Message to America

Now as to the definition of wealth, “Who is rich?” ask the sages. “He who is happy with his lot.”
- Rabbi Moshe D. Bryski

There are people who believe that the love of money is the root of all evil. These are the individuals that preach that one cannot have a fulfilling spiritual or religious life and still accumulate wealth. For these individuals, wealth corrupts and extreme wealth corrupts extremely.

Then, there are those who worship money. These are the individuals who devote most of their professional lives to the pursuit and accumulation of wealth, sometimes to the supreme failure of their personal and spiritual lives.

Somewhere between these two extremes lies the truth: that money is neither evil nor the answer to every problem — it’s simply a tool that can be used by individuals and by governments for a variety of purposes. Money buys us food and clothing, but also buys us narcotics and weapons; money funds churches and synagogues, but it also funds terrorists; money allows us to wage war on poverty but it also allows us to wage war on other countries; money can be used maintain our schools, libraries, and national landmarks but it also can be used to bribe officials to look the other way as those same institutions are destroyed.

Many of us, sadly, are trapped into thinking that money is more important than it really is.

On the wealth side of the trap, we begin by experiencing a false sense of power when we buy material objects for ourselves that others can’t afford; we start to psychologically and morally elevate ourselves above those who don't have as much money as we do; and slowly, we ignore our declining spiritual, emotional and psychological health because we are convinced that accumulating more money will allow us to deal with any situation. Eventually, even good, decent people can begin to feel invincible because of their finances.

On the poverty side of the trap, we begin by experiencing a false sense of failure if we can't buy material objects for ourselves that others have; we start to compare ourselves unfavorably to those who have more money than we do; and slowly, we substitute our spiritual, emotional and psychological wellbeing with our financial bottom line. Eventually, even good, decent people can begin to feel like failures because of their finances.

Far too frequently, I have been - I freely admit - one of these people. Which is why, a few years back, one particular conversation with my friend Jennifer helped to reshape my life. She was talking to me about how she practiced the concept of wealth in her life.

"One either has wealth or not," I interrupted. "There’s no practicing.”

“Actually, we always practice by choosing to see ourselves as either wealthy or poor,” said Jennifer. Then, she related a story. One day, while driving with a friend, they encountered a stranger at an intersection. The man was holding a sign requesting money from passing motorists. Jennifer’s friend rolled down the window and handed the man a $10 bill. On seeing Jennifer’s shocked expression, the woman said, “I am wealthy enough to be able to give a total stranger some money,” said Jennifer’s friend. “Even a $10 bill…”

“From that day on,” said Jennifer, “I decided to practice my own abundance by giving money away to those who asked…” And then she proceeded to tell me how doing so had really changed her outlook on life. And I listened, scared halfway out of my skin.

When I left Jennifer’s apartment that afternoon, I realized that I’d always thought of myself as poor. And not just poor financially, but psychologically: I’d allowed my financially stresses as an artist to define my overall success in life. I didn’t own a house like some of my friends, I didn’t have substantial savings like some of my friends and I didn't even have medical insurance. So I reasoned, there must be something terribly wrong with me. But after listening to Jennifer’s story, I wondered: was it possible to change that thought pattern? Could practicing being wealthy actually cause me to feel abundant? And with my limited funds, could I actually afford to give money away to strangers on a regular basis? I decided to find out:

For exactly thirty days, I decided to give money to ANYONE who asked me for it, no exceptions. I'm sure plenty of people who asked me for money used it in ways I might not have condoned. But the purpose of the exercise wasn't to stand in judgment of others, it was to retrain my thinking about my own wealth by giving my money freely away. And because I lived near a busy intersection in West Hollywood, I started getting asked for money right away.

This presented me with my first challenge: I had to acknowledge each person who asked me for money. I had to make eye contact with each individual and then reach into my pockets to give them something. This took some adjustment because I’d become accustomed to looking away from panhandlers and not caring. Now I had to acknowledge the White, Black, Latin and Asian people who were willing to ask me - a complete stranger - for money. It becomes increasingly difficult to think of yourself as poor when you stop and meet some of the people who ask for money. It was humbling to see, truly, how well-off I was compared to some of those I met. Within a few days, I began to feel more grateful for what I had and excited about giving more of my money away to those who asked for it. After all, I reasoned that I was simply giving a dollar to everyone who asked me for money and my soul could afford that...even three times a day.

Within one week, I faced my second challenge: I was receiving additional requests from those to whom I’d already given money. Admittedly, this annoyed me because I wanted to know that my donation was making a difference. I wanted the satisfaction of knowing that I was turning a fulltime beggar into a productive member of society. Honestly, It was a selfish thing to think. First of all, people weren't going to change simply because I'd given them a few dollars on a couple of occasions. Secondly, the truth was that - in some instances - giving money away had nothing to do with the recipient: it was about overcoming my own judgmental thinking. And by judging who deserved my money and who didn't, I was valuing that one dollar more than the human who'd asked for it. Realizing this was a powerful and painful lesson. My commitment was to give money to anyone who asked, no exceptions. No exceptions meant multiple requests should be honored. And so they were.

By day fifteen, I faced my third challenge: what constituted someone asking me for money? Someone who verbally asks? How about a man holding up a sign on a street? Those are more overt solicitations. But what about the less obvious pleas? What about the man I found splayed out at the corner of Sunset and Fairfax one Sunday? Now this man wasn't verbally asking me for money; heck, he wasn't even aware that people were literally stepping over him to continue on their way. And he certainly wasn't holding up a sign asking for help. But this man had become the sign – he was a symbol of how far each of us could fall. And as a symbol, he challenged those around him to either step over him or to offer help. After making sure the man was alive, I put a $10 bill in the man's shirt pocket. If this man was sick enough to collapse on the sidewalk in full view of the city, I was healthy and wealthy enough to donate that week's movie money to try and help him and to allow myself the luxury of not needing that money as much as he did.

The last challenge was the hardest to accept: I didn't always have enough money to help. On several occasions, since I had little or no money on my person, I offered food or clothes or whatever else I had. Very often, these offers were accepted. Once, when I was asked for money, I was only able to find nine cents in my pocket. I looked at the man who'd asked for help and simply tried to honor my commitment. "This is all I have on me right now," I said. "It's not a lot but you're welcome to it." The man smiled and took the money. "Hey: every little bit helps," he said and stuck his hand out to accept my coins. I was stunned. How humbling it must be, I thought, to be willing to take nine cents from a stranger because you need it that badly... I shook the guy's hand and told him to have a good day. He said he'd say a prayer for my good deed and we both disappeared back into the night.

Although I wasn't going to fix the world by giving away my money, I came to understand that the original purpose of the exercise wasn't to fix the world: it was, as Jennifer had said, to help fix my beliefs about myself. And it worked: by the 30th day, I was feeling more abundant and wealthy than I'd ever felt in my life and grateful for my material possessions. By trying to help others, I'd been tricked into helping myself.

Give this 30-day experiment a try and then write to me and let me know what happened. I guarantee this: it will certainly change the way you think.