There's something profound happening when we stop pretending that helping others is purely selfless. What if I told you that admitting the selfish nature of giving doesn't diminish its value—it actually reveals a deeper truth about human nature?

I'm about to start something new. Not just asking for money on the street corner, but offering something tangible—handmade crosses, crafted with care, given in exchange for donations. It's not about the gift matching the value of the donation. It's about creating that moment of connection, that immediate feedback loop where someone can look at a small wooden cross and think, "I did something good today."

Some people claim they don't need that validation. But I've come to believe we all do, on some level. And that's not a flaw—it's how we're designed.

What I love about Kabbalah is how it reframes selfishness. Traditional Christianity taught me that selfishness was bad, something to overcome through shame and guilt. But Kabbalah says: you were created with a desire to receive. That's not evil—that's foundational. It's the starting point, not the sin.

The real evolution isn't about eliminating our selfish nature. It's about transforming it. We shift from the desire to receive for ourselves alone—to make ourselves happy, safe, rich, comfortable—into the desire to give to others, to serve others, to protect and shelter others.

And here's the twist: it's still selfish. Because giving brings us greater joy than receiving ever could.

Think about a chef who prepares an incredible meal. Sure, they enjoy their own cooking. But the real pleasure? That comes from watching someone else savor their food, seeing their eyes light up, hearing them express delight. The chef's joy in giving someone else pleasure exceeds the pleasure they'd get from the meal alone.

That's the kind of selfishness we should be aiming for—the kind where our greatest happiness comes from making others happy.

Let me be honest about my situation. This cross-selling project isn't some noble, selfless charity work. It's deeply, fundamentally selfish—and that's okay.

I'm homeless. Living on the streets. I have a job lined up but haven't started yet. No income. No food stamps. No safety net. So when I ask for $40, here's what I'm really asking for:

$40 = One night in a cheap room + enough to buy more crosses for the next day

That's the math. That's the survival equation. The money isn't going into some offshore account while I drive a Mercedes to my mansion. It's going toward basic human needs: shelter, food, the ability to continue being productive.

Every donation I receive will help me get through another day, work toward finding a permanent place, and maintain some shred of dignity and self-sufficiency while I rebuild.

The hardest part isn't the homelessness or the hunger. It's the fear of asking people face-to-face for help. I've done it before, so I know I can push through it. But this time feels different because I'm forcing myself to do it for me—not because some employer is making me, not because I'm fulfilling someone else's vision.

For the first time, I'll have real control over how much I make and when I make it. That terrifies me. But it also feels like the first step toward genuine autonomy.

So yes, this is selfish. I want to survive. I want shelter. I want food. I want to stop being one of the invisible people on the street corner. I want to feel productive, useful, capable.

But selfish isn't necessarily bad. In fact, when we channel our selfish desires toward giving, serving, and connecting with others, that's when something magical happens. That's when we start experiencing the kind of joy that transcends mere survival.

Every person who takes one of my crosses and gives a donation isn't just helping me survive another day. They're participating in this beautiful paradox where giving and receiving become the same thing—where my selfishness and their generosity create something neither of us could make alone.

That's the revolution I'm talking about. Not the elimination of self-interest, but its transformation into something that elevates everyone involved.

I'm not going to pretend I don't need help. Here's how you can participate in this journey:

☕ Buy Me a Coffee — buymeacoffee.com/adontaimason

💰 PayPal — paypal.me/adontai

💳 Venmo — @adontaimason

Even $40 helps me get through another night and keep the cross mission going. Not because I'm selfless, but because sometimes the most honest thing we can do is admit we need help—and let others experience the joy of giving it.

Thank you for reading. If this resonated with you, please share it with someone who might need to hear it.