Beneficence

I buy the occasional lottery ticket. For the last year, I have been distributing the imagined lottery winnings to help me fall asleep.

Each morning I awake, reach for the journal on the table by my bedside and write down singular words that evoke moods and images, portals to some dramatic action that I might carry out during the day. Yesterday I looked out my bedroom window and wrote, “Our Witch Hazel blooms.” That line might be the opening to a new poem or a reminder to go out into my backyard and snip a branch to bring inside as a sentinel of spring.

At night, before turning over to sleep, under a soft light, I write down between those words and images, the names of people and organizations, recipients of my donations in case I win the lottery. After writing down names, I turn off the light and consider the order of the recipients and the amounts. Many nights the images of giving to others in this way relaxes me, putting me to sleep.

My husband once said, after looking at a lottery ticket that I bought, “I hope that you don’t win because studies show that many who do fare poorly. The money doesn’t lead to happiness.”

“You’re a moral philosopher,” I reply. “So, of course, you know those studies and the moral risks of winning. I don’t plan to keep the winnings for myself. I already know the percentages of who would get what, regardless of amount. I am well practiced.”

“Really?” he looked perplexed.

I felt smug.

Imagine, then, my surprise at my brother’s $20,000 check when it arrived in the mail.

“You told me that you had been working on deserving recipients of lottery winnings to help you go to sleep,” he wrote. “I have no such experience. I’m turning half of my lottery winnings over to you. You can do whatever you wish, even keeping it all for yourself.” I called him and in a jubilant back and forth about his lucky windfall, he confirmed his decision to give me half of his winnings: “I trust you sis!”

“But wait!” I protested silently, “My donations were imaginary, a sleep strategy, for god’s sakes!”

“Still,” I thought, reaching for my little black book on my bedside table, “I must have some ideas somewhere in here.”

I soon discovered that when winnings are imaginary, the matter of who is deserving is less pressing, including the amount one leaves for one’s self.

The check in my hand brought out new considerations, some disturbing.

It turns out that I have a covetous side—my friend’s red sports car, my other friend‘s “face and neck” work. $20,000 might buy one of those.

I also found myself feeling clannish. My adult children could use money to buy homes; my grandchildren will need college funds.

And then the universe descended upon me like a weighted blanket. The hungry, the homeless, the endangered owls, the victims of domestic violence—there is no shortage of suffering.

The night after I got the check, I lay awake struggling with the reality of my dilemma. I didn’t sleep.

“So what are you going to do?” the moral philosopher asked me in the morning, aware that I was looking sleep deprived.

“I will know today,” I replied, bleary eyed. “I will get a sign. I can’t lie awake for nights on end deliberating. I am reviewing all the organizations that I have considered in my pre-sleep deliberations.”

Opening my little black book, I wrote down all the names on a sheet of paper.

I resisted looking at Charity Navigator.

I resisted looking at Go Fund Me.

I read my Horoscope: Venus is in Scorpio (intensity).

I drew a Medicine Card: Mouse (scrutiny, because it touches everything with whiskers to know it).

I worked with my Chakras.

After realignment, I meditated on the meanings embedded in my horoscope and the Medicine Card.

Exhausted by early afternoon, I cut out the names of the organizations that I had retrieved from the book and placed them face down in a heart- shaped bowl and mixed them around.

I drew two names, walked to my computer, sat down, gave these organizations the money, and went to take a nap.

That very evening, a friendly voice from each organization actually called to tell me how much the $10,000 mattered for their work. “So unexpected! So happy that you chose us!” they exclaimed.

Later, before I turned out the light to go to sleep, I reached for my little black book and began anew, writing out the people and organizations that I could give money to if I receive another windfall. As I closed the book and turned out the light, I started to consider what percentages each would get. But their names lit up like stars against the darkened sky and fell gently, igniting my soul.