Getting to the end

Well, we’re done. I feel like I’ve run a marathon or something. Rather like in interviews with athletes at the end of big races, I feel like I’ve been ranting incoherently in a sort of slightly exhausted and emotional sort of way. Life before the appeal seems like an age ago. Will I ever be the same again?

I can hardly believe it - I reached my target (admittedly with the help of a contribution from my own self, but apparently that still counts). Last week doing target looked very unlikely, but this week I’ve picked up standing orders every night, mostly between 9.30 and 10.00pm each evening just when I was about to give up hope.
It’s been a fantastic six weeks. I feel really grateful. What a practice fundraising is! The sense of team and camaraderie was very strong by the end. Collectively we didn’t quite do our target, but certainly raised a sizeable amount between us.

I’ve felt thoroughly shaken and stirred and humbled at times. But also moved and alive and inspired. The people whose doors I’ve knocked on have been a source of amazement and have consistently surprised me, often in a very positive way.

Respect is due to those who keep the Karuna appeal show on the road, and to anyone that puts themselves through this repeatedly. I think it’s true what people say: if you do a Karuna appeal you will gain a huge amount, perhaps even more than you give.

Autumn arrives

I am still working on trying to slow down, say less, spend more time taking in what the other person has said and acknowledging it (e.g. by reflecting back - preferably not parrot fashion). I expect I'll still be working on these aspects of communication in days, months, years to come. As we go into the last week of the appeal, I find myself thinking about doing another one at some point. It feels like it would be a bit of a waste not to put all that I've learnt during these past weeks to use again in some way.

An image that comes to mind is of trying to master one of those trick bicycles where the front wheel turns in the opposite direction to the way you steer the handlebars. There are brief moments of exhilaration when I think I've got the hang of it and feel like I'm getting somewhere. Then I fall off again. Most times I dust myself down metaphorically speaking, and I want to get on and try again fairly readily. It's going to take a long long time to get the hang of it, if I ever do. But it's utterly compelling giving it a go.

Outside the air is a lot cooler. It's getting darker earlier and really starting to feel like autumn proper. Having knocked on many doors and met a lot of people now, I'm left with some overall or general impressions. One is that the vast majority of people (almost everyone) are giving to charity in some way. The other lasting impression is of how many people's lives are touched by bereavement or tragedy of some kind.

It's as though there's a hidden mustard seed teaching in fundraising. I've been a bit surprised how many people have said to me when I knock on their door that it's not a good time - they've recently lost a loved one, or that someone in the family has been injured in an accident. Then of course I throw out all notions of eliciting standing orders, and try to express some sympathy. That usually seems appreciated and there's a sense of relief.

Tonight I walked around a street corner feeling upset and disputatious. I found a starling dead in pool of dirty water in the gutter. It didn't seem right. I took it as a reminder that in reality there is no time for quarrelling. I know it won't be long before I forget again, but I appreciated the reminder.

Anything is possible

"Anything is possible," our mentors have been saying. "Stay open. Try and have no fixed expectations."

A few nights ago I knocked on a door only to be told that the guy from another charity had just been round. "Oh well, I guess he's beaten me to it," I said. But it was one of those situations where as I turned around and made my way back down the garden path, the householder called me back and asked to see the booklet.
I went back again tonight, and the response when the door opened this time was "What would you like us to do? Do you want money, or would you like us to visit India and work for one of the projects?". I said I thought that it was very generous of them to consider the latter, but that the former would also be a great help.
"Ok, why don't you come in?". (It usually seems to be a good sign when someone asks you in).
The husband swopped amusing tales of travel in Rajasthan with me while his wife filled in the standing order form. The husband hadn't read the booklet, so his wife explained to him that this wasn't another case of endlessly pouring money into a situation, these are projects that are actually helping people up and out of poverty. I wish I could remember her exact words - they sounded much better to me than the lines I've been habitually trotting out.

Once we were done, I cast my eye down the form and realised they'd pledged £25 per month - fantastic! I hadn't had one for that amount before. That did my confidence no end of good.

As chance would have it, I had an appointment to call back to the house right next door that evening as well, so it seemed easy and logical to go there next. At first a babysitter answered and made as if the homeowner wasn't in, but eventually the bloke I'd spoken to earlier in the week came to the door.
"We'd like to make a contribution," he said, thrusting a £20 note from the Bank of Ulster into my hand.
"Thank you, that's very kind," I said. "I hope you don't find this impertinent, but it really helps us if you can give regularly: either monthly or quarterly or annually. It helps us plan ahead in terms of which projects we can support."
"Ok, come on in," he replied. Three of his nine children were in the front room, said they thought it was a good idea, and helped us to fill in a standing order form.
"How much do you normally ask people to give?" he asked.
"Well, we suggest £25 per month if you can manage it," I ventured.
"Ok, sign us up!". Two £25 covenants in one night! I could hardly believe my luck.
It turns out our new magnanimous benefactor is very sympathetic to Buddhism, meditates every morning, and his company is helping to arrange a mortgage for an FWBO centre elsewhere in the UK.

What a contrast to last night. Even before these fortuitous encounters, I felt much more happy and relaxed, enjoying being affirming towards people on their doorsteps, whether they were interested in supporting Karuna or not.

A tough night

I think I experienced tonight's fundraising as the toughest yet. I was tired, nervous and unconfident. I struggled with my habit of talking at the person, rather than listening, acknowledging, taking them in and giving them space. I got a lot of `no's' and felt like I was there to chase the target, trying to save face and my pride rather than out of any sincere desire to help India or make genuine connections with the people I met.

"Too busy / haven't got time / not interested / not a good time / already doing loads / trying to put the children to bed / cooking / eating / just got in / just going out / a guy from another charity was around last week / already donating to Karuna regularly / good for you, but no / wish you lots of luck, but no / etc" came the replies. Pretty much all said in a friendly and pleasant way mind you. Very much the kind of neighbourhood where you'd expect there to already be a lot of Karuna supporters. Also very much the kind of neighbourhood you'd expect other fundraisers to have made a bee-line for and to have cleaned up in just before you got there.

I did actually bump into a guy from another charity on the street the other night. He was friendly enough and said he knew Jayaraja. We compared notes on which streets we'd already knocked, and which ones we were planning to do. I was working eastwards and he was working westwards. On overlapping, we both found the going less easy as we each knocked on doors the other had tried earlier that day or week.

Amidst all the `no's' there were a couple of glimmers of possibility including one guy who said he already does a number of standing orders for other charities. "Here we go again," I thought to myself, inwardly giving up hope, but then to my surprise he said perhaps it was time for a change and that maybe he'd consider `swopping over to us'.

Week five

Well, it's day two of week five and that means only eight more evenings of fundraising left. The intensity continues to build as our collective and individual targets still seem a long way off. I have picked up a standing order on each of the last three nights, but they have all been for £5 per month or less.
Manjuka, the leader of our appeal, has assured me that the fact I am scoring each night is a good sign and there's every chance that the size of standing orders will increase as we go into the home straight.

If there's something the door-knocking has been teaching me over the last few nights, it's to expect the unexpected. Some people seem very keen and say to come back at such a time on such a day and they'll have the form all ready and filled in. So of course I turn up at the appointed hour full of hopes and they're not there.
Then there are people who already give to loads of charities (or even work for a charity) so I half-heartedly leave them a booklet only to find them wanting to sign up when I call back. I am having to work with myself to prevent my mood from going up and and down like crazy according to whether I think the last communication has gone well or not.

I think that my unpushiness when doing `fresh calls' has been counting in my favour quite often. A few times when I haven't been over-eager to persuade someone to take a booklet they have even called me back as I walk away, perhaps out of curiosity to see what I've got. If anything my pushiness comes out when doing `call backs' and I'm sensing a possible contribution is on the cards. My efforts to allow the other person plenty of space and to acknowledge what they say have made a real difference as I do the `fresh calls'. Now I want to bring more of the same into the `call backs'.

I have to say that the booklet is excellent. It's obviously been honed and refined and distilled over the years. It must be doing at least three quarters of our work as door-to-door fundraisers for us. It's attractive, eye-catching, affecting, informative, interesting, clear. I am having to do a certain amount of reassuring of people that we haven't squandered lots of money on producing it. "The photographer used to work for New Internationalist magazine, and the designer has done book covers professionally," I explain, "but they've given their time and energy to Karuna for a very low rate."

I've been meeting quite a few existing Karuna supporters as I am out on my rounds, including a couple last night who've been contributing since 1982. "I wonder if that's a record?" I ask, "I wonder how much you've given over the years, and how many people in India you've helped?". There's no answer of course, just a happy smile.

'Do you know about Karuna?'

Me: Hello. I called by a few nights ago and left a booklet about charity in India.
Daughter: Oh yes. I asked my mum, and her line is that she's already supporting *name of a charity*.
[I notice she's wearing a uniform.]
Me: Oh, ok. What about you? What's your line? Are you a carer?
Daughter: No. I'm a student nurse, so I don't have any spare money.
Me: No, well, that's fair enough.
Daughter: I'll try and find your leaflet for you so you can have it back...
[calls downstairs] Mum, have you seen that leaflet about India?
Mum [from downstairs] : It's in the recycling. They're coming tomorrow, so it's outside.
Daughter [goes outside to recycling bins]: Let's have a look... it should be in this one... or is it in this one?... no, maybe it's in here.
Me: If it's not easy to find it then don't worry.
Mum [from inside the house]: Do you need a torch dear?
Me: It's not a problem if you can't find it.
Daughter: Ah... here it is.
Me: Great, thank you.
Mum [coming out of the house]: I'm already giving to *name of charity*. They're ethical and I know where my money's going. Not like these other charities...
Me: I see, so you like to give to ethical charities and you like to know where your money's going?
Mum: Yes - I know where I am with *name of charity*. I like *name of charity*, I know them.
Me: So you like what you know and you know what you like?
Mum: Well, it's not just that. You don't know where your money goes with these other charities. You get all these street fundraisers hassling you and giving you the hard sell down on the London Road...
Daughter: But he's not like them mum...
Mum: I've read about it in the paper. I know how much money you're getting out of this.
Me: I'm not getting a penny. I'm a volunteer.
Mum: Well I know about *name of charity* and I know about these other charities.
[Daughter gives up and goes back into the house.]
Me: But you don't know anything about our charity do you?
[I give up and wander off. I wish I'd said something like "You haven't given me a chance. You've categorised me and put our work into a box without knowing anything about it".]

Still no standing orders from the new patch I'm working, but I am making steps forward in terms of giving the other person more space and acknowledging more what they've said before I come in with my ideas about things. It's a small change, but already I feel like it's making a big difference with how well I connect with people. I sense if I can take this away with me from the appeal, life and listening will be so much better.

Honing my awareness

Our morning training sessions are proving incredibly useful for honing what I need to work on to improve the way I communicate, i.e. to increase my awareness of myself and others. A theme that's emerging is the importance of attending to my physical experience. I tend to try to avoid the feelings that arise in situations I find difficult or uncomfortable (e.g. conflict). The theory is that feelings we find it hard to accept or be aware of locate in the body as discomfort. Not wanting to feel the discomfort, I lose awareness of my physical body, and when I communicate from that state people often tell me they don't find it very authentic. They sense there's something else going on for me - something is unspoken. I am experimenting with trying to bring my attention to my centre and my breathing more, especially when waiting for the door to be answered. Of course this is nothing new - it's JUST A QUESTION OF MAKING SURE I ACTUALLY DO IT.

Speaking of things unspoken, I've had a few experiences of not knowing what to say when someone answers the door. At least I am learning to be able to laugh at it and acknowledge "This feels a bit awkward doesn't it" as I stand there with my mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. Manjusvara said it may be a sign that there isn't anything to say, or that I am trying to say to much.