Don't Overthink It - Anne Bogel Page 0,58

the corner, a woman held a cardboard sign that read “Homeless, hungry, anything helps.”

I had always played these kinds of situations by ear, but I knew I had cash, so I rolled down the window, handed her five bucks, and told her to take care. The light turned green. We traveled in silence for a few blocks, then Will flipped on his blinker to merge. When he glanced over to check his blind spot, his gaze landed on the two hundred or so granola bars we’d just stacked on the middle seat. I could see his shoulders fall.

“We have two hundred granola bars in this car,” he said. “We should have given her one. We could have given her a hundred. What were we thinking?”

The thing was, we hadn’t thought of it at all. So on that day, we made a new rule for ourselves: if someone who is hungry or homeless asks for our help, we give five dollars and a granola bar. We usually have a little cash on hand, and we keep plenty of snacks in the glove compartment for hungry kids.

A good while after our Costco trip, my family was driving south to the Florida Panhandle for vacation. At a friend’s suggestion, we stopped en route at an Alabama fruit stand and bought twenty pounds of ripe peaches. Our car was jam-packed with everything six people would need for a ten-day trip, so there was no place to put them. Will and I nestled the peaches into the console between the driver and passenger seats, propped high on a bunch of odds and ends. I was in the passenger seat and had to steady the heavy box when we went around tight corners.

When we pulled off the highway in Montgomery, a man was on the corner in the midday sun, holding a sign that said “Homeless, hungry.” So we did what we do: we rolled down the window to give him five dollars and a granola bar. He said, “God bless,” and we said, “Take care.” He turned to go and then stopped as though he’d just noticed something. “Can I have one of those?” he asked.

Will was confused and asked, “One of what?”

The man gestured toward the peaches.

“Of course!” we said, and Will handed him a juicy peach off the top.

“Bless you, brother,” he said. “I haven’t had one of these in so long.”

As we drove away, I wondered if we should have handed him the whole container. The answer is, I don’t know. But I do know I’m continually grateful we established that baseline for ourselves, and we have the freedom to deviate from it when necessary—though we surely do so imperfectly.

Is it possible we give money to people who don’t use it wisely? Yes. Do I care? No. I decided a long time ago that I want to be generous. I want to live in a world where we help one another; it’s not up to me what people do with the money or other resources I give them. And so I don’t overthink these questions in the moment, even if I’m still living my way into the answers. I act.

With each action you and I take, we vote for the kind of people we want to be and the kind of world we want to live in. This is what I choose.

The world is big; we are small. The feeling that we can’t make a difference can be paralyzing. There’s so much to be done. How could what we do possibly matter? It’s easy to feel hopeless and helpless, but we don’t have to be responsible for complicated solutions. We can begin where we are. We can make a difference. We can be a force for good, for our own sakes and for the world’s.

A Benediction

I attend an Episcopal church where, at the close of each service, the priest sends us on our way with a benediction—a “good word” to take with us as we head out into the world. Years ago—and, coincidentally, on my birthday—my priest spoke a benediction so lovely I later asked for a written copy. It captured my hopes not only for the one year ahead but for all the years to come. It’s about the way we see the world, the thoughts we choose to nurture, and the benefits that result.

I share it with you now:

May you be peaceful, happy, and light in body and spirit. May you live in safety. May you be free from anxiety and worry. May you learn to look at yourself with the eyes of understanding and love. May you be able to recognize and touch the seeds of joy and happiness in yourself. May you know how to nourish the seeds of joy in yourself every day. May you be able to live fresh, solid, and free.

This says so much about what I want for myself—and what I want for you, dear reader. May you put the strategies in this book to good use. May you put overthinking aside and cultivate a thought life that brings you peace and joy. May you be good to yourself and a force for good in the world.

May you be able to live fresh, solid, and free.