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My job is to convey a passion for how we can get together and stem the tide of need that is sweeping over our communities. I must balance respect for their past contributions and desperation for their support. Ask them how they're doing and they'll say, "We're going to be fine."
At the end of the day, I'll gather up my things. Thoughts of which grants are in the hopper, which major gift might come through in the next day's mail swirl through my head. By the time I get to the Fort Pitt Tunnels, the cost of printing invitations to our fundraising event versus e-mailing them starts to fade. I begin to wonder how my husband passed the day at home with our three little girls. It's been months since he worked full-time as a systems engineer, minus the random consulting gig.
The commute home for me is a time to exhale; a time for me to listen to no one but myself. The worry over my fellow citizens in impoverished neighborhoods doesnsn't go away (ever), but I don't have to look anyone in the eye with assurance of better times. The shape-shifting exercise of contributing to conversations foreign to my life like Ivy League tuitions, mergers and portfolios is over for another day. Right now, I can slip back into my own life, which is by no means as extreme as the cultures I traverse each day.
I can't say where on the middle of the spectrum I fall. Lately it's more like living in suspended animation. Every day is a worry, to be sure. One income with five people in a rental house with student loans and other bills in the mail box is tough. And though fundraising is inherently equivalent to earning a living on a pendulum and I'm exhausted these days by it, I'm relieved. Because the privilege of exposure to all echelons of society in tough times allows perspective.
Sure, I wish the checks were in the mail for all of us — for those I am lucky enough to serve and those in my own family whom I support. But I must live existentially to keep it together. Like everyone else in town, I'm doing everything I can.
So, ask me how I'm doing, and I'll say,"We're going to be fine."
Jennifer Papale Rignani is vice president of development and communications for the YMCA of Greater Pittsburgh. This article originally appeared in the June 6 edition of The Pittsburgh Post Gazette and is reprinted with the author's permission.
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