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http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2255039/Im-proof-generous-bad-By-Elizabeth-Gilbert-author-hit-book-Eat-Pray-Love.html

I'm proof being too generous can be bad for you! By Elizabeth Gilbert, author of the hit book Eat Pray Love

 By ELIZABETH GILBERT

PUBLISHED: 18:03 EST, 30 December 2012 | UPDATED: 18:03 EST, 30 December 2012

My whole life I've been an over-giver. My general operating policy has always been: 'If it belongs to me, don't worry: You can have it!' 

 As you can imagine, Christmas is a particularly difficult time of year for me. The temptation to over-give when it comes to presents is overwhelming.

 Over the years, I have over-given with my money, possessions, opinions, time, body, emotions - you name it, I have given it forth. 

 You don't have to be rich to be an over-giver, and over- giving is not quite the same thing as generosity. 

  Author Elizabeth Gilbert says generosity is neither entangling nor aggressive

 Generosity is neither entangling nor aggressive, because the generous person doesn't expect anything in return. The over-giver, on the other hand, expects to be petted and feted and praised and loved unconditionally for the rest of time. 

 For most of my life, my over-giving problem was relatively contained, limited by my own resources. Then a few years ago I wrote a book called Eat Pray Love, which sold about a bajillion copies, transforming me overnight into a wealthy woman and presenting me with the amazing new-found opportunity to not merely over-give, but to over-over-give. 

 Oh, bliss! I was like an alcoholic locked in a distillery - what wonderful and terrible luck! So I went on a full-octane, over-giving bender. 

 I gave to some charities and good causes, but mostly I gave heaps of money to people I knew and loved. 

 I paid off my friends' credit card bills, caught them up on their mortgages, financed their dream projects, bought them plane tickets, tuition, therapy, gym memberships, vehicles. 

  'I gave to some charities and good causes, but mostly I gave heaps of money to people I knew and loved'

 Sometimes (well, twice), I even bought them houses. 

 A neighbour dubbed my munificence 'hip-hop charity' - because it reminded him of the way rap stars get rich and then buy Mercedes-Benz cars for everyone back in the 'hood - but sharing money with my intimates felt so much more satisfying than sending cheques to some distant organisation: I could see (and feel!) the gratitude so personally; it was a drug-like pleasure. 

Also, my giving bonanza went a long way toward levelling off the apparent karmic imbalance of my own crazy success - an imbalance that had left me feeling profoundly uncomfortable. 

  (Why had I struck it rich while peers of equal or greater talent struggled? Why not spread the good fortune around willy-nilly?) 

 Finally, it was joyful and empowering: I was a dream facilitator, an obstacle-banisher, a life-transformer. In short: Giving away money to my friends was so much fun! 

 Until suddenly it wasn't. Until suddenly I didn't have some of those friends any more.

 I didn't lose those friends for the reasons you think, either. 

 It isn't because 'money is the root of all evil' or because 'money changes everything'. 

 Of course, money changes everything, but so does sunlight and so does food: These are powerful, but neutral energy sources, neither inherently good nor evil, but shaped only by the way we use them. 

When I lost my friends, it was because I had used the power of giving recklessly on them. I swept into their lives with my big fat cheque book, and I erased years of obstacles overnight - but sometimes, in the process, I also accidentally erased years of dignity. 

In India, a monk warned me: 'Never give anyone more than they are emotionally capable of receiving or they will have no choice but to hate you for it'

 Sometimes, by interrupting their life so jarringly, I denied a friend the opportunity to learn their own vital lessons at their own pace. 

 In other words, just when I believed I was operating as a dream facilitator, I was turning into a destiny disruptor.

 Even worse, sometimes my over-giving left friends feeling shamed and laid bare. 

 Sometimes, for instance, 'lack of money' hadn't been a friend's problem in the first place. Maybe her problem had been lack of confidence or organisation or motivation. Maybe by erasing her money problems, all I'd done was suddenly expose her other, real problems. 

 Maybe such rapid exposure is a dreadful thing to do to someone (as a great British wit once quipped: 'You can always tell people who live for others, by the anguished expressions on the faces of the others'). 

 All I know is that those friendships withered under a cloud of mutual discomfort, and now we cross the street to avoid running into each other. 

 Years ago in India, a monk warned me: 'Never give anyone more than they are emotionally capable of receiving or they will have no choice but to hate you for it.' At the time, the advice sounded cynical, even cruel. 

 It certainly flew in the face of Christianity's highest charitable ideals, as famously expressed by Mother Teresa: 'Give until it hurts.' 

 But these days, I've come to believe that when you give heedlessly or with an agenda, you can give until it hurts, and that the person who is most gravely injured in the exchange is the other person. 
So I don't do it any more. 

 Don't get me wrong: I'll always be a giver. I still see generosity as one of humanity's great natural watersheds - a place where lives can be cleansed, renewed, filtered back toward grace. But a watershed is a delicate ecosystem, so I've learned to watch where I step. 

 I'm more likely to trust well-established charities than practice social engineering within my own circle. 
Granted, I don't get the same endorphin rush I did waving a magic wand in someone's face, but I do get to keep my friends now, so that's a boon. 

 And I try to keep it in scale. 

 The other day I was at a Tube station, watching a woman I'd never met before struggling to make her outdated Oyster work in the turnstile. 

 She didn't speak English, and no one was helping her. 

 I wasn't in a hurry, so I took ten minutes to carefully show her how the system worked - how to buy a new Oyster card from the machine, how to add credit to it, how to swipe it. 

 I didn't give her any money; I just gave her my attention and then went on my way. 

 It was a simple exchange, but I think it made both of us feel good. I was a little tempted to buy her a house, mind you, but I talked myself out of it - because as much as humanly possible these days, I try not to give so much that it hurts. Instead, I only give until it helps. After that, not a penny more. 

 So if you're one of the people who dreams of giving a huge, life-changing, friendship-wrecking present... don't do it. Keep the over-giver in you tightly wrapped and under control.

 

-- Edited by Angel on Tuesday 17th of May 2016 10:21:20 AM

-- Edited by Angel on Thursday 19th of May 2016 10:30:39 AM