Giver or Taker?

My friend tells me about an exercise he did while on a week-long popular self-improvement course in the '70s.

He recounts that after having spent a week with a group of participants, each person was assessed by the group, one at a time, as being either a Giver or a Taker. One word only: Giver or Taker. Over and over again until each one had rendered their judgment. Then on to the next person. This was after having experienced each other in various—and I am guessing—intense situations for several days.

I squirmed just imagining it.

I squirmed, but in the back of my arrogant little mind, I knew that most, if not all, of my mates would have labeled me a Giver. Actually, I had assumed the same fate would have landed on my friend. But no, he said. There were more “Taker” verdicts than “Giver.” Freaking brutal.

Listening to this while sipping my hot cacao under a sky full of stars, it doesn’t take me long to receive a bit of quiet insight.

Just 15 minutes ago.

While walking through the village for a last evening stroll with my dear girlfriend, who had been visiting me, I spotted one of the street musicians who usually sits on the corner of two main streets. He plays a mean rendition of most Billy Joel songs, strumming his (very) well-used guitar, and you have to pay close attention to catch the heavily accented lyrics. Or you can just let yourself get transported away with the exotic charm of a song you thought you knew but are meeting again.

I had been looking for this man for a few weeks because I had a print to give him. A customer had asked me to paint his portrait, and as I always do when I paint someone’s portrait, I make sure that they get a print. But every time I saw him, I didn’t have the print with me. I had started carrying it in my car, and of course, ever since I did that, I never saw him.

But not that night. Oh no. That night, there he was, strumming his guitar, and my car was parked just a block away! We sped-walked towards the very dark, very overgrown parking spot we had found, retrieved the print, and hurried back to the street corner, hoping he would still be there.

He was. Singing with his eyes closed a unique and passionate version of Queen’s "Mama."
Oh, I was excited. After weeks of looking for him, there he was. And I had his portrait in my hand. I couldn’t give it to him soon enough. Because you see, when I hand someone their portrait, they light up really big. They “see” how beautiful they are, they see their Essence, and well… the whole thing makes me really happy. Yes, me. It makes ME really happy. Hmmm.

I stood next to him with the print in my hand, and what I really wanted to do was touch him on the shoulder so that he would open his eyes, stop playing just long enough to see his portrait, to let me give him his gift.

What stopped me was… I don’t know. Something. Something important that came with whispered mind words.

The words said: “Hey, hang on a sec. What makes you think your art is more important than his? What makes you think that you can interrupt him from giving his gift to the community so that you may have the pleasure of giving him your gift?”

Freaking brutal again.

I am so, so, so grateful for whatever angel of wisdom whispered in my ear at that moment. Maybe it’s maturity. Maybe it’s the last few years of being humbled over and over again … I don’t know, but I hope it sticks around because I feel that I dodged a huge ugly bullet.

I waited, my back to the wall. I enjoyed his song immensely, I sang to it with whatever words I made up, and once he was done, really done sharing his art with all of us at the street corner, I shared mine with him. Yes, he was enchanted, yes, I got to see his smile and feel that now-familiar feel-good hit. It was great.

And none of it would have mattered if I had interrupted him to do it.

So when a few minutes later my friend brought up the Giver or Taker question, I knew just how complex that topic is, how subtle. How easy it is to think we are Giving when we are, in fact, Taking.

When I interrupt you because I have a great suggestion that will surely enhance what you are saying, I am Taking.

When I tell a child not to cry, I am Taking her right to feel sad, all the way sad.

When else am I Taking?