On Giving
How a *tiny* Instagram break led me to consider the gift economy and motivation.
For the past little while, I’ve been staying off of Instagram. And while I’ve noticed marked differences in my mental well-being, I’m not here to shout from the rooftops that you should follow in my footsteps. I still get on at least once a day, but for really short bursts of time as I check in on messages or maybe watch the stories of my favorite follows/loved ones. But I would say the time spent on Instagram has decreased probably by like, 300%. (I don’t know, I’m not a math person.) My new rule is that I never get on Instagram during the work day, and if I get on later, it’s only for like, five minutes at the most. One of my major takeaways from this week-long experiment has a dark side and a light side.
Light side: my brain is quieter. That’s the best way I can explain it. Less racing thoughts, less anxiety. I’m not inundated with everything going on in the world, while also being shown new must-buy items, or “wellness” trends, or pointless celebrity fodder.
Dark side: because I have less access to current events (owing in part to me also reading fewer national news articles, especially as our new president has been inaugurated), I am less aware of the things I should care about. (…Am supposed to care about? Want to care about? Care about innately? It’s hard to tell.)
Before I stopped using Instagram as much, I remember my feed as a constant slew of war and fires and oligarchy, and I was angry and sad and honestly, hopeless. I want to be aware of what’s going on in our world and our country, and I also don’t want to be yelled at about it all the time. It’s helpful when people post places we can donate, and that requires—at least for me—research into the place I’m supposed to donate to make sure it’s actually doing what it says it will do with our money. What’s not helpful—at least for me—is when people post things like, “If you’re not donating, YOU’RE the problem.” “You don’t care enough if you’re not donating.” “You are not informed enough, and THAT’S the problem.”
Has this messaging ever worked on anyone? I see it a lot on Instagram, and it doesn’t inspire me to act. It makes me feel defensive and annoyed, when I would rather let myself feel whatever I would naturally feel when witnessing and researching the tragedies all around me. We don’t really have a moment to pause and examine our own feelings towards any situation if we’re constantly scrolling and clicking through story after story, taking in only the words flashing by on the screen, telling us we’re not doing enough. I’ve been reflecting about why all of this makes me feel defensive and annoyed, and here’s what I’ve come up with so far.
I’m sure the term “gift economy” is nothing new to you, but just in case, I’ll define it here: it’s a system of exchange where goods and services are given without the expectation of money or a different kind of return. Author Robin Wall Kimmerer writes about how nature lives this way, well, naturally, and humans have strayed from that type of existence. We come back to it every now and then in small ways, like in our participation in Little Free Libraries or Buy Nothing groups. I’ve seen it in my work life, too: an organization in D.C. recently opened its doors as a coworking space to the non-profit I work for and our community of writers, simply because they had space to give. It almost feels uncomfortable to work there, as if I’m intruding, even though I’ve been welcomed with open arms. It will take a bit to get used to, I’m sure, but it’s an uncomfortability I’m willing to stay in to allow myself a gift without guilt.
And now for a peek into how my brain works: the gift economy reminds me of different types of motivation. I swear I was given a paper that detailed a ladder of human’s motivation in a psychology class I took in high school, but for the life of me, I cannot find it anywhere. (The internet keeps trying to hand me Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, and that’s not the same thing, though it could be related.) The closest thing I can find is a chart detailing extrinsic vs. intrinsic motivation, which comes pretty close to the information the ladder paper gave me. Basically, humans’ motivation comes from a variety of different sources. Extrinsic motivation revolves around doing things because we want to impress others, want to avoid negative consequences, want to be worthy of some future heavenly existence, or want to earn money. Intrinsic motivation is more focused on the inherent drive and enjoyment that comes from engaging in an activity for its own sake. It’s characterized by a sense of personal fulfillment rather than for external rewards or a response to external pressure.
These two things—the gift economy and motivation reasoning—work together for me, because I think it would take a lot of intrinsic motivation to live fully by the gift economy. And I think it’s a place that we haven’t really risen to as a society, for a million reasons—half of which are valid and half of which are selfish. Like someone might not have any money to spare, and someone might have the money but decide not to give it away. I find myself waffling often between selfish and unselfish phases with my money and my stuff, analyzing my own motivations for giving away any of it.
Here’s how this comes back to Instagram: I’ve concluded that I feel annoyed and angry at people demanding I donate or care about something, because it doesn’t fit into any intrinsic model of motivation that I can find. Stepping away from Instagram has given me a second to breathe, to process what I’ve witnessed, and to come to some conclusions about how I’d like to move forward. I want to donate because it’s a good thing to do, and because it helps my fellow humans, not because someone yelled at me and I want to prove to this strange digital world that I care, too.
Living in a true gift economy would probably exclude yelling at each other altogether. The yelling only really exists because we tend to rally only when some sort of disaster strikes. It’s inspiring to hear stories of people gathering to rebuild after hurricanes and floods and fires, and there’s so much to build or rebuild at all times. I want the constant building of a better world to be my motivation—to choose a cause (or several) I am really concerned about and then work towards it at all times. (For me, it’s climate change—which, surprise, affects the frequency and size of hurricanes and floods and fires.) My hope is that this long-term commitment—whether from financial donations, volunteer work, or, hopefully, a career someday—can help fix the source rather than just the outcome. Of course, there’s room for both.
This is not to say that I’m judging anyone individually for posting, in whatever language they choose to post in. I get it. I’ve also navigated social media in the same way over the years, sharing political thoughts and trying to influence people to vote a certain way. I’m sure I sent out some of the very messaging I am critiquing, which is part of why it’s been on my mind for all these years.
I’m not advocating for everyone to change the way they post, because that’s an impossible ask. Rather, I guess I’m advocating for the pause before we let the guilt sink in whenever we read a post that accuses us of not caring or not being informed enough. It’s worth it to turn off the phone for a second, breathe, and ask yourself what you care about, why you care, and what you want to do about it. Maybe you do care about the thing people are screaming about online, and maybe your concern lies elsewhere.
“[The gift economy] is not something we have to invent,” Kimmerer said in an interview with The Cut. “We know how to do it and I think we crave doing it.”
Really, the voice we need to listen to, the one telling us to do something, is likely our own. We only have so much to give, and we’ll know where to give it.
Feeling a little sappy,
Abi
