Transparency

In December, I had cataract surgeries on both my eyes.  Everyone, and I do mean everyone, told me that would LOVE this.  Those who had the surgery told me of the joy of being able to see, the relief of night driving.  Those who hadn’t had the surgery always knew someone who had, and everyone loved it.

In the first week after the surgeries, I felt that I was an outlier.  I didn’t love it.  One eye was great for distances but blurry close up.  The other was just blurry.  Before my surgeries, I couldn’t see anything well, but I wore progressive glasses so could see far and near—to the extent I could see!  After the surgeries there was the issue of reading glasses.  I hate having to find a pair with the right magnification every time I want to see something up close and not being able to see anything if I life my head up and attempt to view the world through 1.5 or 2.5 magnification.  

Everyone else seemed to adapt immediately, what was my problem?

It wasn’t until a week after my second surgery that a friend mentioned that it had taken her eyes months to settle down.  “It was pretty awful,” she said.  

The point, of course, is not that cataract surgery is good or bad but that the lack of transparency can cause expectations that can’t be met and then create dissatisfaction.  It’s a lesson fundraisers need to learn and learn well.

Many years ago (like more than 60!), I had my tonsils removed.  My pediatrician, who I loved, was always always honest.  She told you exactly what to expect and what would likely occur. She told me that I would get ether, which might make me woozy when I awoke but it would put me to sleep so I wouldn’t feel the operation.  However, when I did wake, my throat would hurt and it would hurt for a few days.

All the other children getting their tonsils out were told they were going to a tonsil party and would get ice cream when they woke.

The result was that I got what I expected and dealt with it; they woke to pain and every single one of them cried and yelled and make their sore throats more sore.

As a fundraiser, I tried to follow my pediatrician’s path.  I clearly told everyone why I was calling, what I hoped to accomplish from our meeting, what my desired expectations were.  Of course, I left room—and lots of it—to hear about their expectations and hopes.  I would approach existing donors and tell them that I wanted to speak with them about their next gift.  If I was looking for them to increase the amount they were giving, I told that upfront.  If we were talking serious major gifts, I clearly spelled out what we needed and how much of that I hoped they would consider giving.

For those who had yet to support us, I explained carefully that I wanted to meet so that we could explore their philanthropy to my organization.

In my 20 years of fundraising, not one person said they were offended by my directness.  Rather, I got a lot of appreciation.  Sometimes it was a mixed bag.

“Thanks for being so upfront,” one of my donors once told me.  “I appreciate it and it makes me feel free to be upfront back and tell you that what I’ve given is what I’m giving—so don’t ask again until next year.”