Blue skies and bubble wrap.
I don’t think well sitting still. I process things much better on my feet. When problem-solving, paintings offer me a sense of calm, reflection, and possibility. Many years ago, there was an art gallery around the corner from my office, and when I got stuck, that’s where I’d go to ponder things.
I recall being enamored with a painting there for several months. What the gallery owner called a “statement piece,” it was all blue sky and cumulus clouds, six feet long by two feet high. I was 29 years old when I bought it as a celebratory gesture after being named a VP. It was October (my favorite month), and I was elated as I took it uptown to be framed. Uptown indeed, everything was looking up.
I’ve been thinking lately about life’s seasons. They don’t just happen in our personal lives; they can happen for entire sectors. Remembering my purchase, I realize that nonprofits once had a similar dose of dopamine, not from a painting, but from a pandemic.
Even with all its heartbreak, COVID brought an unprecedented surge of attention and resources to the sector. Emergency relief flowed quickly: PPP loans, CARES Act grants, and the American Rescue Plan. Organizations that previously struggled to stay afloat were able to expand services. Foundations and donors relaxed restrictions, and more flexible funding gave nonprofits breathing room to innovate.
Meanwhile, there was a sudden surge in cultural awareness, elevating nonprofit work, especially in the areas of public health, racial justice, and climate change. These issues were part of the national conversation, and nonprofit leaders had permission to think big, forge partnerships with government agencies, and experiment with new ways of delivering impact. Particularly as the crisis abated, things were looking up.
Just as 29-year-old me thought promotions and raises would always continue, the nonprofit sector thought that the interest, funding, and enthusiasm for the work would stick. Logically, the sector should have known that reactions to extraordinary circumstances don’t have staying power, but we’re hardwired to the contrary. Here’s a look at the behavioral science behind our misjudgment.
Recency Bias: We overweight recent experiences when predicting the future.
Narrative Fallacy: Craving self-control, we attribute good times to our own abilities, hard work, or structural corrections, making a downturn feel unlikely.
Optimism Bias: We are wired to think that the future will be better than the past.
These biases and heuristics certainly worked their magic on a younger me. I recall getting a call in February (my least favorite month) to ask when I wanted my newly framed painting delivered. The dot-com bubble had burst, taking my job down the drain with it, so all I saw were dollar signs and regret. Taking the subway downtown in the freezing cold with a six-foot painting covered in bubble wrap is a memory I won’t forget. So, there’s a little déjà vu when I think about today’s climate for nonprofits.
Things looked so good, and now they look so grim. It feels awful because we have a systematic bias toward assuming continuity rather than volatility. Here are five steps to consider as you deliberate and make decisions about how to navigate the storm.
1 |
Normalize the CycleRemind boards, staff, and funders that the present climate is an extreme reaction that will eventually have an opposite reaction. |
2 |
Counteract Negativity BiasUse historical funding benchmarks, such as the 2008 recession and recovery, to demonstrate that bad times don’t last forever. |
3 |
Focus on Long-Term Stakeholder TrustOver-communicate and be candid; research shows transparency builds trust. |
4 |
Leverage Behavioral Signals to FundraiseUse loss aversion by emphasizing urgency and explaining what’s at stake. Pair these messages with progress reports to show impact. |
5 |
Build Organizational MemoryDocument what’s being learned so the next generation of leaders can avoid recency bias. |
Life is a cycle of downturns and booms. Some of us are more vulnerable than others, but none of us are immune. As for the painting, I still have it. At different times, I’ve seen it both as a symbol of my hubris and a reminder of my resilience. Either way, the sky is blue for a reason.
Take care,
Kevin
