On the Fringes

As we debate approaches to solving the complex challenges of homelessness in American cities, what is often missing from the conversation is empathy. As the middle class continues to shrink, many of us are a single financial disaster from housing instability. This calamity can come as job loss, foreclosure, repossession, medical emergencies, or a thousand other ways a financial system such as ours can bleed you dry. Couple this reality with our poor approaches to mental health and substance use treatment, and you discover anyone of us could become homeless.

Walking out of a subway tunnel on a cold Chicago night, I stepped over a man lying on a vent blasting heat from the ground below. The temperature was approaching zero degrees outside. Tonight, this would serve as his only form of heat and relief. Walking through Seattle’s Pioneer Square neighborhood, a woman with a disfigured face approached me. Desperately, I looked away from the face before me, ravaged by drugs, abuse, and a system that has ignored her. Walking Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles with a formerly homeless man, I was stunned by the sheer volume of people packed tightly together on the sidewalks of America’s second most populous metropolis. On countless corners to countless highway overpasses, I have read signs screaming for help or a moment of kindness as I averted my attention and made myself busy while waiting for the light to turn green.

In every single one of these instances, I have thought long and hard about what it would mean to be homeless. After working for three years in permanent supportive housing in Los Angeles, I became consumed by the thought of what it would mean to be chronically homeless in the wealthiest country in human history. This essay is an attempt to put myself in the shoes of someone else. If you are up for it, I implore you to attempt the same exercise.

For you to become homeless, what systems would need to fail you?

If I were to become homeless, I would assume several things did not go my way. I would assume I lost my job or found myself in an extended period of unemployment. After spending the first 11 months of the pandemic unemployed and frantically searching for a job, this thought is not inconceivable to me. My savings would be depleted, and I would max my credit cards out. Unable to pay rent, the owners of our apartment would evict us. Unable to pay back the loan on my car, it would be repossessed. If the sadness and extended period of depression I felt in 2020 were to return, I could see my mental health rapidly deteriorating. I am a social drinker and have always been cognizant of overindulgence in the wake of trauma, but that does not mean I would not turn to alcohol as a coping mechanism in the face of my life falling apart.

As my life spiraled out of control, I would find myself reliant on a convoluted housing and support system filled with roadblocks, barriers, and dead ends. In this thought experiment, an extended period of homelessness based on systemic failure is not inconceivable to me.

For you to remain homeless, who would fail to show up for you?

We must all be responsible for our own actions. We will get to personal responsibility in a moment. Falling into homelessness often means your support network failed to show up or could not show up forever.

As I spent 11 months looking for work, we remained housed. Brandon’s parents allowed us to stay in their guest room. Their home became my own. For nearly a year, I had food to eat, clean clothes to wear, and a roof overhead. No one asked me when I was leaving or to pay my part. I was a guest in their home, but it is easy for me to fathom the loss of this safety net.

Working with housed and unhoused individuals for more than a decade now, I have heard countless stories about families and friends who grew impatient with someone’s extended stay. My heart has broken as I listened to LGBTQ+ kids describe being kicked out of their homes because of who they are and who they love. I have lost count of how many times I have heard tales of loving people unable to handle the challenges of addiction and mental illness. Bridges burn, doors close, and then people facing homelessness are forced to make tough decisions. When there is nowhere else to turn, homelessness becomes the only option.

How would you fail yourself and those around you?

Let us be very clear and honest with each other. No one chooses a mental health disorder. The coping mechanisms of our choices usually find us at our lowest point. I also believe no one chooses to be homeless. Those wanting to live “off the grid” are not calling highway overpasses and street corners home by choice. Failure to rise above these challenges often speaks more of a lack of resources than it does personal failings, but there must be some personal responsibility.

At my lowest point in 2020, the depression and anxiety I felt about the future were uncontrollable. I desperately wanted to be happy and hopeful about the future. I wanted to feel as if better days were before me. In my heart of hearts, I knew this to be true, but the evidence before me was telling a different story. In these moments, I searched for healthy outlets. I read, ran, watched movies, or played video games. I did everything I could think of to keep myself from obsessing over the financial damage extended unemployment was doing to me.

My depression could have led to some dark places. It might have meant suicidal ideation, or it could have opened the door to substance use. From here, the potential path is murky, but it is totally possible that these decisions could have led to me losing my housing.

How would it feel to be homeless?

Interacting with unhoused people is an unfortunate part of living in a major American city. As we walk the city streets, they might ask us for change or something to eat. Stopped at a red light, we read signs of those seeking help. We might be forced to step over someone sleeping in a doorway or to shuffle past a tent on a sidewalk. For many of us, these are minor inconveniences and a part of life. These interactions never last long; a couple of seconds and life returns to normal. But not for them.

With my own eyes, I have watched people totally ignore homeless people asking for change or food. I have even seen unhoused people harassed for asking for help. I have pretended to be busy to avoid making eye contact. On multiple occasions, I have crossed to the other side of the street to avoid confrontation. I have watched homeless people verbally berated and physically forced to move along, and I have seen encampments torn down. In these instances, I have often wondered what it would feel like to be homeless.

All of us are guilty of trying to avoid confrontation with homeless people. We avoid eye contact and will not smile in their direction in fear that the simple gesture will open the door to an ask. We ignore homeless neighbors and often fail to even acknowledge their presence. They are modern-day lepers who we avoid at all costs. How must this feel?

How must it feel to be at the lowest point in life and at your most vulnerable? How must it feel to seek kindness and refuge from your fellow human beings, only to find no help? How does it feel to have a system totally ignore and fail you at every turn? How does the constant fear of longing for food and shelter feel? How does it feel to be constantly on guard and unsafe? How does it feel to be unwanted and treated as less than? How does it feel to be seen and treated as if you are unworthy of love? How does it feel to know there are solutions to your challenges, only to discover neighbors who fear your presence and assign characteristics you would never assign yourself?

Standing in a place of empathy, try answering all these questions for yourself. We all assume we have the resources and network to avoid such a fate. If that is true for you, please consider your privilege. If you are honest, you will soon realize homelessness can happen to anyone. It knows no race, creed, religion, political persuasion, gender, or sexuality. Anyone can be homeless, and everyone is.

Understanding the truth and placing yourself in the shoes of others should change the conversation. For me, it did. I hope it will do the same for you. The solutions to these challenges are right before us. Solving them will require empathy, courage, and political will. It will mean retiring cliches and long-held beliefs. It will mean education and spending time with people experiencing homelessness. As you begin this journey, I implore you to keep an open mind and prepare to have your worldview shattered. In that space, we change our communities for the better.

Be good to each other,

Nathan

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A Short Story On... The Night Fundraising Wasn't for Me

There is a lot of debate in the fundraising space about the overall impact of event-based fundraisers. We argue for hours over return on investment, community visibility, net/gross, staff investment, and event models. These debates are justified and needed.  

For my part, this debate is one I have held internally throughout my professional career. In my estimation, fundraising events are time-consuming, costly public affairs that possess the ability to draw people nearer to your mission, and with the right mix of people in the room can raise serious money. I also wholeheartedly believe fundraising auctions, golf tournaments, and even runs/walks to be boring. I also believe our audiences are exhausted by the prospect of having to attend another event that feels photocopied by another organization.  

With this in mind, I have a story to tell about the night fundraising wasn’t for me. For those of us who do this work professionally, I am hoping you can find some comfort in my pain. For those standing on the outside looking in, be gentle on fundraising professionals. We are doing the best we can!  

I began my fundraising career in 2011 at Kent Youth and Family Services in Kent, Washington. I was new to the world of fundraising and new to the nonprofit sector. I joined an organization with a tried-and-true dinner auction as their biggest fundraising event of the year. On the job, I would learn there is a formula to these events: silent auction, raffle, rubber chicken, live auction, dessert dash, sob story, raise the paddle, announce the grand total, see you next year. After spending an entire spring and summer seeking auction items, desserts, sponsors, and attendees, I decided there had to be a better way. I surveyed our audience, and my suspicions rang true.  

In my second year on the job, much of the formula remained, but we dropped the live auction for entertainment. We also intentionally focused on ensuring people left with a better understanding of our mission. With these minor changes, we managed to beat the previous year by $20,000+ dollars raised. I was confident that I was on to something.  

For the third year, I brought the fundraiser back to South King County. For this event, I wanted to focus on the diversity of the area and the power it gave to our mission. We solicited singers, musicians, and dancers from the area to serve as entertainment. We also spent a decent chunk of change on a well-crafted video focused on a client we served who had suffered from severe post-partum depression.  

From the very beginning, this event felt different. Board members were growing restless. Many were refusing to help fundraise. Others didn’t want to see us drift away from the live auction model. Finding champions in the board room felt impossible. Isolated, I leaned on fellow employees who were overburdened with their own obligations. Finding talent was harder than expected, as were sponsors.  

On the night of the event, we were short on volunteers. This meant we worked until the last minute to get the room ready. Our silent auction was a fiasco. Our acts weren’t holding people’s attention. To make matters worse, the audio/visual equipment in the room wasn’t working properly. We were getting clear video, but no audio. This meant no one in the room would see the video and left us scrambling to recover the most important fundraising piece of the night.  

When the event was over, I looked one of my colleagues in the face and said, “I never want to be asked to raise a f**king dollar again.” I was angry, disappointed, and sad. Despite my best intentions, so much of the event had gone wrong. And there I sat, a reluctant fundraiser with proof he shouldn’t be doing this work.  

In the following weeks, I would receive surveys from guests and feedback from board members that felt like salt in an open wound. Beaten, battered, and bruised, I began looking for work outside of the fundraising world. I still felt a deep love for the nonprofit sector but couldn’t see myself raising money ever again.  

That was seven years ago. Today, my job title is still Development & Communications Manager. There have been a few different stops along the way, but I am still a professional fundraiser in the nonprofit sector. Ultimately, that night didn’t break me. It bent me in all the right directions. Moving forward, I would abandon anything that looked like an auction. I would create a format that was interactive, informative, and experiential-based. At other nonprofits, I challenged the status quo on events and strongly pushed for events where the mission stood on the center stage. I would go on to build events focused on housing design, food insecurity, and overcoming isolation through community.  

Currently, I work for the Senior Center of West Seattle. Historically, they have held an annual breakfast event. I will begin retooling this event, as soon as I get a sense of what works and what doesn't. This confidence to make drastic changes can be traced back to the night fundraising wasn’t for me. I learned so much about myself that night and it still motivates me.  

I will not always be a fundraiser, but if I remain in this sector, I know fundraising will always be a part of my job. I also know professional disappointments can be revealing and illuminating. In the last ten years of this work, I have learned so much about myself. I have grown more confident. I possess the ability to rise above almost any challenge before me. I learned much of this the night an event fell apart.  

Be good to each other,

Nathan

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Nervous About The Work

I have been a professional, nonprofit fundraiser for 10 years now. I have fundraised for a youth development organization. I have worked to meet the financial goals of a permanent supportive housing provider on Skid Row. I have helped build a fundraising program for a nonprofit working to end isolation for homeless neighbors in Hollywood. Now, I am working to amplify the reach of a senior center in West Seattle.  

Throughout each of these experiences, a certain personal truth has remained constant. For 10 years, I have been nervous about the work. I have raised millions of dollars, built entire departments, grown donor databases, and created robust outreach systems, yet I have never been able to shake that nervousness that grabs hold of you when you first begin a job.  

Why? In this instance, this is a profound question and one I ask myself often. Fundraising was never the plan. I graduated from the University of Central Oklahoma in 2007 with a degree in Broadcast Communications. Once upon a time, I wanted to be a reporter for a local television station. Then, I fell into work in higher education. From there, I discovered the nonprofit sector. Looking for an entry point, I applied for countless jobs in Oklahoma and Seattle. I didn’t possess a degree in social work. I wasn’t a project manager. I wasn’t ready to lead. Fundraising and communications work was my entry point.  

Yet, I have always felt uneasy about asking people to part with their hard-earned dollars, even if it was in the name of philanthropy. There wasn’t an undergraduate course I could take on nonprofit fundraising to overcome this fear. All my training has come from on-the-job experience. For me, this means I have always felt vastly unprepared for this work. Sure, in ten years I have grown in tremendous ways and can eloquently talk about the craft of fundraising, but a part of me will always battle imposter syndrome. A part of me will always feel like I am a fraud, and I am lying about my ability to raise money.  

So, why keep plowing forward? What my feeling brain and my thinking brain are experiencing might be vastly different. Perhaps, I need a little doubt. Perhaps needing to prove myself is a motivation. The goals before each of the places I have worked and the needs of the communities I have chosen to serve deserve someone with a chip on his shoulder working every day to prove himself to the world. Because in this work, I have experienced immeasurable joy from a job well done. I look back at my time in this field and I feel joy. Throughout my career, I have always been the first person to hold my job title. I have built a legacy wherever I have been. This reality keeps me fighting. It keeps me moving forward toward my ultimate goal. What motives you?  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan

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One Year at Skid Row Housing Trust

365 days. 586 individual donors. $737,980 raised. 737 people impacted. Lifetime Impact of 10,706.

 Without a shadow of a doubt, the work I am doing at Skid Row Housing Trust is some of the most challenging I have ever done in my life. The last 365 days has tested me in unimaginable ways. Establishing myself in a new city, attempting to build an individual donor system from scratch, raising money toward ambitious goals, and keeping our residents at the forefront of my mind, have all provided lessons that I will take with me wherever I go. Beyond the numbers and the day-to-day tasks, Skid Row Housing Trust has provided ample leadership lessons; lessons that shaped and will shape me for some time to come. If you will indulge me, I would like to share a few of those now.

Be Prepared for the Unexpected

When I joined the Trust, I joined three other fundraising professionals with the ambition of adding a volunteer coordinator that I would supervise. After spending six years as an office of one at Kent Youth and Family Services, I relished the opportunity to be a part of a team. I envisioned working on events together, joint asks and building a department with people committed to the same ideas. Then, out of nowhere, two of my fellow employees moved onto other positions at different nonprofits and another went on leave. All of sudden, our team of five was a team of two and some mighty expectations fell in my lap. While I haven’t done a perfect job, I am proud of what we’ve been able to accomplish with such limited resources. I have learned a lot about emergency planning and my own bandwidth. I have also shifted my expectations for work and where I find fulfillment. I am grateful for these lessons and will hold them forever.

Use Your Voice

When you reach a director/managerial role, there is a shift in the way people see you. I was hired for my fundraising expertise and an ability to create philanthropic systems. I am by no means the world’s greatest fundraiser, but I understand this work. For my first few months at the Trust, I was too bashful about defending my decisions and using my knowledge to back up what I believe to be true. Some of that was being new and some of that was a desire to find my place. In the chaos of the last six months, I have grown more confident and willing to use my voice. I have also learned to lean on those who don’t often speak up in meetings. Over and over again, I find unmatched wisdom in those who observe.

Be Patient/Be Persistent

“Rome wasn’t built in a day” is a tired cliché, but it holds true. Building an individual giving system for the Trust from the ground up has required patience for myself and my colleagues. There have been days filled with roadblocks and setbacks. There are days that have disappointed because things aren’t moving as fast as they should. In the past 12 months, I have learned a great deal about being patient and persistent at the same time. The idea of eliminating homelessness in Los Angeles County is too important to allow defeat and temporary failures to get in the way.

On the bad days, I try to continually remind myself of these things. They keep me motivated and pushing forward. I won’t make a career out of this work; my heart lies elsewhere, but I see a tremendous opportunity to leave a small legacy here at Skid Row Housing Trust. Something I can be proud of for years to come.

Be good to each other,

-Nathan

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The Art of Giving

Whether it is issues abroad or in your own backyard, there are numerous ways to get involved and make your voice heard. Most of these tools boil down to a few actions: donate, volunteer or advocate. Each one is powerful and I have found once you really begin to dive into an issue you may find yourself doing all three. As you step forward though, your friendly neighborhood fundraiser would like to ask you to keep the following in mind.

Be selfless. For most of us in the nonprofit field, the work we do is altruistic. Just look at our paychecks! Very few of us are getting rich off of providing counseling, saving the oceans or feeding the homeless. We do this work, because we feel called to do so. We recognized a societal ill. Instead of helping satisfy shareholders or move product, we decided to do something much more personal. The level of compensation coupled with the care needed deserves and demands a certain level of selflessness. As you begin to work alongside and with us on the issues close to your heart, please keep this in mind. When we are on top of our game, we will invite you along, listen and validate your ideas. Some of the most powerful ideas I have ever heard, came from volunteers. In the same breath, some of the most memorable volunteers I’ve worked with in my life didn’t do it for the spotlight. They did it, because they care. Any recognition they received, was secondary.

Be forgiving. The people who walk through our doors may have come to us, because life has been unfair. Decisions they made or consequences they had nothing to do with led them to utilize our services. It takes an insane amount of courage to decide you need help. The bravest people I know walk through the doors of our counseling agency on daily basis. As you encounter those who receive nonprofit services, be forgiving. Judgement doesn’t save lives. Listening, services and action do. We exist to provide the latter. Without a doubt, you will hear things that shock you. Use these moments to dig deeper and find better ways to improve the lives of those who need us. Don’t use them to pump yourself up or shock value at your next dinner party.

Be patient. Human beings are complicated creatures. The systems we create are even more complicated; often unnecessarily. Change is slow. Changing behavior, bureaucracy, culture and lives at times moves at a glacial pace. In these instances, be patient. We love volunteers, donors and advocates, because they provide outside perspective. You often come from the for-profit sector where speed or lack thereof means being first or last. Those who are last rarely get paid. We need your insight and systems thinking. We need you to push us forward and hold us accountable, but also afford us the space to experiment and fail. When we do, innovation is born. In these moments, an alchemy can occur allowing us to change the world.

Be impactful. It also takes bravery to walk through the door of a nonprofit as a volunteer or advocate. Writing checks or making an online donation takes courage. For that, you deserve to be commended. No amount of time or dollar amount is too small, but as you give strive to be impactful. The challenges we face as a society can seem daunting. They require people of all stripes to roll up their sleeves and give the best of themselves. The silliest thing we could do in these moments is nothing, but don’t let a single gift or an afternoon of serving food be the end of the end of conversation. Keep it going. Rally friends, family and colleagues. If you really desire to make a difference in the world, keep talking. Keep pushing forward. Keep donating, volunteering and advocating.

Be Involved. Which brings us to our last point, be involved. I have two issues that I am immensely concerned about: human trafficking for sexual and labor exploitation, as well as access to basic needs. Beyond the work I do for a youth development agency as a fundraiser, I work hard to make regular donations to Love146 and the Rotary Foundation. I push my elected representatives forward with petitions about immigration, trafficking and sexual exploitation. I volunteer with the Southeast Coalition Against Trafficking and Seattle Against Slavery. I don’t have a lot of money. There are other things I could do with my time, but I have been confronted with an injustice and find it impossible to turn a blind eye. “If not me, then who” runs through my mind every time I step forward. I need to be involved. My parting message to you is this; find something you can’t ignore. Find a way to lend your talents and then give it your best. Your community, country and global village will be better for it.

Thanks for entering my world,

-Nathan 

More Than a Paycheck

This life should be about more than money collected on the first and fifteenth. At least, it should be that way for me. And while I am too young to talk about my life's work, I know I need more than paychecks and the comfort they provide. I need to look back at my life and see a defining accomplishment. Not a success on my part, but rather something done for the betterment of my fellow man. 

This longing creates anxiety. I often feel as if I am wasting my life and not living up to my potential. I get concerned, if I stay in one place for too long. I rarely take stock of what I have accomplished, instead, with maddening attention to detail, I move onto the next big thing. 

This may ultimately be my lesson. In this short life, I have done and seen things that should make me proud. They SHOULD make me proud. I should be proud of the paycheck and the work I get to do. I get to make a difference. 

Thanks for entering my world, 

-Nathan 

Letting Your Heart Break

To do nonprofit work, you must willing to let your heart break. You must confront people dying in the streets, mothers struggling to make ends meet, disease ravaging bodies, the destruction of land and a thousand other instances. Then, you are given two options. You can either turn away pretending not to notice all the while assuming the issue belongs to someone else. Or, you can roll up your sleeves, wipe the tears from your eyes and get to work.

From here, we grow stronger and more determined. We have been confronted with an injustice. Using the resources at our disposal, we gather likeminded people, we gather talent, and we amass tools to address the wrong. We fail. We are forced back to the drawing board. Our determination moves us forward collecting small wins as we go. All due to the fact we let our heart break.

See, the pain acts like a motivator. I’ve seen kids struggle with addiction and mental health. I’ve spoken to homeless children starving to learn. I’ve smiled as kids found safety from the streets. These things changed me. At their core, they have altered my humanity. They have pushed me to do more.

Motivation moves us. From here, we can be change agents. Most of what we do is a war. It is not simple by any means. When working with human beings, nothing is. Don’t be confused, misled or filled with doubt, we are truly changing the world for the better. We are doing the work of angels for the pay check of saints. Our calling is higher. Our calling is our fellow man.

Because, we confront our humanity on a daily basis. The world asked us to step forward and we answered. To do nonprofit work, is to hear a clarion call and answer with a phalanx of might. So, let your heartbreak. Let it solve problems. Let is shine with unbridled care. This world needs you; humanity needs you.

Thanks for entering my world,

-Nathan 

Quotable Me

"Since my return from Rio de Janeiro, I have found American news and the things we choose to focus our attention on depressing. Then I ran across this quote again and it reminded me to keep my chin up. "Society becomes great when old men plant trees whose shade they shall never sit in." Deep breath. Keep pushing forward. 

"To be blunt, pay in the nonprofit world sucks, the hours are long and the stress is high. But tonight at our "Back to School Celebration," I watched families struggling to "make it" get all the school supplies they need and take family photos for maybe the first time ever. It then dawned on me, my riches lie elsewhere." 

Thanks for entering my world, 

-Nathan