For next gen donors who have earned their own wealth, discovering that they have financial resources that they didn't have growing up—enough to be philanthropic at a young age—can be a new and disorienting reality. These “immigrants” to wealth, as James Grubman calls them in his book Strangers in Paradise, have to acculturate to their new land, learn a new language, and figure out the role they want to play there.¹ Just as immigrants to a new country struggle to assimilate, so do self-made earners—who didn't grow up with wealth—work to claim this new aspect of who they are and how they want to be. If these earners are giving-minded, this struggle includes figuring out what kind of donors they wish to become. It means forming a philanthropic identity.

For those who are inheriting wealth and a philanthropic legacy, the drivers are different, but the basic motivation is the same. Inheritors feel the weight of their predecessors' successes, the privileges afforded them by virtue of winning what Warren Buffett calls the “ovarian lottery,” and the endless possibilities of what they could fund. With the world constantly monitoring for signs of their failure or success, these next gen inheritors wrestle with forming philanthropic identities based on their own purposes rather than becoming paralyzed by the successes of their predecessors, their prosperity, or the possibilities available to them.² Like earners, they too face the challenge of crafting their distinctive philanthropic identity.

The Importance of Becoming

As a next generation donor herself, Generation Impact co-author Sharna Goldseker has experienced this challenge firsthand:

Growing up in Baltimore with the same last name as one of the city's 10 largest private foundations, I was often asked if I was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Goldseker or granddaughter of Morris Goldseker, my great-uncle who established the Goldseker Foundation upon his passing. As I grew, fundraisers began approaching me for gifts, long before I even understood what philanthropy meant. This awakened in me uncomfortable feelings about the privilege I inherited by dint of my birth. When I attempted to earn the right to that legacy, I inquired about becoming involved in nonprofit organizations and serving on committees and boards, but I was told I was too young to engage meaningfully in the nonprofit world. I should “wait until my thirties” or “get married and have children first” was some of the advice I got from development officers. “Come back when my parents stepped off the boards” was the unspoken message I got from others. Those encounters led me to want to find my own identity as a donor and to consider the difference I could make in my own right.

Sharna began interning for different nonprofits in her teens as a way to ascertain what kind of work she wanted to do and support in the nonprofit space. She began attending events and conferences to learn the craft of grantmaking and to develop an awareness of social issues, learn more about how philanthropy could address those issues, and begin to meet her philanthropic peers.

We heard similar stories of proactive, often self-guided learning from the next gen donors we interviewed. This was true for first-generation wealth-earners as well as inheritors, especially as the earners didn't have the option to learn within an established philanthropic family structure. Experiential learning was seen by many as especially powerful. This came through clearly in the survey as well. As we noted in Chapter 5, when we asked next gen donors what shapes their philanthropic learning and development, “personal experience as a donor, volunteer, board member, etc.” ranked the highest out of nine possible influences; in fact, 72.3 percent of respondents considered this “very important,” and most others viewed it as “somewhat important.”

Next gen donors who had structured opportunities to learn—either within their own families or as part of other institutions—often highlighted these as catalyzing their philanthropic identity. Explaining the importance of experience, this woman said, “I served on the grants committee of the community foundation for four years in high school and that really got me engaged, starting at the age of 15, with the philanthropy world.” Or think of John R. Seydel III's “learning trips” with his grandpa Ted Turner:

Grandpa has taken all of us on educational retreats, where the family comes together in a developing nation to learn about environmental sustainability issues. It is so powerful to see the beauty of what we are trying to protect, to visit grantees and see the actual programs, boots on the ground. The biggest recommendation I can offer to parents [is] allow your kids to get involved early. Show them what the world is really like outside of your state or outside of American borders. You don't have to wait. You can do this as a family, even if just once a year.

As attorney, activist, and author Bryan Stevenson notes, it takes proximity to people not like us in order to build empathy and catalyze change.³ And next gen donors seem to concur. Survey respondents listed “personal observations or analysis of the significant need for philanthropy” as highly influential, especially when compared to “something learned in school,” which was near the bottom of the list.

Certainly next gen donors seem eager to learn, seeking out opportunities to grow as donors. But what fascinated us most in our exploration of next gen donors is that for many, this process of identity formation is as fulfilling as the results of that process. In short, the becoming is as meaningful as the being.

Ideally, the becoming process precedes the being, meaning the majority of these Gen X and Millennial donors have the opportunity to form their identities before acting as major donors in their own rights. But this is not always the case given the much earlier ages at which they are beginning to give, and some next gen donors would say they are simultaneously becoming even as they are being. Regardless, these young donors are both intentional and proactive about the becoming process, actively crafting their identities and designing their legacies now rather than waiting until they retire to decide who they are as philanthropists and what legacies they want to leave. As this donor explains, “I feel like what happens too many times is that people just have a for-profit career, retire, and then try to reinvent themselves as philanthropists. That is not the best way to do it. I feel like engaging as early as possible, so you can learn and grow like a person does throughout their lives, is [better].”

We found that 51 percent of next gen donors we surveyed began making charitable donations before the age of 20, and another 47 percent between the ages of 21 and 30, demonstrating that they are actively giving even as they wrestle with identity development in emerging adulthood.⁴ Add to this the microscope that most next gen donors live under in this social media age, plus the responsibility of the unprecedented dollars and resources they steward, and we can appreciate how the pressures of “becoming” are more significant for this generation of donors than any before. While they aren't asking for sympathy for their burden, they are taking responsibility for growing into the donors they want to become—and feel they ought to be.

Katherine Lorenz, for example, talked about her journey volunteering in a rural community in Nicaragua, founding and growing a nonprofit in Mexico, and learning about strategic philanthropy with a group of peers—all experiences she had far from the trappings of her regular life on the way to assuming the leadership mantle of her family's foundation. Other next gen donors described how they see their early giving as a runway to more significant philanthropy later on. It's as if allocating thousands of dollars annually serves as “practice” for when additional resources come to them. “I spend a lot more time thinking about giving $35,000 away than might be justified, but partly this has been in preparation for the dollars coming into my life in the future. I'm being really thoughtful. That way, as future dollars come, I will be much more prepared.”

Just how seriously these Gen Xers and Millennials think about becoming the donors they want to be might be unexpected given the typical assumptions about—and media portrayals of—wealthy young people as entitled or unnecessarily disruptive. Instead, we found that the vast majority of next gen donors we interviewed would become quite animated in talking about this process of becoming. Perhaps this passion is in part a way to fend off any illusions people might hold about them or their wealth. But their eagerness to learn seemed due to their appreciation of just how complicated and critical their journeys were and would be, given their means to effect major change.

The Difficulty of the Launch

Developmental psychologists, from Carl Jung to Erik Erikson and (more recently) Jeffrey Arnett, have long emphasized the importance of the stage when an adolescent becomes an adult, a period where children launch from their parents and define what being their own person means. Psychologist and researcher Meg Jay, however, claims that as a society we're undermining the next generation's ability to launch. In her book The Defining Decade, Jay contends that there is no more critical a time than our 20s to build “identity capital.” As Jay defines it, “Identity capital is a collection of our personal assets...[it] is how we build ourselves—bit by bit, over time.”⁵ If emerging adults don't experience jobs and relationships that serve as the building blocks of their careers and future marriages/partnerships, they will have to begin building identity capital in their thirties, when it's emotionally, psychologically, biologically, and practically harder to start adulthood.

We believe, as Jay contends, that our society looks at the twentysomething years with rose-colored glasses, as a time when emerging adults can be carefree. As such, we may undervalue the significance of the twenties as a time for identity formation. For example, if families and advisors are not prepared to transfer some financial resources to the next generation so it can practice investing, saving, spending, and giving, they can forget or neglect to grant permission to launch as independent adults who need to learn to manage their resources with confidence. If families, advisors, and nonprofit professionals are fearful of next gen donors' new ideas, they run the risk of leaving them at the kids' table too long, squandering the energy next gen donors are eager to bring to their philanthropic pursuits. While elders might feel they are well founded in their concerns about lending next gen donors the proverbial keys to the car, what we've learned is that having their own set of keys is the very thing that helps them to develop—philanthropically and otherwise.

We heard that for 72.3 percent of next gen donors, learning from their own experience is “very important” to them as the way they want to develop as a donor. And for those who are inheriting a family legacy of giving, “the launch” takes on a particular cast. They want to “plow their own trails,” even if those trails have been heavily traversed by the well-known family members who came before. “You need to have that separation,” says one donor. “It's a universal experience, being able to develop your own gravitas and responsibility, your own sense of accomplishment, and not necessarily within something that's being given to you or managed for you.” Another next gen donor echoes: “I have a really strong drive to create my own legacy, or take what my parents have given and continue on from there and not settle for ‘this is what my parents handed me.’ Rather, I want to take what they accomplished and continue to move up the ladder.” Doing this, the donor continues, would require going through a process “where I could identify and figure out what I valued, what I wanted to do, what I found meaning in. I had to gain my bearings, earn my own identity, and in a way that wasn't on the coattails of my family.”

The journeys of these next gen donors resemble those of others entering adulthood, trying to establish their own identities. The big difference is that their launching process has greater consequences for others, as who they become as donors impacts where and how they will give their unprecedented resources. While most well-meaning twentysomethings are grappling with college graduation, finding meaningful and gainful employment, and moving out of their parents' homes, next gen donors do all that and see themselves as responsible for both their family legacies and for making a difference in the world.

As we understand from Chapter 7, being in the company of peers during the launch process helps some reconsider and potentially separate from the perspectives of their upbringing and to determine the donors they want to become. The opportunity to reflect on their identities away from their families—or, for earners, alongside other new donors coming into this unique role—gives them room to individuate, to contemplate who they want to be as donors, and to flex their philanthropic muscles in a supportive space.

Several next gen donors we interviewed describe these collective experiences as empowering. Sara Ojjeh, for one, credits her parents with helping her launch alongside her siblings. The four were given philanthropic assets to allocate together, supported by education, a few basic parameters, and a couple of trusted advisors. Her father had helped grow the family business, TAG Group, most widely known for TAG Heuer watches, and had always been philanthropic, though usually in anonymous ways. Sara's early experience propelled her on a journey that has now taken her around the globe and helped her form a clear sense of her own philanthropic identity.

The impressive learning journey that Sara and her siblings were afforded may be more elaborate than most families will permit. But the significance of the deliberate education at a critical time in a young adult's life is the key takeaway. The permission to have this learning experience not only helped her solidify her philanthropic identity, but also helped her launch into the world with confidence, clarity, and discernment—a priceless life experience. While Sara's journey hasn't been linear, her active reflection on her emerging identity has led her to have a strong sense of who she is and what she wants to accomplish as a donor.

Breaking Norms: Next Gen Are Now Gen

While many next gen donors are still in the “becoming” phase of forming their identities as major philanthropists, some would argue that the next generation should be called the “Now Generation,” given their ability to start giving at a young age. American philanthropists of the past would typically have grown their earnings during what Erik Erikson called their “generative” years—age 40 to 64—after which time, in their “maturity” stage, individuals would tend to feel financially secure enough, reflecting on a life well lived, to set aside funds for future generations as well as contributing to society.⁶ One of the hallmarks of next gen donors, as we've said—and a chief indicator of how they are breaking the mold—is their determination to make a difference now. Rather than assume they can wait to engage with next gen donors in 20 years, parents, advisors, and nonprofit professionals are realizing, like the Ojjeh parents, that the next gen are coming of age with the resources and inclination to fund now.

Next gen donors express a sense not only of opportunity but also of urgency, which shows up in their desire to make their families' philanthropy more effective and in how they press their advisors to be more proactive in their recommendations for what and how they can fund. While families, advisors, and nonprofits may experience this urgency as hubris, this take-charge attitude is more a recognition of how the next gen perceive society's problems: vast and urgent. As we learned in Chapter 9 from Alex Soros, many rising donors simply ask, “Why wait?” One donor said, “I feel it is very important to give back now, not wait until later to start doing something significant.” Another describes how she pushed her family to give more than the legally required minimum payout of 5 percent of foundation assets each year because she believed the grantees needed it:

The family foundation my parents set up when we were kids was very informal. We were told we were on the board. It was just the four of us in the family meeting at the end of every year, as dictated by tax policy, to determine, “Well, where's the 5 percent going to go?” But once I was in my twenties I said, “Wait a minute. As a family, we have way more that we could be doing. I'll go first. I will take all the assets that are under my control and I will start thinking about an aggressive giving plan for pretty much all of that.”

Generation Impact is eager to give now even if initial efforts result in failure—failure that can be very public if they are part of a wealthy family. One donor echoed what we heard Sara say about the benefit of making mistakes in order to learn from them: “I think that we only learn from our experiences, and we learn best from our failures, so we have to go out there and have the experiences on our own, learn from our own actions, learn from our own mistakes, and hopefully those are done in ways and at a level that isn't catastrophic.”

If you are a parent and your kids are ever afraid to make a mistake for fear of what you will think, imagine what it's like to be a child from a prominent wealthy family whose every move is of public interest. At least at a younger age the mistakes are proportionate and the opportunity for resilience likely; the funds and the stakes will only increase over time.

What Does This Mean?

When you began this book, you might have imagined that trust fund inheritors and young tech billionaires would while away the hours traveling to Art Basel or swimming in the surf in Ibiza. Instead we heard Hannah Quimby describe driving around Maine to learn about the issues on the ground. Sara Ojjeh raised money to give to Pencils for Promise to fund toilets and teacher training. And Victoria Rogers volunteered for years at the Sue Duncan Children's Center in the South Side of Chicago. As we've shown, Hannah, Sara, and Victoria are more the next gen donor rule than the exception. Their exploration of their own identities at an early age, in concert with their philanthropic learning journeys, resulted in a strong sense of identity for each.

The next gen donors we've met here are merely crafting their distinctive identities, something all individuals struggle with as they move from adolescence to adulthood. Yet they are doing so laden with responsibility, both to their predecessors and to humanity, knowing that their philanthropic choices have the potential to hurt or help society to staggering degrees. Fair or not, the identity journeys of next gen donors are likely to have a bigger impact on our world than the journeys of most others. That is why we look closely at those journeys here, and why we are heartened that these donors take their journeys so seriously.

Of course, real people, causes, and organizations will feel the consequences of choices these still-learning donors will make. Both donors themselves and those who help them should remain vigilant about avoiding catastrophic mistakes—even those occurring in the pursuit of learning.

As parents, teachers, advisors, and mentors to the rising generation—whether of wealth and philanthropy or not—we can help the next generation prepare for its imminent responsibilities.⁷ As this stage of identity formation is so critical, we need to start building the self-confidence and behaviors to foster it. Given the research findings that more than half of these next gen donors began giving before age 21, we have more freedom than we think to start addressing these issues early.

Next gen donors clearly want support for their identity journeys, and there are resources to help them, from peer groups to learning platforms to individual advisors to books.⁸ Nonprofit professionals can also be helpful partners to next gen donors in their identity journeys. Sara tells us, “I believe that nonprofits are going to have to get creative to respond to the next generation of donors.” We agree. As we have argued throughout this book, nonprofits will have to be open-minded about ways to engage next gen donors, taking their ideas seriously and giving them the opportunities for the hands-on, meaningful experiences that they so passionately want. Nonprofits that do so can reap tremendous benefits while providing the next gen with the learning experiences they crave.

Advisors can help facilitate this self-actualization process for next gen donors too. If doing so altruistically isn't motivation enough, research shows that after a client's first parent passes away, only 45 percent of next gen wealth-holders stay with their parents' advisors, and after the second parent passes away, only 2 percent remain.⁹ Advisors will have to build direct relationships with the next generation in order to retain their business in years to come. Advisory firms could retrain personnel to operate in a multigenerational context, assign generationally matched staff to clients of different generations, and develop new tools for marketing, technology products, and relationship management to meet the worldview of younger clients.

Advisors and nonprofit professionals might also consider the role they can play in encouraging patriarchs and matriarchs to successfully launch their children by making them aware of some of the conferences, peer groups, resources, and consultants who can assist them in this work. We realize older donors and clients are today's bread-and-butter, and advisors and nonprofits want to focus on them; however, next gen donors will be tomorrow's lifeline, and a little time devoted to them now could yield tenfold tomorrow.

For families, ironically, this task of supporting children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews may be the most challenging. It can be hard for older generations to move beyond the memories of the vulnerable child—with skinned knees and fifth birthdays. But research consistently shows that those parents who work hard to instill values in their children—who expose them to a world beyond their own and ensure them that their family has weathered challenges successfully—those are the parents who grow goodness in their children. Take this next gen donor:

My parents took us to the slums of Kenya to visit a microfinance project they funded, to the mud hut in which my grandpa lived growing up. They even shipped me off to work on an Amazon deforestation project when I was 12 for seven days, a duration I recall because I marked the days by the number of PowerBars I brought to eat each day. Today, I look back with appreciation that my father had said to me, “You were born on third base. You didn't hit a triple.” Growing up in Silicon Valley, I was in a bubble and needed to see how others lived. It affected me profoundly.

We find this trend toward giving at earlier stages of life, coupled with an identity journey, to be an exciting development for the field, largely because the needs are great and additional dollars will make a difference, but also because people in their twenties and thirties are more willing to take risks and suspend disbelief, making room to imagine a future that is better not just for themselves but for all of us. Given their youth, their platforms of privilege, and their desire to take their legacies to the next level, they are also more likely to find new and innovative ways to make an impact than we can even conceive of today. We look forward to seeing how the world evolves because of the next gen donors in Generation Impact, who are launching, learning, experimenting, growing, and giving. We are hopeful.