THE GIVING PARADOX: WHY SELFISHNESS MIGHT BE THE KEY TO GENEROSITY

You know those moments that just stick with you? I had one of those this week.

I met with a super bright young woman – let's call her Anna – who'd asked me to be her mentor. Now, I've been in many mentoring relationships over the years, and I have to admit I still find every mentoring session just such a humbling experience.

Anna told me how she'd been contemplating asking for quite a while and then decided that “if you don’t ask, you won’t know”. So, she plucked up the courage and contacted me. I know it’s not always easy putting yourself out there, especially when you're young and at the start of your career. But Anna did it, and I couldn't help but admire her for it.

As we talked, I found myself getting more and more excited. This young woman is talented, ambitious, and has a bright future ahead of her. And you know what? I realised I'm probably going to learn as much from her as she hopes to learn from me. And therein lies the magic of mentorship – it's a two-way street, isn’t it?

Walking out of that coffee shop, I felt incredibly privileged. To be asked to play even the ?smallest of parts in one more person’s journey? That's not something I ever take lightly.

My coffee catch-up with Anna prompted me to devote this week’s article to the idea of “giving back”. It's a phrase we hear a lot, often wrapped up in grand ideas of altruism and selflessness. But I'm going to let you in on a little secret – at least for me, it's not quite so noble.

Don't get me wrong. I believe in the importance of contributing to society beyond our day jobs. But very early in my life I've come to realise that my reasons for giving back are, well, a bit selfish.

When I spend time with someone like Anna, giving my time and my knowledge and (I want to believe) my wisdom, I feel inspired, buoyant about the future of our country – and the world – and just generally upbeat.?

When I volunteer my time for a charity, in whatever capacity, I feel I’ve learned about things I might otherwise never have come across.? I always feel happy that I’ve done something meaningful and that it was genuinely appreciated by those I’ve done it for.?

When I commit to championing a cause I believe in, I feel honoured to have been given a platform to influence. The responsibility for something bigger than the ordinary boardroom agenda energises me and I take great personal pride in making every effort to help those actively involved in the day-to-day management of the cause, win the hearts and minds of decision makers. And importantly, I feel I’ve contributed in a small way to that cause – whether it’s diversity and inclusion, mental health, personal safety, or saving dolphins. ?

You see the common theme here, don’t you?? I do these things because it makes me feel good. There inevitably is a warmth that spreads through your chest when you see a successful outcome and know you played a small part in it. It's a buzz you can't quite replicate in any other way.

So, is this truly altruistic? Probably not. But the thing is – I don't think that matters.

What matters is that in pursuing this feeling of personal satisfaction, real good is being done. Anna is getting support in her career, a sounding board, an empathetic ear, a shoulder to lean on. Charities are becoming more effective, which of course has a much wider impact as the benefits ripple out to their beneficiaries.

In the end, isn't that what counts? That we're contributing positively to the world around us, regardless of our motivations?

I've found peace in acknowledging this aspect of giving back. It's allowed me to embrace it fully, without the weight of trying to be purely selfless. Because the reality is, when we give, we often receive just as much in return.

It’s this realisation that has made me reflect on the 'givers' in my own life, and how their actions have shaped my understanding of generosity.

My younger sister, Yolandé, epitomises what I'd call a "keen giver." For her, gift-giving isn't just an act—it's a journey, an art form that begins long before the gift is presented and extends to the very moment it's unwrapped.

It starts with her relentless search for the perfect gift. She doesn't just shop; she hunts for that one item that whispers, "I understand you." It's as if she's searching for a physical manifestation of her affection, something that says to the recipient, "I know your heart".

Once she finds that perfect gift, the presentation becomes her canvas. She wraps it with the care and precision of an artist, turning simple paper and ribbon into a work of art. Every fold, every bow is meticulously crafted, as if the wrapping itself is part of the gift.

But the journey doesn't end there. When it comes time for the gift to be opened, Yolandé watches with bated breath. Her eyes light up, not just with anticipation of the recipient's reaction, but with a pure, almost childlike joy in the act of giving itself. She savours every moment, from the careful preservation of her elaborate wrapping to the final reveal of the thoughtfully chosen gift inside.

Watching Yolandé, I've learned that giving isn't just about the item exchanged. It's about the thought, the effort, the journey from selection to presentation. It's about creating a moment of connection, a tangible expression of understanding and care.

For Yolandé, it's not about grand gestures or recognition. It's about the small acts of kindness, the attention to detail, that can brighten someone's day in a deeply personal way. Observing her has also taught me that giving doesn't always have to be about big, life-changing actions. Sometimes, it's the accumulation of these small, heartfelt kindnesses that really makes a difference.

While my sister showed me the joy in giving tangible gifts, it was my mentor, Ernest (not his real name), who taught me the value of giving time and wisdom.

This amazing human being, one of the most respected figures in a country of 60 million people, took me under his wing early in my career when I was full of ambition but short on direction.

Despite his status, Ernest was always extremely generous with both his time and knowledge, ever ready to listen and offer guidance without rushing.

What I loved most about Ernest, was his amazing ability to make every mentoring session feel like a meaningful chat, where my ideas got more than proportionate airtime. Also, he would just never be patronising in his response to my thoughts. In fact, I always thought they were very authentic, curious and respectful.

When Ernest would say things like, "That's a fascinating perspective – it challenges me to reconsider my own thinking”, it wasn't just encouragement; it was validation from someone I deeply respected. Needless to say, those comments not only boosted my confidence but also gave me the courage to share my, often unconventional, ideas in any setting.

Ernest showed me that mentorship at its best is a two-way street of learning and growth. His approach didn't just make me feel valued; it fundamentally shaped my understanding of what meaningful professional relationships could be.

These experiences - being on the receiving end of such generosity - have profoundly shaped how I approach giving back. They've shown me that giving isn't just about what we do, but how we do it. It's about the spirit in which we give, the connections we form, and the mutual growth that can come from these interactions.

So when I sit down with someone like Anna, or volunteer my time for a cause I believe in, I'm not just trying to give something of myself. I'm also opening myself up to what I might receive - new perspectives, challenging questions, unexpected insights.

In the end, I've found that giving back isn't a one-way street. It's more like a busy intersection, with ideas, experiences, and goodwill flowing in all directions. And that, I think, is what makes it so rewarding.