the more we give, the more we gain
I have. It’s a daily ritual for me, in fact. If I begin to think about anything but Greek yogurt and blackberries as I walk to the fridge, all hope is lost.
My thoughts regularly consume and distract me. So much so, that much to the chagrin of my wife, Erin, I’ll stop talking and continue conversations in the quiet of my mind. It goes something like this.
Me: “Did I ever tell you about…”
*silence*
Erin: “Nate, you’re doing it again. Did you tell me what?”
Me: “What?”
Erin: “You just said, ‘did you ever tell me?’ So what were you going to tell me?”
Me: “Oh. I’m not sure.”
For example, a few weeks ago, Erin and I woke up early to hike the Gore Range in the Rockies. As I drank my morning coffee, I started editing a section of my new book. After I’d become engrossed with the words on my screen, Erin asked, “Nate, can you make sandwiches to bring in our backpacks?”
I answered, “Sure, no problem,” without breaking my concentration. Fifteen minutes later, once I stopped typing, I actually processed what Erin had requested.
“Sandwiches. Got it,” I said to myself.
I walked to the fridge and looked for supplies. There wasn’t a single slice of ham, turkey, or cheese to be found. “Erin!” I yelled out. “I can’t make sandwiches! We don’t have meat or cheese.”
“Are you serious?” Erin shouted from upstairs. “I laid out everything you need, including Ziploc bags, right next to you. They’re literally right in front of you.”
I turned around and looked at the table, sheepishly. Sure enough, Erin had spread the necessary sandwich-making provisions around my computer. It was a serious case of myopia.
Generally, my moments of tunnel vision are triggered by an unwillingness to part with the things I treasure. Projects and goals, like writing books and racing triathlons, are two common examples. Tunnel vision is the fastest way to get the artistic and athletic achievement I crave, so I’m loathe to give my time and attention to other things (like conversations and sandwiches).
Living inside a tunnel is a very bland existence, however. There’s not much to see or do in a tunnel. Typically, there’s just a lot of cement and fluorescent light.
We drove through a fairly notable tunnel on our way to hike in the Gore Range that day. It’s called the Eisenhower Tunnel. It’s the longest mountain tunnel and the highest point on the U.S. Interstate system. But, even driving through a tunnel as remarkable as the Eisenhower doesn’t involve much more than looking at concrete and smelling exhaust.
The reason I chose to drive through the Eisenhower that day is because it’s fast and easy. We did have a choice, though. There’s an alternative route to the tunnel – Loveland Pass – which takes you up and over the Continental Divide.
The views from Loveland Pass are absolutely stunning. In the winter, the highway is carved into the middle of these massive ice walls, so it feels like you’re cruising down Santa Claus’ extra-long driveway. If the Pass’ 11,990-foot elevation doesn’t take your breath away, the uninterrupted, sweeping views of snow-capped Rockies will.
However, you only get Loveland’s iconic, magnificent views if you first give up the convenience of the tunnel.
Similarly, rich conversations and shared experiences with my wife (the very things I write about) require that I first give up my often selfish and narrow focus on my own projects (like writing).
So, while it may seem strange, we find that generosity flows backward in life. When it comes to choices as simple as driving through a tunnel, or those as complex as marriage, we find that the more we give, the more we gain.
I’m an entrepreneur, which means my biggest projects are companies. This makes life difficult at times, because unlike writing a book or finishing a race, there’s no end to building a company. In fact, if you do things right, the company keeps on growing, demanding more time and energy.
Just as I get lost in thought during conversations, it’s easy for me to grow consumed by my work. This was especially true once the company I co-founded was bought by another company, who transitioned me into a role that requires I travel a lot. Like, sixty flights a year, a lot. When I’m on the road and away from home, it’s even more challenging to emerge from a case of tunnel vision.
Unlike most people who fatigue as they spend more time on a project, I pick up speed. You know that law in physics, “an object in motion tends to stay in motion?” That’s me. The more I work, the more I want to work. The more I travel, the more I want to travel.
Erin calls it my “tornado mode.” Tornadoes consume everything in their path, and they’re really difficult to stop. If I start vacuuming, she knows it won’t be long before I’m scrubbing dishes, folding clothes, and throwing out stuff she thinks we need to keep, but I think is clutter. I’ll even forget to eat lunch or drink water once I start spinning. Seriously.
What lies in front of me is usually my sole focus. So, when I’m traveling, I don’t really think to check in with friends or family. It’s not that I don’t want to, it just doesn’t cross my mind. Like sandwich ingredients sitting in front of me.
Erin, meanwhile, is very good about maintaining our relationships with friends, at church, and with neighbors. We’re opposites in that way, which makes us better together.
Except, recently, those opposites collided in grand fashion as I came down from a nonstop travel bender.
From Minneapolis to Milwaukee, Seattle to San Francisco, and D.C. to Philly, I compressed a whole lot of travel into a few short weeks. I loved it, too. I was traveling as much as I was because the business was growing. It’s intoxicating to watch hard work turn into something valuable.
As I walked through our front door on this particular night, I was not only an object-in-motion, I was picking up steam. I didn’t realize, however, that I’d set myself on a collision-course with Erin.
A few friends had texted her to see if we wanted to meet them at a local brewery. Naturally, I wanted to go. I was riding a high and wanted to keep moving. Erin, on the other hand, declined for us. She said we were going to spend time together, just the two of us.
“We’ll have plenty of ‘us time’ this weekend,” I reasoned as I dropped my bags at the front door. “Tonight works for everyone’s schedule, so let’s go out.”
“Everyone’s schedule but ours,” she reminded me. “I’ve seen you on two days in the last two weeks.”
“That’s true, but we’ll be going out together. It’s not like we’re driving separate cars to the brewery.”
“That’s not the point, Nate. Don’t you want to spend time with me?”
I should have seen the caution signs at this point. Instead, I kept driving down the tunnel.
“Of course. I’ll get to spend time with you, and see friends at the same time. That’s great!”
I was thrilled by the efficiency of it all. I’d get everything I wanted, without any sacrifice. I had a full day of meetings on the East Coast, I’d spend time with my wife, and I’d see four other friends – all in one day. What wasn’t to love?
“You’re not getting it, Nate. I’ve been in this house, alone, for the better part of two weeks. Without you. Now, you’re here, but you don’t want to be with me. How do you think that feels?”
“I do want to be with you… and I also want to see the friends I can’t when I’m traveling.”
“But you’re always traveling. You have to make a choice at some point. You can’t expect that you coming home will always be about me going out. I need it be about me and you – our marriage – sometimes, too.”
Oh boy. There was a cliff at the end of this tunnel, and I was headed right for it. If I didn’t stop and reverse out, I’d run right over the ledge.
“That’s unfair,” I said, barreling toward the precipice.
“Unfair? No Nate, unfair is always being the one who’s left, instead of being the one who gets to do the leaving. Unfair is you not picking me when you come home.”
I was out of road. I’d blown past the edge and into the abyss. In a matter of seconds, I’d lose my momentum and spiral downward.
“Fine, let’s just stay home.”
There it was. The crash landing; my indifferent “fine.” Staying home was now empty of my heart. I wanted to have it all – travel, my wife, my friends – and I was maddened when I couldn’t.
Just as anyone would expect, lots of tears accompanied me wrecking our evening.
By wanting to have it all, I wound up with nothing. Not only me, but Erin, too. My words twisted meeting our friends into either dragging Erin out, or locking me away in a cage at home. I’d created a losing scenario, regardless of the choice we made.
It’s obvious, even to those who aren’t married, that healthy relationships don’t blossom when we prioritize our interests over our significant other’s. If I wanted a meaningful and thriving marriage, something had to give. In this case, I had to choose between my travel schedule, nights with friends, and quality time with my wife.
Even during episodes of tunnel vision, deep down, I know Erin comes first. She always will. In fact, I hope we die in the exact same moment.
You see, whenever I hug Erin goodbye before leaving for a trip, she makes me promise to come back. If I die first, I’ll break my promise. She’ll watch me leave one final time, knowing I won’t come home. And if she goes first, I couldn’t bear knowing she won’t be waiting to welcome me home. Neither of those options are good ones, so I hope old age takes us together.
Still, there are moments when it takes too long for my words to walk the path from my heart to my head. They get distracted along the way, like when I’m walking to the fridge. So what’s in front of me – and therefore front-of-mind – simply leaps out. My love for Erin doesn’t make it from my soul to my brain, so there’s a disconnect between what I believe and what I communicate.
It’s why I write her letters. My words have enough time to travel from my heart to the page.
That next afternoon, I decided to write Erin another letter. This letter, however, was different. It was a resignation letter addressed to my CEO. It explained that I’d made a difficult choice, and because I wanted a full life with my wife more that I wanted to build a company, I would give up a very good role in the company. I addressed it, stamped it, and I handed it to Erin.
Do you know what happened in the weeks after I gave Erin that letter?
I discovered I’d had it all, all along. When I stopped clinging to my work as the end-all-be-all, and I gave Erin the ticket that would end my travel, I found the freedom to enjoy my work while I had it, and I started to cherish my time with my wife all the more.
It’s easy to miss what we have when we’re focused on getting more. I think this is the great lie of our age. We feel we’ll truly start living once we’ve accumulated a little more. More status, more wealth, more experience. Just, more.
Conversely, the truth is the more we give, the more we gain.
You see, by always taking for yourself, you fill the world with foes and contention. By giving, you build a world of friends and kindness. Which world would you prefer to live in?
Well, it’s not as simple as what we prefer. We reveal our true choice daily by how we live our lives.
Think of it this way. If we get by giving, then conversely, in the negative sense, we lose by taking. By hanging onto our priorities, our time, our money, we miss opportunities to gain something even better. Just ask any money manager. We diminish the long-term value of whatever we hold onto. We find ourselves with quicksand eroding beneath our feet, instead of the contentment or safety we hoped our selfishness would achieve.
Now, consider this. What are the good or valuable things in your life? What are you thankful for? Did you gain those things by keeping and hoarding resources for yourself? Or did you give something along the way?
To make this a more specific exercise, think about your relationships. How did you build them?
The reality is that when we give away love and we spend ourselves for others’ benefit, we ultimately come to find there are more people out there willing to love us. I’m sure this is true of your relationships. Loving people find themselves loved in return. Dark and selfish people find themselves abandoned, living in an insipid, lifeless tunnel.
It’s important to note, though, if we give with a specific end in mind, this doesn’t work. The good of the other person must be our genuine and single end. Generosity can’t be counterfeited in order to gain something self-serving. When we fake it, we’re not only labeled as manipulating, we’ll soon decide we’re not getting what we want, and we’ll give up this whole endeavor of living generously.
Giving has to be sustained. We have to live freely always, not when it benefits us.
Lest you think these are my own ideas, Jesus Christ is the original. He regularly talked about this paradox, but in a much bigger way. He said “If you cling to your life, you will lose it, and if you let your life go, you will save it.” ( Luke 17:33, NLT )
This is very encouraging if you think about. Jesus basically told the world, “Hey, look, the most important thing on this earth – your life – it’s actually the easiest thing to get. You just have to let it go. There’s no long ten-step plan here.” (Obviously, these are my words, not his.)
Jesus didn’t only prefer our world to be one where we lay down our lives for our friends (and our enemies, actually), he lived his choice. He made the dreadful, horrible decision to give up his life on a wooden cross, thousands of years ago.
He didn’t do it because he wanted to. He did it for us.
He knew we’d never live perfectly loving and generous lives, ones deserving of an eternal and rewarding life with God. So, he chose to suffer, and he gave his life – which was in fact perfect and generous – as a sacrifice. In turn, he gave us the path to a lasting relationship with our Heavenly Father. That’s what grace is – an undeserved gift.
You must agree, even if you believe Jesus Christ was simply a moral and influential teacher from the first century, we’ve been give much through his death. After all, it’s why we call that day in history “Good Friday.” Jesus’ life and teachings spread like wildfire throughout the ancient world, giving dignity to women living in a culture of oppression, encouraging education in an illiterate society, and freeing the poor and enslaved.
(Should you now be thinking, “But what about all the negative results, like the crusades?” I would challenge you to judge Jesus not by how his message was abused, but for who he claimed to be, and how he actually lived. We don’t judge Islam by terrorists, we judge it by its historical veracity, doctrinal coherence, and experiential relevance. We shouldn’t judge Jesus by political affiliations or violent crusaders who misuse his name.)
Now, I should note that receiving Jesus’ gift of grace and living in his grace are very different things. To receive something, we have to do just that. We accept it. But to live in grace is to accept the same call to lay down our lives. We must spend ourselves for the well-being of others, showing everyone the same love Jesus did.
As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said so well in his book, The Cost of Discipleship :
The cross is laid on every Christian… the cross is not the terrible end to an otherwise god-fearing and happy life, but it meets us at the beginning of our communion with Christ. When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.
As we follow this call, we’ll find that generosity flows backward. This time, in the form of joy that far exceeds any type of earthly gain.
To return to Bonhoeffer’s words once more, “Christianity preaches the infinite worth of that which is seemingly worthless, and the infinite worthlessness of that which is seemingly so valued.”
To Bonhoeffer’s point, in the corporate world, we give people opportunities that advance their earnings and status. However, when it comes to the moral values like love and joy we’re now discussing, our rewards are paid out in the spiritual realm, which is far more valuable. If one day you decide all the wealth in the world hasn’t fulfilled you, that it’s no longer worth pursuing material success, it can’t be traded for things like relationships and contentment. Those things are far too valuable. All the world’s money can’t buy them.
So, in the end, we find we get what’s truly valuable, and what we truly desire – love, relationships, joy – by first giving them.
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