Latest / The Good Fight: People Fighting for Justice & Change / Why Giving More Choices Might Be Making Us Give Less | The Good Fight
Transcript
- You are standing in the grocery aisle staring at forty-two varieties of olive oil, and suddenly you realize you haven’t bought a single thing. That paralysis isn’t just about dinner; it’s exactly how we feel when we try to change the world. I want you to picture that moment. You’re tired. It’s been a long week. You walk into the store needing one simple thing: olive oil. But instead of finding two or three options on the shelf, you are confronted with an overwhelming array. Extra virgin from Italy. Cold-pressed from Spain. Light for cooking. Heavy for finishing. Organic. Non-organic. In glass bottles. In plastic. In tins shaped like lemons. And somewhere in there, maybe, is the one you actually want. But your brain short-circuits. The effort of choosing feels heavier than the act of buying itself. So, what do we do? We put the bottle back. We grab something else entirely, or nothing at all, and we go home. This is not a metaphor. This is the reality of modern philanthropy. I see it every time I sit down with a donor who wants to help but doesn’t know where to start. There are thousands of nonprofits. Millions of causes. Climate change, hunger, education, animal welfare, mental health, housing justice. The list is endless. And while abundance sounds like freedom, it often feels like a trap. When everything matters, nothing feels urgent enough to demand your specific attention right now. The paradox of choice tells us that more options lead to greater satisfaction. But in the realm of social impact, more options often lead to anxiety, regret, and ultimately, inaction. You don’t want to pick the wrong cause. You don’t want to support the organization that might mismanage the funds. You don’t want to feel like your contribution is a drop in an ocean so vast it won’t even make a ripple. So, you freeze. And the work waits. Let’s get practical here. For years, I’ve heard well-meaning activists say, 'I need to find the perfect organization to support.' They treat philanthropy like a search for a needle in a haystack. They spend months researching, reading annual reports, checking charity watchdog ratings, comparing overhead ratios. And I respect that diligence. Truly. But I also see the burnout setting in. They become paralyzed by the fear of making a suboptimal choice. They think that if they give to the wrong place, they are complicit in the problem. That’s the hard part. We have convinced ourselves that our dollars must be perfectly aligned with our values in every single dimension. We want 100% efficiency. We want immediate results. We want systemic transformation delivered in a quarterly report. But justice work is messy. It is slow. It is rarely linear. When we chase the perfect nonprofit, we miss the imperfect people doing the good work right next door. We ignore the local mutual aid group because their website is outdated and their accounting is loose, even though they are feeding fifty families every Tuesday. We overlook the small environmental coalition because they aren’t trending on social media, even though they are planting trees that will mature in thirty years. Perfection is the enemy of progress. Especially when it comes to helping others. If we wait until we are sure our money is going to the absolute best possible outcome, we may never give at all. And that is a tragedy, not because of the money lost, but because of the connection severed. Philanthropy is not just a transaction; it is a relationship. And relationships require trust, not total information. So, what’s next? How do we break this cycle of analysis paralysis? I suggest we start by shrinking our scope. Not our ambition. Never our ambition. But our scope. Think about that grocery aisle again. What would happen if you decided, once and for all, that you only buy olive oil from one specific brand? Or better yet, from one local producer at the farmers market? You wouldn’t have to research every year. You would know the farmer. You would know where the olives come from. You would taste the difference in quality. You would feel connected to the land. Apply that logic to your giving. Pick one issue. Just one. Maybe it’s literacy. Maybe it’s clean water. Maybe it’s supporting survivors of domestic violence. Commit to it for a year. Don’t jump around. Don’t chase the new viral campaign. Stick with it. Learn the landscape. Follow the leaders. Attend their events. Volunteer if you can. When you focus deeply on one area, you stop being a passive consumer of charity and start becoming a stakeholder in change. You begin to understand the nuances. You see which organizations are truly effective, not just effective-looking. You build trust. And trust is the solvent that removes the stain of doubt. Sustainable change over viral moments. That is my north star. Viral moments are exciting. They give us a hit of dopamine. They make us feel like we are part of something huge. But they fade. The real work happens in the quiet, consistent accumulation of resources toward a single goal. When you narrow your focus, you amplify your impact. A hundred dollars given to ten different causes does less good than a thousand dollars given to one cause that knows exactly how to use it. We need to reframe community care as a discipline, not just a feeling. Feeling charitable is easy. It’s warm. It’s fuzzy. It makes us feel good about ourselves. But discipline is harder. Discipline means showing up when you’re tired. It means giving when you don’t see immediate results. It means trusting the process even when it’s unclear. It means accepting that your contribution is part of a larger tapestry, not the whole picture. I remember early in my career, working in a large nonprofit, we had donors who wanted to control every aspect of their gift. They wanted to know exactly which pencil went to which child. They treated the organization like a vending machine. Insert dollar, receive impact. But human beings are not vending machines. Systems are complex. Resources move through channels we cannot always see. Transparency is vital, yes. We owe our donors honesty about how resources move from donor to impact. But transparency does not mean micromanagement. It means clear communication, regular updates, and honest conversations about challenges. When we let go of the need for total control, we free ourselves to be partners in the work. We become allies rather than bosses. This shift in perspective changes everything. It allows for innovation. It allows for risk-taking. It allows for failure, which is essential to learning. If we demand perfection, we stifle growth. If we accept imperfection, we open the door to breakthroughs. Your gift is not just money. It is faith. Faith in the people doing the work. Faith in the mission. And faith in yourself to keep going. Let’s talk about momentum. In activism, we often focus on the mountain. The big summit. The policy change. The law passed. But mountains are climbed one step at a time. And those steps are small. They are unglamorous. They are boring. But they are necessary. Celebrating small wins is not settling. It is strategy. It keeps the momentum going. It reminds us that we are moving forward. When you choose to support one cause, you will see small victories. A family housed. A student tutored. A tree planted. These moments matter. They validate your choice. They reinforce your commitment. They build your resilience for the long haul. Without them, it is easy to lose heart. Easy to question whether your efforts matter. But they do. Every single one. Relentlessly encouraging. That is how we must hold each other. Not with high expectations of perfection, but with steady support for progress. When you feel overwhelmed by the choices, remind yourself of this truth: any action is better than no action. Any gift is better than none. Any voice raised is better than silence. Do not let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Do not let the abundance of choice rob you of the joy of giving. Choose one thing. Give generously. Stay committed. Watch what happens. The power is in the persistence, not the selection. So, I leave you with this challenge. Look at your life. Look at your resources. Time, money, energy, skills. What is the one thing you can commit to? Not the thing that looks best on paper. Not the thing that has the most impressive name. But the thing that resonates in your gut. The thing that makes you angry and hopeful at the same time. That is your starting point. Go there. Dig deep. Get to know the people. Understand the struggle. Contribute what you can. And then, keep going. Let’s get practical. Write down your commitment. Tell someone about it. Hold yourself accountable. This is not a one-time event. It is a lifestyle. It is a way of being in the world. A way of saying, 'I am here. I see this. I care.' The paradox of choice is real. But so is the power of focus. By narrowing your lens, you bring the image into clarity. You see the details. You notice the textures. You appreciate the beauty of the work, however difficult it may be. And in that appreciation, you find strength. Strength to continue. Strength to endure. Strength to win. Because winning is not just about the outcome. It is about the journey. It is about who you become along the way. Make the choice. Trust your heart. And let’s fight the good fight together. Take a deep breath. Put down the forty-second bottle of olive oil. Pick the one that feels right. I’ll be listening. Until next time, stay grounded, stay fierce, and keep choosing wisely. This is Judy Growney, signing off.