5

RIGHT LIVELIHOOD

National polls consistently report that adults spend most of their waking hours in some way involved with their livelihood—preparing to go to work, being there, unwinding when they get home. But the same polls also reveal that most of them are dissatisfied with their jobs. These findings provide several noteworthy clues about the relationship between work and happiness in our culture. First, the dissatisfaction expressed in these polls is a classic illustration of dukkha, resulting from the very causes explained in the Four Noble Truths; and second, people are “spending time” by working primarily for economic security. The reality is that we cannot find absolute happiness or economic security or identity or anything else through our jobs, because all these things—including our jobs—are impermanent. The Buddha’s teachings on right livelihood show, however, that it is possible to reconcile our desire for happiness and our need for a source of income while at the same time benefiting our community, in its most narrow and most broad senses.

TEACHINGS

When many people think of “Buddhist livelihood,” they might imagine robed monastics softly walking along mossy paths and sitting motionless in meditation. Some may also recall ancient drawings of monks working in a garden or mending the hem of a tattered robe. It is true that in those Asian countries where Buddhism is a major factor, its strongest adherents often do live monastic lives, but in the West most practitioners are householders, grappling with the teachings of right livelihood in their everyday world. Nevertheless, even in Asia the popular impression of mindful nondoing is belied by many statues of the Buddhist bodhisattva of compassion—Kuan-yin in China, Kannon in Japan— that show her holding workaday tools, such as trowels, in each of her thousand hands. Such images are testaments to the attention the Buddha gave to our work life, whether we are monastics or laypeople, and to our economic responsibilities.

When he explained right livelihood within his teachings on the Eightfold Path, the Buddha was briefer and less specific than he was about other parts of the path. He basically stressed that right livelihood means living within the Eightfold Path and abandoning wrong livelihood (MN 117.32). In discussing wrong livelihood, the Buddha urged us to abandon livelihood affected by “taints,” that is, any states that defile us and lead to suffering. He specifically cautioned against livelihood that involves scheming, belittling, and usury and proscribed professions that bring harm, including dealing in weapons, intoxicants and poison, killing, cheating, prostitution, and slavery. He gave laypeople four directives: Be skillful and energetic in your profession, protect your income from thieves, have good friends and be generous to them, and live within your means.

Although the Buddha noted that three states—right thought, right effort, and right mindfulness—“run and circle around right livelihood” (MN 117.33), he also made clear that right livelihood is the aspect of our lives where all parts of the Eightfold Path come together and must be practiced if we are to be happy in our work. We need the wisdom teachings to know who we are as we do our work; the morality teachings to know how to relate to the work we do, those we work with, and those we work for; and the mental discipline teachings to do it in a way that brings us greatest happiness.

IN PRACTICE Work: “I Am What I Do” vs. “I Do What I Do”

Is there a comma after your name and a “job title”? Homemaker. Vice President. Sales Manager. Programmer. Parent. Engineer. Teacher. Just how tied to that title are you? How much of your identity comes from what you do? If you have ever been downsized— laid off or fired—or have retired, you probably can answer that question. Otherwise you may not even notice that when someone asks how you are, you answer, “Well, the project is running a little behind schedule,” as I once did.

When we live by a comma and a tag line, we consciously or unconsciously embrace values that cause us dissatisfaction. We experience a sense of Self and Other: There are others above us who, we think, must be better than us because their title is bigger—or we become resentful because we are better but they have the title. Those below us must not be as good—or maybe they are and have a resentment or may catch up and pass us. Dancing with our position becomes an overriding preoccupation as far as our sense of self-worth is concerned and inevitably affects how we interact with people around us. Life becomes a competitive sport, not a cooperative one, and even infants are pushed into the struggle to line up years ahead for the right kindergarten so they’ll be on the right track for that right title when they grow up.

In addition to creating an isolated self and building ourselves up at others’ expense, the “I am what I do” attitude has some other negative fallout as well. If you go back far enough in history, you find that our early ancestors “worked” to find or produce what they required to survive. But today very few of us work to produce what we ourselves need. We work to earn money to buy the things we want as well as the things we need, so we tend to equate the value of what we do with what we earn. But there is no absolute value to anything. If there were, would the price of gold rise and fall? Would airlines have fare wars? Would people who clean metropolitan subways earn more than teachers? Would the price of ever-more-powerful computers continue to drop? So often a thing’s monetary value is in the hands of unions, agents, and a supply-and-demand economy, nothing more. When we find out what others around us earn, it is hard not to feel smugness or resentment—again, separateness. And as we are bombarded by images of the material accouterments we are “supposed” to have, many of us fall into the trap of acquiring the car or house or outfit that gives us the appearance of earning more than we actually do.

When we look back over our lives, most of us can find examples of how the equation do = am has led us to make choices that hurt us. We have taken jobs we did not really want, because of the salary or the title. We have bought things we really could not afford, to maintain our image or because everyone else had them. We have spent time with people we do not especially enjoy being with, because it helped our career.

The whole notion of “I am what I do” unravels when we develop understanding of the Buddha’s wisdom teachings, especially on impermanence. The delusion of a permanent self can greatly motivate our choice of the work we do and how we see our relationship to it. In Claude Whitmyer’s excellent book Mindfulness and Meaningful Work, Zen teacher Toni Packer observes:

When I realize that the question, “What is right livelihood?” arises out of the idea/feeling of being a separate entity with its inevitable feelings of insecurity, insufficiency, discontent, guilt, loneliness, fear, and wanting, doesn’t it follow inevitably that I yearn for a livelihood that will compensate me for what I feel lacking and hurting inside? ... When our habitual ideas and feelings of separation begin to abate in silent questioning, listening, and understanding, then right livelihood ceases to be a problem.

Other Mahayana Buddhists such as the Dalai Lama describe the Eightfold Path as the end of dukkha through the realization of emptiness (of a separate self) as the result of ethical behavior and the practice of meditation. In describing right livelihood, he notes how, by realizing emptiness and therefore the interrelationship of all beings, we can make our motivation for work the practice of bodhichitta, compassion for and striving for the liberation of all beings. And this question of the motivation for work leads directly to our choice of what work we do.

Work: “What Do I Do?”

Just about the time we sort out that “I am who I am” and “I do what I do,” we learn that we also are what we do: If we spend most of our waking hours around work, work is where we are usually “walking the walk.” For most of us, our work life is our greatest opportunity to practice both mindfulness and making ethical choices, as we fulfill our financial responsibilities. Our choice of what to do in meeting these multiple goals is described by Jack Kornfield in Seeking the Heart of Wisdom:

The Sufis have a saying, “Praise Allah, and tie your camel to the post.” This brings together both parts of practice: pray, yes, but also make sure you do what is necessary in the world. Have a life of meditation and genuine spiritual experience and, at the same time, discover how to manifest that here and now.

Sometimes it seems that knowing where to tie your camel was simpler in the Buddha’s time than in the twenty-first century. In those times it was clear that to practice right action meant to avoid killing, lying, stealing, committing adultery, and getting intoxicated; that to practice right livelihood meant to avoid being a soldier, butcher, or slaver. Nevertheless, from a Buddhist perspective, we can still summarize his teachings by saying that our work must pay our bills while not harming ourselves or others.

Every time we consciously make a decision in favor of nonharming, we help everyone—and we won’t regret it. Nowhere is this more true than in the decisions we make about how we spend our working hours. But not all of us are doctors, teachers, social workers, or people involved in the explicit “helping professions.” How then do we practice right livelihood? The decisions we make depend on our age, needs, experience, interests, health, geographical area, and so on. One former monk who was dedicated to a life of service became a hospice worker; another, who had a family with young children, felt that he could be of service—and meet his financial responsibilities—working for a computer software developer. For each of their situations, their solutions worked for them. Both did work that used their talents, that brought them satisfaction, that helped others and harmed no one, and that enabled them to meet their expenses. Can each of us say the same? Is the work that we do a conscious choice with nonharming as the bottom line?

Many commentators on the world of work have come up with guidelines for a “good” job or career. These standards often include specifics such as receiving fair pay for fair work, having the opportunity to use our skills and experience in the service of something worth doing, and promoting a sense of community. Very obviously, a number of professions that meet some of these criteria can consistently harm other people: Running a bordello, being part of an organized crime cartel, dealing illegal drugs, trading in illicit arms, and being a “hit man” are clearly not right livelihood. Other professions are a little less clear, such as being a go-go dancer to pay college tuition, joining a military force in order to be a peacekeeper, or fishing commercially or running a feedlot to ensure adequate food for one’s community.

As we begin to look at such issues, we realize that harm is a concept that must be seen within the context of our interconnectedness with all beings and with our environment. Some of the ways we earn money are harmful in ways that are quite subtle or even invisible. We may work for a company that causes environmental or social damage that is not immediately obvious. Today increasing numbers of people—often through retirement plans—have investments in the stock market. Many times we have little or no information about the effects of our investments or even our purchases. We may, for example, buy or invest in ocean resorts that destroy the wetlands where fish and birds breed; in food products whose development destroys rainforests; in inexpensive clothing made by people who are exploited in sweatshops; in chemical manufacturers that evade pollution regulations; in agricultural products raised or harvested by illegally resident farm workers; in items produced in countries known for their violations of human rights.

Does this mean that we can never eat another hamburger or go into a Chinese restaurant? Not at all. It sometimes takes persistence, but we can find information about the goods and services we buy and invest in. We can even penetrate the inscrutability of some mutual funds—and there are a number of “socially responsible” funds that have relatively good returns. The question is whether we want financial comfort at the expense of other beings now and the Earth itself in the future. If we don’t, there are some very forceful examples of how people who buy and invest consciously can effect major changes. Only a few decades ago large investors, under pressure from their shareholders, began to withdraw their investments from South Africa. This economic coercion became one of the conditions for the crumbling of apartheid, and the majority achieved rule, under Nelson Mandela. Closer to home, environmental defense groups persuaded the largest national fast-food chains to eliminate the use of Styrofoam and to use only recyclable and biodegradable packaging. And that change occurred nationwide in a matter of several months, protecting our resources while making the chains look like heroes. There are many win-win situations like this, on a smaller scale, in our everyday life.

Korean Zen master Seung Sahn, in his book Compass of Zen, sees our world of work as twofold: Our inside job is “keeping a clear mind,” and our outside job is “cutting off selfish desires and helping others.” Certainly these two aspects affect our choice of right livelihood and the wide impact of that choice. But they also are critical concerns for us as we work at the job we have chosen. Can we keep a clear mind and cut off selfish desires and help other people within the context of our job?

For me, the answer to that question lay in a transformative experience I had almost twenty years ago in a very small and isolated village in the Himalayas. Sitting on the stoop of an open-fronted wood-and-clay house was a woman at a loom. We smiled and greeted each other, and I sat down near her to watch her work. There was something in her quiet purposefulness that attracted me greatly: I wanted to be like her when I “grew up.” Here I was, a “rich” American at the height of my career, envying a toothless woman with a life expectancy of about forty-five, with an income of less than $17 a year, whose only possessions were a few pots and shawls hanging from pegs in a damp, drafty house. Yet she had something I wanted: peacefulness, purpose, a sense of delight in what she was doing. Here was a very real example of how a spiritual path as a way of life can bring serenity, satisfaction, and clearmindedness even under the harshest circumstances: She was truly present in the moment with what she was doing.

When we are present for our lives—for our work—the most mundane tasks can enrich us. Any time we are bored in our work, we simply are not being attentive enough. Zen master Bernie Glassman, in Instructions to the Cook, sums it up this way:

When we concentrate fully on our work in this way, there is no goal. We’re not saying, “Oh, when is this work going to end?” or “I’m working to gain some money.” We’re simply working, fully present in the moment.

When we work in this way, we don’t waste energy by worrying about all the things we should have done in the past or all the things we might do in the future. Rather, we use our work as a meditation practice that helps us stay in the present and aids our concentration. When we work in this way, instead of making us tired, our work actually gives us energy and peace of mind.

For those who are managers or are self-employed, Glassman cautions:

The greatest cause of [business] failure comes not from lack of money, but from lack of attention. It comes from ignorance of what is taking place in your business.

One of the most elegant examples of mindfulness in performing a daily task is cha no yu, the Japanese tea ceremony that emerged after Zen spread in that country in the thirteenth century. We may never have the opportunity to participate in this ritual, but we can have a remarkable experience of such presence in the simplest assignment on a Buddhist meditation retreat. On most retreats retreatants are asked to do a job such as chopping vegetables, washing dishes, or cleaning bathrooms that will help keep expenses down, benefit the community, and give us practice in mindfully performing ordinary tasks. In these circumstances, we can learn much about our relationship to work in a very short time. It is amazing how our own sense of self can come up and start clattering around: We want to do our job better and faster than anyone else ever has—and we want others to notice. Once we get past that—and it usually doesn’t take too long—then we become truly present to the task. We find iridescence in the skin of the eggplant we’re peeling. We discover the aesthetics of the curve of the toilet we’re cleaning. And we feel a quiet sense of satisfaction in knowing that we are doing this task for the benefit of all the others in our retreat community.

Thich Nhat Hanh, recognizing the value of benefiting our community, stresses that “right livelihood has ceased to be a purely personal matter. It is our collective karma.” As we have noted, nothing is lost. Ever. How we interact with those we work with and for and with those who work for us has far-reaching consequences. When we exercise right speech (by avoiding harsh language, lying, and gossiping) and right action (by not harming, stealing, or using others sexually), we create a safe and supportive place for others and ourselves to work mindfully.

Jack Kornfield sometimes has attendees at workshops and retreats do a guided meditation that well illustrates the role we can play in our “collective karma.” He begins by having each meditator visualize a very difficult situation as we do our daily work. He then says that there is a loud knock on the door, and the meditator goes to answer it. The person who has knocked is the Buddha, or Jesus, or Mother Mary, or Kuan-yin—whomever the meditator wishes to come in and help. The Buddha, let us say, takes the appearance of the meditator, who becomes invisible and follows him back into the room where the difficult situation exists. After a while Kornfield tells the meditator that the Buddha gives her something, whispers something to her, then leaves. At the end of this practice, Kornfield asks several participants to describe their experience: the situation (most often one of chaos, stress, fear, or threat), how the Buddha or other figure acted (usually with calmness, quietly listening rather than speaking, eventually responding rather than reacting), what the Buddha said (words of comfort and encouragement), and what the Buddha gave (often a statue or image but sometimes a tool specific to the job situation).

After three or four meditators have shared their experience, Kornfield asks the group, “And where did this buddha come from?” It immediately becomes clear that each of us has that buddha in ourselves. It is through practicing right livelihood and the other steps on the Eightfold Path that our own buddha-nature— which instinctively knows how to handle such situations—can be uncovered. We can begin to find it now. Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, in Meaningful to Behold, urges us not to wait:

Some people think that they will practice the dharma once they have finished with their worldly business. This is a mistaken attitude because our work in the world never finishes. Work is like a ripple of water continually moving on the surface of the ocean. It is very difficult to break free from our occupations in order to practice dharma. The busy work with which we fill our lives is only completed at the time of our death.

Wealth: “I Am Not What I Have Either”

Speaking of death, do you recall the slogan that embellished T-SHIRTS and bumper stickers a few years back—HE WHO HAS THE MOST TOYS WHEN HE DIES WINS? This slogan was singularly irritating because most people act as if it were true and do go after as many toys as they can get, even though they know that whoever has the most toys still dies.

There is nothing inherently wrong with toys, or with money. The problems arise in our attitude toward our possessions. Just as we are not our job titles, we also are not what we have. But we need to pay the bills while we do no harm. The Buddha often spoke of poverty as the cause of immorality and crime; Hammalawa Saddhatissa, in Buddhist Ethics, succinctly summarizes the Buddha’s teachings on amassing wealth:

The Buddha gave five reasons why a moral person should desire to be possessed of means. Firstly, by his work, diligence and clear-sightedness he could make happy himself, his parents, wife and children, servants and workpeople. Secondly, he could make happy his friends and companions. Thirdly, he would be able to keep his property from the depredations of fire, water, rulers, robbers, enemies and heirs. Fourthly, he would be able to make suitable offerings to his kin, guests, deceased, kings, and devas. Fifthly, he would be able to institute, over a period, offerings to recluses and others who abstain from pride and negligence, who are established in patience and gentleness, and who are engaged in every way in perfecting themselves. At the same time, whether his wealth increases or whether it does not, he should not be disturbed in his mind if he knows that his reasons for trying to amass it were good.

Today we might add that we can use our means for good—to support environmental work or charity, for example.

A corollary to the various manifestations of happiness that come from amassing sufficient means is how we feel about it. In the words of one of my favorite slogans, HAPPINESS IS BEING CONTENT WITH WHAT YOU HAVE. When you are content with what you have, you are, first of all, aware of what you have. Second, you are grateful for what you have, and gratitude is a prime ingredient of happiness. If you are content with what you have and are grateful for it, it is unlikely that you’ll make yourself miserable wanting things that you don’t have—the greed of wanting things to be different, of wanting to possess things “out there.” Interestingly, one of the translations of the word for infidel in the Koran is someone who is not grateful for what they have been given.

A question then naturally arises: “How much is enough?” (When I was a child, my mother always said, “Enough is enough,” but it didn’t seem to be.) Most of the world’s religions have assumed that however much we have is more than enough, and they have encouraged us to share it. In some cases the formulas have been fairly specific, as in Christian tithing and Muslim almsgiving. In others people have been expected to supply to monastics, orphans, and widows what was needed, defined as food, shelter, clothing, and medicine. But in all cultures the sharing of wealth to ameliorate the suffering of others has been seen as not just a duty but an opportunity for adding to our own happiness, in this world or the next.

The unhappiness that results from clinging to “too much” is well illustrated by a 2,500-year-old story. One day the Buddha and some of his disciples were resting in the shade of a large fig tree just where a major road forked. In the distance they could see a man running up the road toward them. He was completely disheveled, sweating, breathless. As he neared them, he yelled, “Have you seen my buffaloes?” The resting men said no. Then he called out, “Which fork were you on?” When they pointed to the left, he dashed off to the right. The Buddha looked after him and quietly said, “That man has too many buffaloes.”

That statement can be a useful yardstick for checking on ourselves when we find ourselves frantic, breathless, disheveled. This state can arise when we have a house or a yard that is too big to take care of, or too many clients, or too many appointments or even leisure activities. If we find ourselves speeding along mindlessly, we have too many buffaloes.

Many of us have far more Things than we need or even can use. We may not know how many, unless we have moved recently and tried to consolidate what we have. One way we could examine whether we have a herd of buffaloes is to check our clothes closet and take out the articles of clothing—including shoes, coats, and accessories—that we have not worn for two or more years. If they are just taking up space, why keep them? How would you feel about cutting them up and transforming them into a quilt? Would you feel better if you gave them to a nonprofit thrift shop or to a shelter? Would you feel better if you put them back into the closet? Look especially carefully at the ones you want to keep, the ones to which you are attached. What is your “story” about them? Are you what you have, whether you use (wear) it or not?

Other places buffaloes lurk are medicine cabinets, food cabinets, and anywhere else perishable items are stored. It is interesting to note how many labels have dates that have expired. (Toss them—to use or eat such products can be dangerous.) If you find dated items, have you kept them for the same reasons you might have kept unworn clothes?

If you look at your calendar for the next two weeks, you may find that buffaloes graze a lot on time. You might want to ask yourself some questions like these: Especially on weekends and during the evening (if you work outside your home), do you have any “free” time? Any large blocks of time to enjoy spontaneously? Do your leisure activities satisfy both your body and your mind? How many of your commitments are you truly looking forward to? Do you anticipate feeling energized or fatigued at the end of this time? Is there anything you’d like to cancel to free up some more time? Why don’t you?

“Spending” Time

If the question about free time made you uncomfortable, you may want to consider that how you spend your time is an aspect of right livelihood. Jack Kornfield once pointed out in a public talk that when we reach the end of our life, as all our years pass before our eyes, we’re unlikely to say, as our final words, “I should have gotten to the office earlier.” If these were our words, then we probably would not regret all those years, but they rarely are, because, as we have noted, so many people spend most of their time involved in a work life they don’t enjoy. Right livelihood is not just about work and how we amass wealth without harming others. As the Buddha repeatedly stressed, it is also about how we use our wealth—material and otherwise—for the benefit of others. Time is certainly one of our most valuable commodities, and how we use it to promote happiness for ourselves and our community is an integral part of right livelihood.

Time is a four-letter word—one of the most obscene, I thought in my younger years. All the things I thought I wanted—starting school, finishing school, going on vacation, getting a promotion, retiring—seemed to depend on time, another time somewhere out there in the future. Very early I learned that time is quite variable. When I was waiting for something I wanted, it passed interminably slowly. When I was enjoying myself, it evaporated. But mostly my concept of time was relative—relative to a clock or a calendar—and time seemed as firm and as limited as the numbers on the dial. Time was a finite quantity to be earned and spent, like money. And in fact the relationship between time and money is quite close for many of us. If “time is money,” is there any such thing as “free time”? Counselors in prisons often tell inmates, “Don’t just do time. Use it!” That’s good advice for all of us. When time is a limited commodity, it is always a chip in a trade-off. The point is to be aware of how we’re spending it. Do we use it to escape or to enrich our lives? The most important lesson we can learn about time is that when we are truly in the present moment—like that woman in the Himalayan village—time is not limited by the clock dial: It’s vast. It’s infinite. It expands in all directions. And the magnitude of the moment creates a “free” time for happiness no matter what we’re doing.

The Buddha’s teachings on the Middle Way, based on his personal experience of living the extremes of princely luxury and renunciative asceticism, are relevant to right livelihood. In a clear application of the Middle Way, he specifically referred to the need for right effort in right livelihood. And this touches directly on how we spend our time. No one can—or should— work every waking moment. No matter how much we enjoy our work, we all need recovery time. Part of that time is spent eating, part sleeping. But we also need time that refreshes our bodies and our minds. Our heads are connected to our bodies, obviously, and when our bodies are not “happy,” our mood and general sense of well-being are affected. When our minds are not happy—when we are stressed—our bodies suffer. Much research done in recent years has consistently found a correlation between stress and illness, not just illnesses such as hypertension but also cancer, and even injuries such as broken bones.

Some of our time clearly is dedicated to our physical well-being. You may find it extremely rewarding to spend time selecting and preparing nutritious foods and eating mindfully. Another choice is to be physically active. If you do not already have some sort of fitness program in place, consider talking with your physician about what kind of program might be best for you. You don’t have to start training for a marathon. One of the most effective kinds of physical exercise is walking; another is hatha yoga.

Another way of spending time that benefits ourselves and others is meditation. Meditation has been shown to reduce the symptoms of stress, to lower blood pressure, and to lower heart rates, improving our overall health. But people who meditate consistently also report that their practice enhances their power of concentration, mental efficiency, and general creativity. They generally agree that the minutes spent meditating each day are more than compensated for in their improved functioning in other areas of their lives, including their work.

“All work and no play” can make us dull. Just what play means varies considerably from person to person. It may mean canoeing, walking on the beach, going to a museum, taking a course, taking a nap, or reading an engrossing book. But our lives are richer when we create time for our interests. Some classic psychology experiments years ago found that for primates (which we are) curiosity can be as powerful a drive as hunger: Monkeys that had the option of going to a window where they could get a food reward or to a window where they could watch a toy train circling most frequently chose the train. We live in such a rich time that whatever piques our curiosity is probably available to us—physically, in books, at the movies, on the Internet, at local colleges.

Giving Time

I’ve always turned to nature for my metaphors, and nature is fairly unforgiving. In nature, if an organism makes a “big mistake,” that organism—and perhaps the whole species—is likely to die. A classic kind of “big mistake” is for one species to take over the world or at least an ecological niche. Suppose, for example, a particular kind of grass (say, wheat) were to overrun the Great Plains. At first all the people who live there might be quite enthusiastic about their future prospects and actively encourage its cultivation. But if the wrong kind of insect swarmed through—one whose diet is exclusively that specific grass—the whole area would become a wasteland. Only the farmers who had some diversity of crops would survive. Many creatures have flourished in one particular place, only to have their habitat or food supply disappear; then they disappeared. An analog is financial investment, where a diverse portfolio is the most secure in the long run. Or as my mother used to say, “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

So not only is variety the spice of life, it may also be the key to survival. Brought into the context of right livelihood, the kinds of diversity we’ve looked at—for the mind and for the body as well as to meet our expenses without harming others—can bring us a satisfying life. But if we want to fully practice the Buddha’s teachings on right livelihood, we can go one step further and with conscious intent enrich not only ourselves but also our community, our environment in the broadest sense. To mix metaphors, if we can look beyond ourselves to see that transforming others’ suffering is a major investment in the diverse portfolio of our lives, we will know a richness that admits few regrets.

Each one of us will come up with a different formula for what we can invest—what proportion of giving time and/or money works best for us. We usually find that at least one activity where we are actively involved with other people is most satisfying, but our health or where we live may limit our options to financial generosity. Many nonprofit organizations put the money we send them to excellent use—organizations as diverse as the American Red Cross, Oxfam America, and Nature Conservancy.

Other organizations—some independent, some sponsored by national or religious organizations—welcome donations of money but especially rely on people who can volunteer their time. Many Buddhist centers and sanghas are committed to supporting community projects and worldwide efforts to benefit all beings. If you would like to spend time locally working for the happiness of others, consider these types of investments:

One-on-one support for youngsters, such as Big Sisters and Big Brothers or an athletic activity

Spending time at a children’s or foundlings’ hospital, simply holding the infants

Cooking or delivering food to people who are homebound because of age or illness

Being a “buddy” to a person with AIDS

Being an aide in a hospice

Helping to build homes for homeless people, through organizations such as Habitat for Humanity

Volunteering at a shelter for homeless people

Seeking sponsors for fund-raising walks and runs

Reading for people, especially students, who are blind

Teaching reading to adults

Helping to care for and place animals in shelters

Some of these activities take considerable time, but others involve only a single commitment of a day or a few hours. But the payoff is enormous, to the people you help and to yourself. One of the most important aspects of how we spend our time is creating a sense of community. Claude Whitmyer summarizes this expression of right livelihood, which applies both to our time on the job and to the opportunities we have for giving time—and he adds an important caution:

The most important step in building support for right livelihood is giving back more than you get. It’s not really a matter of keeping track in some kind of ledger book. It’s more a function of the attitude that you adopt in caring for yourself and those around you. People tend to mirror the way that they are treated. If you show an interest in helping and sharing, those around you will start helping you and sharing more with you. If you empathize with other people’s situations, they tend to empathize more with yours. . . . The key is to be active about it. Look for opportunities to cooperate. With a proactive attitude of supporting others, you will seldom experience a shortage of support from others.

A simple caution is in order, however, when it comes to giving to others. . . . Give more than you get, but not more than you’ve got.

In all instances of right livelihood, you are creating community by being part of it. You are putting into practice the Buddha’s core teaching on the emptiness of self and the true interconnection of all beings. You are transforming yourself and your community even as you ease the suffering of others.