Perception Versus Reality

Perception is a layer of sorts. It’s like a mirror, that may be clear, but can also be cloudy or warped.

How we view something or someone – our perception of it – is not necessarily reality.

When we are perceiving something, we are observing it, which necessarily means we are separate from it (which is especially interesting when the thing we’re observing is in ourselves)!

I was talking with a friend recently who had just attended their college reunion. As he and his former classmates reconnected and swapped stories of their time together many years ago, he was surprised by how different his memories were from the versions others were sharing. I realized that he was really struggling with this – mystified that he and his old pals had sometimes drastically contrasting versions of the same “truth.” I think this was the first time he’d noticed how each of us can view the same event somewhat or wholly differently than others.

How we perceive a person or experience says as much about us as it does the reality of the thing itself.

A Family Visit

About a month ago, my in-laws came for a ten-day visit. Sandy and Ardie live in rural, southwestern Pennsylvania and we had put a lot of planning and thought into their first-ever trip to California. They had heard much about our life and our friends. So, they were coming with a mental picture – a perception – of what that looked like. They also had an image of California that they learned from the national media, reinforced by some of their friends and neighbors. A perception formed not entirely consciously and often at odds with the stories we shared about our life here.

Humorously, from across the country we attempted to help them pack for the trip, stressing the importance of clothing “layers” in our Mediterranean climate. On that front we failed. Their suitcases contained lots of shorts and short-sleeved shirts, but not much more. If you’ve spent your life in the eastern part of the US, how you perceive a weather forecast of “90 degrees and sunny” is likely very different than how a Californian interprets it. Thankfully, a quick shopping trip to pick up a sweatshirt and jacket solved that challenge.

A day or two into their stay, my brother and his wife hosted a Memorial Day gathering at their beautiful vineyard home. Sandy and Ardie would meet not only some of my family, but our closest friends for the first time. That morning, Ardie kept asking questions about our friends. Not names or details. His questions reflected how he perceived the people he’d be meeting: a group of people I believe he felt he’d have little in common with. Perhaps they’d be a bit elitist? Or there would be lots of talk of politics – and likely not aligned with his beliefs. Or the gathering would be overly formal – unlike the relaxed picnics they loved to host back in Pennsylvania.

Ardie also asked how much our friends knew about Sandy and him. He seemed worried that they would somehow look down upon him, though he masked that with humor and self-deprecation. I realized he had built a perception of the people he was about to meet, and a perception of how he believed they thought about him, that was grounded in his fears and self-image more than on the stories we had shared. I grew concerned that he would not enjoy himself and, in doing so, not let people know the beautiful truth of who he is.

As we drove to the party, Ardie muttered “I’m absolutely terrified right now.” When we parked in the driveway, he made no move to leave the car. My heart broke for him. I leaned over and said “I understand. And it’s okay to feel terrified. I wish I could convince you that you have nothing to fear. I think you’ll find that these people are not that different from you. But I really appreciate you sharing your feelings.”

I meant that. His honesty and willingness to share his truth was refreshing, even though I wished for him that he wasn’t feeling this way.

Hours later we said our goodbyes and piled back into the car. Immediately, Ardie broke into a wide smile and said he’d had a terrific time. He couldn’t believe how “normal” everyone was. He couldn’t understand why everyone was so nice. He loved that my brother spent most of the afternoon grilling hamburgers and hot dogs and making sure everyone’s glass was full. As he was saying goodbye to our friends Susan and Mike, they beamed as he called them by affectionate nicknames he had made up for them.

After a hesitant start, we had watched him engage with our loving friends and family. We weren’t at all surprised by the genuine warmth and affection we knew would be there, from and for him.

It was clear that his perception of who he was going to meet was dramatically different from the reality he experienced. It was a beautiful moment. During the rest of their visit, we spoke often about it. It felt like he had learned something profound that day – about others, but mostly about himself. And I will always cherish his brave honesty when he spoke of his fear.

Understanding our Story

Knowing our story. Our values and aspirations. Understanding how our experiences shaped us into who we are today. This is essential when we’re making important decisions – including decisions about charitable giving. It’s what will lead us to a version of philanthropy that is the right fit for who we are.

Knowing our story is different than telling our story. For a humble person, talking about personal details can be challenging. In certain situations – creating a resume or bio, for instance - you may seek out others to tell your story as it’s often easier for them to sing your praises. But that’s different than taking the time – alone or with a trusted guide by your side – to understand your uniqueness. What is your calling? What is your passion? What would you do if you believed you could not fail?

But we’re not alone. Knowing our community, however we define that, is essential. Taking the time to understand what’s really happening around us. Listening to an array of trusted sources to get as complete a picture possible. Not relying on our perceptions. But seeking the true story.

Then we know where we might focus our efforts. Then we can act confidently and boldly.

Confidence is not always knowing that we have chosen the objectively perfect path. More often, it is knowing why the path we chose is genuinely ours.

By The Numbers: Understanding Our Story

• A study of donors in Australia and the United States found that donors’ value priorities predicted the causes they supported, even after controlling for age, gender, and income. The study did not measure confidence directly, but it demonstrates a necessary precursor: when donors understand their values, the overwhelming universe of possible causes becomes more navigable. – Sneddon, Evers, and Lee, Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly, February, 2020.

• Philanthropic confidence appears to grow through self-knowledge plus experience. In a study of 1,514 affluent households, only 4% described themselves as philanthropic experts, while 50% considered themselves novices. Self-identified experts gave more than six times as much as novices. This shows a powerful connection among philanthropic identity, intentional practice, and belief in one’s impact. – Bank of America Study of Philanthropy: Charitable Giving by Affluent Households, September, 2025.