#106 Doing good

Hi everyone. Welcome back to How to Live, a podcast that explores ways to live a good life.

I'm your host, Sharad Lal, and this is episode 106.

Good to be back with you.

If you're new here, the shape of the podcast is simple. Once a month, I bring you a couple of the short notes I write in my newsletter, along with some of the responses they stirred up — because often the most interesting part is what comes back.

This month is a little different.

Last time, I brought you two separate notes. Today, the first note sparked so many responses that the note which followed was built almost entirely from them.

So this episode is really a conversation.

My thought first. And then yours.

The first note is called "Doing Good."

Here it is.

When we're feeling that hum — that quiet unease — many of us reach for the same solution.

Doing good. Giving back. Making an impact.

I felt it too.

I started a non-profit mentorship programme to help people with their careers. It was born from something deeply personal. We helped hundreds of people land jobs they wanted. It felt meaningful. Watching someone's life change because of the help we gave — there's nothing quite like it.

But somewhere along the way, I noticed something uncomfortable.

All my best energy — my contacts, my patience, my most generous self — was going outward. The people in my programmes got the best of me.

And the people closest to me? My family, my closest friends?

They got what was left.

Worse — sometimes they bore the brunt of my frustrations. The goodness hadn't reached the most important people in my life.

I don't think I'm the only one.

There's always a pull towards causes and charity. It's important, necessary work — and the world genuinely needs more of it.

But part of the appeal, if we're honest, is that it keeps the game going. We can measure it. A hundred people impacted. A programme launched. A milestone we can point to.

The people closest to us don't come with a scoreboard.

No metric. No milestone. No game.

Maybe that's why it's harder.

And maybe that's why it matters so much.

That was the note.

And it clearly touched a nerve. More of you wrote back to this one than to anything I'd sent before.

Your responses added nuance, challenged parts of it, and took the thought somewhere I couldn't have taken it on my own.

So the next newsletter was made almost entirely from what you sent me.

Here it is.

This note is a different kind. Instead of writing to you, I want to hand some of it back — because Doing Good clearly touched a nerve, and your replies said it better than I did.

One of you shared a story I keep thinking about.

A man had passed away. At his ceremony, colleague after colleague stood to speak about him — what a generous mentor he'd been, how he'd changed their careers.

At the end, his teenage daughter stood up too.

She said how lucky they all were.

If only she'd been given the same.

That's the whole of it, in one image.

And underneath it, one of you named the quiet trap. They should know I'm busy. They should understand. We expect the people closest to us not to mind — because they, of everyone, will wait.

Many of you felt the same thing.

"The best of us goes to the work," one wrote, "and the people we love get the leftovers."

Others echoed it in their own words — we save our sharpest patience for professional circles, and bring home what's left.

And one reader named the part I'd circled but never landed.

We do good partly because it feeds our identity. The people at home don't feed that the same way. They love us whether we perform or not — so they're the ones we stop performing for.

But not everyone agreed — and one reply pushed my thinking.

"I'm not neglecting them," one of you said. "I'm doing it for them. If I succeed, I can give them more — security, comfort, the life they deserve."

And that's true. Provision is love, too.

Another challenged the scoreboard itself.

"Rooting for you is more powerful than anything," they wrote — "and it doesn't come with a scoreboard."

Someone else took it further. Home, they said, is the feeling of walking in the door and being yourself. Everyone wants that. No scoreboard can compete with it.

Both land for me. Presence and provision — I don't think one cancels the other. Both are love. I've stopped trying to resolve it.

I just try to notice when the scales have quietly tipped.

What I like about your responses is that they don't reduce this to a simple choice.

Be present, or provide.

Both can come from love.

But both can also become a way of avoiding something harder.

That's the part I'm still sitting with.

And that's the conversation for this month.

One thought from me, and then a room full of you thinking it through together. Honestly, that is the part I love most.

If something here stirred something in you — the leftovers, the scoreboard, the daughter standing up at the end — I'd love to hear from you.

You can reply to any of my newsletters, or find my contact details in the show notes. I read every message.

The newsletter comes out every second Saturday. One honest thought. Nothing forced into a neat conclusion. And sometimes, like today, the best thinking happens in what comes back.

You can sign up at newsletter.sharadlal.net.

I'll be back next month.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading, replying, and thinking these things through with me.

As always, wishing you calm, clarity, and movement.

See you next time.