Out of the corner of my eye, I saw this short exchange of funds happen many times in my childhood. My dad wouldn’t blink an eye when it comes to money. If he didn’t have any money on him, he’d offer them a cigarette instead. The person was usually someone he knew—a family member, but sometimes they were strangers or distant relatives.
Why not just keep it to yourself, I wondered. I was baffled, even irritated with him, for giving away what I thought was a part of our livelihood.
I later realized that my father’s altruism was simply a part of his personality. He knew that we didn’t have much, but he also knew that sometimes people were down on their luck and needed someone to lift them up. In the village where I come from, there weren’t any real divisions of class. Aside from my godmother, who had some money (as evident by the nicer house she lived in and thus was the closest to “middle class,”) many families, including my own, were essentially on the same wavelength. There was not a lot of money to go around, and we certainly didn’t have a bank where you could go and borrow money from. Therefore, we relied on the kindness and generosity of others. Loans between family members and neighbors were common. My mom was often irritated with my dad as well, for she thought that people abused his generosity, but alas, that was how it was.
In addition to giving people money, my dad also gave his time to the church. In my village, there is only one church—which is still around—and that was where he volunteered. He helped out with church services, handing out prayer booklets and passing the collection plates around as well as reciting prayers and announcements to a large congregation. I never asked him why he did this. I only knew that my dad was really committed to our religion, and that was why he spent so much time in church.
I’ve been alive for three decades now, and have yet to achieve the level of generosity that my dad possessed. Sure, I usually say yes whenever the cashier at the grocery store asks me if I want to donate to a charity or a food drive, and aside from the occasional one-time donation, I’ve failed at being truly giving. Thus, as the new year arrived, I began to think about resolutions like many others do, and the memory of my dad giving away his money came back to me.
New Years resolutions are always fraught with emotions about the self. What can you do differently this year that you didn’t do last year? How can you go about accomplishing your goals? Why did you fail after that second month? That sort of thing. When we celebrate New Years in Vietnam, we celebrate actual renewal, the beginning of bigger and better things as a group. We hold large gatherings, make lots of food to share, go to church and pray for a better new year for all. We don’t actually celebrate the self as we do here in America. This is because the Vietnamese are a collectivist bunch. We think about how we can help others, and how our actions will affect others in our group. Pride, honor and respect for elders are huge in that community.
This isn’t to say that one should not have resolutions; it’s the fact that in order for goals to be achievable, you need the help of others. You need to hear that compliment, the notes landing in your pocket, the accountability partner, and the prayers that others can do for you.
The beginning of a week, a month or a year is always a ripe time for resolutions, wrote Maria Konnikova in the New Yorker in “Why We Make Resolutions (and Why They Fail).” This article may be almost a decade old, but the idea is still relevant. We tend to make (high) resolutions and goals at the beginning of something—whether it’s a week, a month or a year, and then as time goes on, we become disillusioned as we realize how ridiculously high our expectations were and why we are not keen on achieving them. As a result, hopes are dashed and goals are swept under the rug. We give up, until another year arrives.
This phenomenon is called the false-hope syndrome, and dear reader, because of this, I have decided to embrace in a new kind of resolution, where the ultimate goal is to serve others.
In The Power of Strangers: The Benefits of Connecting in a Suspicious World, Joe Keohane asserts an idea called the “altruism paradox,” which explains why we help others. According to Keohane, we help people because we’re either wired to do so due to our innate desires (a “glitch” in our brains, according to economists) or “the product of calculation.” In other words, we help because we like to help (like my dad) or because we believe that the act will be reciprocated down the line by someone else.
So much of our New Year’s resolutions centers around the self—lose weight, read more books, start journaling, take more baths, go to the gym, lose 30 pounds, eat healthier, that sort of thing. While those are fine resolutions to make, perhaps it’s better to think about how your resolutions can affect the greater good.
Maybe there is power in giving away parts of what you own, for the exchange may produce something that is not easily achievable—respect.
Maybe giving is a way to connect with strangers. Maybe this is something that I didn’t quite understand as a child until now. As the Austin-based writer Ali Montag said recently, “Maintaining any relationship with another person requires opening ourselves up to them. It requires allowing for an imperfect understanding of who we are. It requires nibbling that side dish you don’t want, smiling at a sweater you’ll never wear, and forgiving our neighbors for incorrect assumptions.”
This year, as I think about the goals I want to achieve, I think about my dad and how I want to emulate that giving trait. I want to do things with others in mind. One of my resolutions is to be more giving this year—give away my time, money or whatever resources I have without any expectation of reward.
Along with that, I plan on telling more people that they’re awesome. Why? Because a nice compliment goes a long way. I remember last year, after I got published in Roxane Gay’s website, I received an email from someone I didn’t know—a stranger—who told me just how much they loved my essay and how nice it was to find someone from their hometown who could write such things. I was, of course, grateful for the compliment. I began to think conversely about how people would feel if I did the same thing. If I paid someone a compliment—tell them they’re awesome, or that I admire their work, it might just make their day. I started doing this late last year and found that people in general (those who responded to my message, that is) were very grateful to learn that someone out there admires their work.
Lastly, I am going to finish my novel manuscript, go to a writers conference and try to get an agent. Just typing that makes me terrified. But now that it’s officially out, I have no excuse. If I am successful in getting my book published out there in the world, it would be for others to enjoy.
I hope your new year will be filled with joys and all the good things that can possibly come in a new year.