Philanthropist or Skeptic

I've been wrestling with the idea of this post all morning, because I'm not exactly sure how to put into words the evening I had last night. But I decided to take the advice that I'm preaching about a current work project and just "put something out there, then we can change it if we need to."

So I'm just going to write this, without any idea of the end result.

I was invited last night to take part in a book release/ "giving salute"/ networking/ hobnobbing thing. I was invited by a friend that I haven't seen nearly enough of lately, and the invitation actually came through her mother, whose company had put up some $$$ to host 10 people to the event.

That was generous and thoughtful and I wanted to catch up with said friend, so I accepted. Even though I abhor networking. Abhor it.

The event was at the Sewall-Belmont house, which was cool. That's the original home of Alice Paul, the author of the Equal Rights Amendment. It was also used as the headquarters of the National Women's Party, so there is a lot of history inside it.

It was a party to celebrate this new book on the importance of giving back to the world today -- through money, volunteerism, or whatever. The book is a compilation of essays from leaders of philanthropic organizations, nonprofits and foundations. One of the authors is an uber-networker and knows just about every body. I had actually come across her several times through work events (she wouldn't know who I was) in the past. She pulled together quite an impressive guest list to speak to the crowd, including four or five current female senators.

Here's where the torn feelings start. The senators and other women that spoke -- there were about 15 people in all who had a turn at the microphone (yes, 15) -- were all great speakers. They didn't talk long, and were engaging.

But there were more than a dozen of them. Standing outside, on uneven ground, in high heals doesn't exactly put me in the frame of mind to listen to people talk for an hour and a half.

And they all gave messages pertinent to the evenings topic: the importance of giving. Much of it, in fact, felt rally-like.

Only we weren't rallying for anything. Neither the book nor the evening wanted us to do X. Or even, X, Y, or Z. It was just "give." Give... what, exactly? And, where? And, how? And, how much?

There was a disconnect. It was like going to Game 7 of the Stanley Cup playoffs and cheering for both teams. What's the point, exactly?

(Holy crap. Did I just use a hockey analogy? When, oh, WHEN is this damn season going to be over?!?)

And when the speakers did finally wrap up, we were all supposed to network. I just don't get that. I forcibly talk to random people trying to pull out some tidbit of information that will lead me to what they can do for me? All the while knowing that they are listening to all of my words not out of genuine interest but looking for the angle that benefits them? It's all so, Italian guy with greasy slicked-back hair icky.**

Thankfully, my friend hated the situation as much as I did. We stayed and mingled as best we could for her mother's benefit. (Her mother is a corporate recruiter so she does the networking game fantastically. My friend forgot to bring business cards. I thought the mother was going to disown her. Which made the situation even more, "Really? The point again?")

So after a half hour of forced talk with some very nice people we had nothing much to talk about with, we skipped out for dinner on our own.

I feel so... ungrateful for the feelings I walked away with. There were some extremely powerful women under that tent. And even forget the "women" side of it -- there were some extremely powerful people there last night. But I just don't get the point. There was no specific cause they rallied for. They didn't even sell the book, or ask us to pitch the book or tell us where we might get a second copy.

You can't really be against the "giving" message, any more than you can be against puppies. But that doesn't mean I'm going to go run out and find a puppy to save just because I like them.

I don't know. The whole thing was just weird.

So there you go. A ramble just as unfocused as the evening!

** Clarification: not all Italian guys with greasy slicked back hair are icky. Like Joe Bondi. Clearly not icky. I'd also argue he clearly does not slick back his hair. Nor is his hair greasy. Further, I'm not sure anyone that is so excited for Memorial Day so he can pull back out the salmon pants (oh, you know you are) can be icky. It's just not possible.