letter was the start of the gift, not the end of it. None of that takes more generosity. It takes one more climb after the one that already felt finished. Why I'm climbingOn that course we took turns breaking trail through deep snow. Nobody could do it all day. Everybody could do it for a while. The valley after a false top is where most people turn around. I don't think they would if someone walked down into it with them. That's what a team is for, and it's why I'm writing to you instead of building this alone. What I learned this weekA finished thing and a working thing are not the same. I can tell when something is finished. I need other people to tell me whether it's working. The most useful thing anyone gave me this week was a plain answer to a question I hadn't thought to ask. One small step for this weekSit with three questions. Ten minutes, a notebook, nobody else needs to see it.
If you have money set aside for giving, in a fund or a foundation, think about that money as you answer. If you raise money for a cause you love, think about your own giving too. Most of us are both. You don't need answers this week. You only need to notice which question is hardest. That's usually the valley. See you next Wednesday. Chris |
Written by Chris Beach. One short letter each Wednesday, following a real build as it happens, and what it takes to get money set aside for good moving again.
Friends, If you've ever hiked, you know this feeling. You walk and walk under the trees. You can only see a few steps ahead. Then a small trail breaks off toward something, and you don't really know what it will look like. You follow it anyway. Then you step into the opening, and it happens. The trees fall away. You can see where you've been and where you're going. For a moment, you just stand there. Maybe for you it was a lake at the end of a long walk. A ridge on a family trip. A bench at...
Friends, A week ago I sent the first of these letters to a handful of people. Since then, many of you have asked to come along. Some of you I work with every day. Some of you I've known for years. Some of you I met over coffee and we talked longer than either of us planned. Thank you for being here. The climb I've been writing about, ninety days in the Cascades and the Olympics in the fall of 2001, wasn't something I did alone. It was a group course, and the days I remember most are the ones...
Fall of 2001. Ninety days in the Cascades and the Olympics on a NOLS semester course. The moment I remember most is not a summit. It is a morning at camp. My pack was loaded. The route was on the map. The weather was fine. And nothing moved. I had everything I needed. That turned out to be its own kind of problem. I have thought about that morning a lot this year. For ten months I have been working out what comes next, and I kept coming back to the same thing. Money already given. Already set...