True confession: I asked AI to write this blog. Wait—don’t quit already! These words you see are mine. 

Perhaps it’s no surprise that the result of my query was lickety-split, thorough, and neatly organized with well-articulated bullet points: a solid B+ paper. But, reader, it was a snoozer. It lacked pulse. 

Hold that thought. Here's another confession: Before co-founding The Porch in 2014, I’d never given charitably to an arts organization. My philanthropic instincts were underdeveloped (and I was in survival mode as a youngish schoolteacher. Bless all schoolteachers!). Eleven years later, however, I give to a range of organizations, arts and otherwise, including The Porch.  

What changed? 

Me. I’ve changed. 

At the risk of gushing, my years with The Porch have made my life a richer, more robust version of itself. I’m nestled within the community and its meaningful relationships that have bloomed around The Porch these ten years. Granted, as cofounder, I’m in deep. But I’m not alone. We give to institutions that enrich our lives, whose missions we intuitively embrace, in hopes that the impact will create a sum bigger than its parts. 

The Porch helps me live a better version of my life, so I give to The Porch to help the organization be a better version of itself and help others create a better version of their lives. This reciprocity ripples outward, into our good city and beyond. 

Here's the skinny: Funding equates to mission. The more resources The Porch has, the more people we serve, the more programs and events we offer for free, the more people power we put behind the things we do. I could write love letters about every member of our small but mighty staff. Together, we create a lovely sort of machinery, machinery with heart, pulse, story. Together, we do what writers do best—craft, create, care. (Financial translation: salaries.)

I could write love letters to our programs that cost little or nothing to our participants: our youth program, Immigrants Write, Writing for Good, Affinity Groups, our past and present reading/music series, our Visiting Writers Series. (But what’s free to others is not free to The Porch.)

I could even write love letters to our physical space: a little house in Berry Hill and its big table, where magic happens. Or our accountant who keeps our numbers straight. (Financial translation: Rent and contractual expenses.) 

I’m talking about The Porch, of course, but the same could be said of any arts organization whose mission touches lives. 

The Porch helps me live a better version of my life, so I give to The Porch to help the organization be a better version of itself and help others create a better version of their lives. This reciprocity ripples outward, into our good city and beyond. 

Illustrating the importance of arts philanthropy, the Arts Action Fund writes that “The arts are fundamental to our humanity. They ennoble and inspire us—fostering creativity, empathy, and beauty.” 81 percent of the population says the arts are a “positive experience in a troubled world,” 69 percent believe the arts “lift me up beyond everyday experiences,” and 73 percent feel the arts give them “pure pleasure to experience and participate in.” 

‍

One might ask, Aren’t arts nonprofits sustained by government grants? According to a funding report by American for the Arts, “Only about 10 percent of arts support in the U.S. comes from the government, and only about 2 percent from the federal government.” Of that paltry slice of pie, National Book Foundation reports the literary arts fare even worse: “Philanthropic giving for writing and literature is minuscule relative to other artistic disciplines.”  Layered into this disheartening data, despite its reputation as Athens of The South, Nashville lags behind its peer cities in investment in the Arts. 

 “Why Give to the Arts When People Are Starving in the Gutter?” In response to an essay by this title, Dennis Alexander comments: “It’s not surprising that arts funding takes a back seat to support for human health and welfare. What’s surprising is how little the arts are recognized as part of human welfare. Within the poorest communities in America, the arts flourish. In the midst of hunger and joblessness and great material want, we see street murals, sidewalk music, folk art, rap, graffiti, break-dancing, urban poetry–the list goes on and on. Why? Because a human being is more than a body in need of food, clothing, shelter. A human being is a soul in need of nurture.”

Which brings me full circle. In the age of AI, humanity has never been so relevant. I’m not saying we’re at war with AI—not yet anyway. But for those of us leaning into that human thing, we cling to what’s deeply inherent to the lived, human experience—mystery, discovery, heart, and story. The arts provide us with this. When you give to an arts organization, you’re supporting the unique human capability—and hard-wired need—to make sense of every facet of experience, and share those visions with one another. 

My story’s center of gravity is gratitude—for the change in myself and my approach to arts philanthropy; and for the ways the arts enrich all lives. And finally, gratitude for beautiful human pulses everywhere, pulses that read, write, create, and give.

‍