Knocking in Hove

I've moved to a new area. It's in Hove actually, and it's quite different to where I was before in the little towns ten miles out of town. In Hove people seem less surprised to find a charity fundraiser on their doorstep of an evening. The houses are much closer together so I knock on more doors, and I'm met with more energy by the inhabitants (who also tend to be a bit younger). After dusk there is adequate street lighting and house numbering for me to be able to find my way around. I'd been finding it hard to find some places in the country lanes after dark - a lot of the residences had names (such as `The Beeches') rather than numbers.

So my concerns about my flow and momentum being disrupted by changing patch have so far proved to be ill-founded. If anything, I feel I can really get started now. I hadn't realised the full extent to which my energy had been leaking away in between calls in sleepy suburbia. I sense that working in Hove may prove to be more rewarding and also more challenging. I suspect the challenge may come from being more fully met, and by so many people. I may have to (continue to) open up to allowing myself to be more fully seen.

Occasionally (often when I'm least expecting it) someone opens a door I've knocked and we just stand there taking each other in. Somehow my preconceptions are taken by surprise and don't have a chance don't kick in. It's like there's just a very pure or full meeting of two human beings (albeit complete strangers) without any masks or barriers. That happened to me tonight on the doorstep of an elderly woman. She had some presence and bearing. In the few seconds before I handed her a booklet she just stood and looked at me and I just stood and looked at her. Quite hard to describe, but quite disarming, charming, wonderful.

My Mentor

Manjusvara, extremely experienced fundraiser and author of `Writing Your Way', accompanied me this evening. Again it was really interesting and useful to have someone else's perspective on my door-knocking attempts. "Be light on your feet," he suggested, i.e. be ready to move towards or away from whoever I am communicating with on the doorstep as needed, and be ready to put more energy or less into what I'm saying. (We found in the role-playing exercises that communications seem more successful and appropriate when we make efforts to match the style, mood, volume, etc of the other person.)

Then my mentor stood on the pavement in the orange-yellow glow in that streetlit sleepy commuter town and waved our key tool, the fundraising booklet, around in the air. "It's like a magic wand," he said. It was as though a strange wizard from an altogether different world had unexpectedly appeared in this corner of suburbia.
He was helping me to sense extra possibilities in what could easily be mistaken for a gloomy residential area. "It's as though there's a golden thread of humanity and generosity running through this street, and you're coming along here to give it a polish."

He'd noticed that I was putting away and then getting out my paperwork, taking off and then putting back on the lid of my pen between calls. It was interrupting my flow and breaking up a sense of continuity. I felt that there could be quite a bit to reflect on in just those simple little details and comments. The perspective I was being offered seemed to charge every little thing with significance.

Some expert help

Yesterday evening a more experienced (and very successful) fundraiser accompanied me as I went around knocking on doors. I found his comments perceptive and helpful, especially as he said "I'm not saying that this is the right way to do things, these are just suggestions for you to try out." He noticed that I was `hanging back' from the door and suggested that I try standing a bit nearer to make connecting with whoever answers a bit easier. Also that I could still do with saying less and allowing the other person more space to speak.

I was introduced to the concept of `warming up' the booklet. Apparently only a little introduction is needed - it seems there's an advantage in just getting the thing into the other person's hands as soon as possible and letting it (the booklet) do some of the talking.

It was also interesting to see my friend knocking on doors. He seemed quite confident and bold, without being pushy, as if to say to the householder "Here I am and here you are and that is just fine. I want to tell you about the difference these projects are making in India." It all seemed quite definite and unhesitant, as if to say "This is the truth of what's going on. And it's important." He encouraged me to take up my space on the doorstep with pride: "This is Bodhisattva work." Dr Ambedkar (who is a hero of mine) came very strongly to mind, and I was glad later on to have the opportunity to tell someone on one of the doorsteps more about him. It was as if in doing so we were clarifying some doubts in the householder's mind. The bloke didn't sign up but we both felt like he came really close - he just needed more time to think about it. My trainer suggested that I call on him again towards the end of the appeal.

Today in training we did various role-playing exercises where we acted as different people of varying degrees of confidence and unconfidence. Afterwards I felt a lot more unsure of (or open to) who I was and how I could be with others. Also who they were and how they might be.

My First Score, and some Focusing

Well, I am off the mark as they say. It's a good feeling. I have heard tales of fundraisers going two or three weeks before getting their first standing orders, so I am glad to be spared that tension. We had a day and a half of `Focusing' workshop yesterday and today. That really helped with my fundraising efforts this evening. [Focusing is a kind of guided or directed way of listening to yourself and tuning in to how you are in a deeper way. See www.livingfocusing.co.uk for more info.] I experienced my communication with the people answering the doors as qualitatively better tonight. I was more present and comfortable with myself, the householders had more time for me and I had more time for them. The `nos' and the `no thank yous' seemed more friendly.

The place where I got my first standing order was a rather unique and idiosyncratic cottage on the edge of town. There were several personalised features in the porch and garden, for example the name sign hanging above the door was painted on a large mock-up of a saw, complete with jagged teeth. Even the way the car was parked in the drive seemed unusual. The woman who answered the door last week said she already supported several charities (a lot of people say that), but she took a booklet anyway. When I called back a few days ago she had a terrible migraine, so I said I'd come back another day.

So tonight was the third time I knocked on her door, and it turned out to be third time lucky. She said she felt very sympathetic to Karuna's work and to Buddhism. She wanted to give, but said she couldn't manage £15 per month (which is what she thought was implied as the minimum contribution in the booklet). I pointed out that even five pounds per month would support literacy classes for a dozen women, and she ended up signing for £10 per month. I found it all rather beautiful and humbling and unlikely.

When I got back to the ranch two of the others had each pulled in £25 per month worth of standing orders, so it felt extra good for us all to go into the shrine room and transfer any merits we'd gained.

The Training Starts

So far in the training we've been doing role-play exercises which are useful opportunities to rehearse what we say and how we say it when we're out and about. Our team meetings, the role-playing and the door-knocking itself all offer the chance for quite an intense and detailed look at how we communicate. At times I'm finding it challenging, but rewarding and fun also. My old familiar pattern of getting angry when I feel criticized or judged has made itself known already in one of our team meetings, and has duly been put under the spotlight. And this is just the beginning!

I've been learning to reduce the amount of words I use to explain what we're about. Also to allow much more space to take in the person answering the door (and for them to take me in). Another working ground for me is learning to listen more, and to express more interest in who I'm communicating with. (I'm not offering this as an excuse, but the astrologers say that my first five planets are all in Leo). I need to learn to shift my focus more away from myself and what I've got to say. What do you think of the blog so far?

I'm generally finding it interesting and engaging work, but have only raised four pounds in cash so far. No standing orders yet. Surely it's only a question of time. My patch consists of several small towns about ten miles inland from Brighton. I drive to them in a sprightly new blue Vauxhall Corsa hired for the duration. As I get out of the car to start my rounds each evening I lock the doors with a `click'. I usually feel very alert in that moment: the positive effects of the day's training and Dharma practice are with me, and so especially is my purpose - it seems big, close by, hovering overhead.

My First Time...

This is my first time doing a Karuna Appeal, and my first time in Brighton. It's quite an experienced team: there's a friend I've known for years, someone I know a little bit from various retreats, and someone I've only met briefly once before. I'm 34 and I've been involved in the movement for more than twelve years, but I still often find myself to be the youngest in any given bunch of Sangha folk (and that's the case here). At least no-one says "Eat up, you're a growing lad" or "My, haven't you grown" (though I do still get that sometimes).

We're staying in a terraced holiday house in Hove about fifteen minutes walk from the sea. An ice cream van drives down the road playing the Colonel Bogey theme. The fridge in the kitchen gurgles and sighs in a contented sort of way. First thing is to make dinner. Luckily, the owner of a shop around the corner opens up especially for us `after hours' and kindly sells us unusual wholefoods and veg. He invites us to a party he's having in a few weeks time. "So far, so Brighton," I can't help thinking.