I recently finished reading Give and Take by Adam Grant, and there’s one line I can’t stop thinking about:
“The people who rise to the top are givers. And the people who fall all the way to the bottom… are also givers.”
That hit me harder than I expected. Not because it was surprising—but because it felt personal.
I’ve always thought of myself as a giver. Not in a selfless, halo-wearing kind of way. It’s not that I’m especially kind or generous by nature. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if my giving isn’t actually a virtue, but a defense mechanism.
Maybe giving is just how I learned to survive.
I give because I don’t want to owe anyone.
I give because I fear being a burden.
I give because keeping people happy feels safer than saying no.
Reading Grant’s breakdown of givers, takers, and matchers made me reflect on a lot. I saw myself in the givers who burn out. The ones who bend over backward to help others and then quietly carry the weight of unmet expectations. I also saw the power that giving can have—when it’s done with purpose, boundaries, and the courage to protect your own energy.
There’s a fine line between generosity and self-sacrifice. I’ve definitely crossed it more than once. But the idea that givers can end up at the very top and the very bottom made me realize: maybe it’s not about whether you give, but how you give.
With intention. With awareness. With respect for your own limits.
These days, I’m learning to give a little differently. Still with heart—but with a little more honesty, too. Not every act of giving has to come at the cost of myself.
And maybe that’s the real lesson.
Giving, when done right, doesn’t empty you—it sustains you.
And that’s the kind of giver I want to be.
And lately, I’ve been thinking about all of this even more—especially as I watch what’s happening back in Korea.
It’s election season, and everywhere I look, the noise of campaigning, debates, and promises fills the air. But beneath the slogans and flashy soundbites, there’s something heavier I can’t quite ignore. It feels like everyone is fighting for something. Not in a hopeful, collaborative way, but in a desperate, I-have-to-win-even-if-you-lose kind of way.
It feels like a world full of takers.
Every debate feels like a power struggle. Every promise sounds less like a vision and more like a transaction. And it’s hard not to feel like the warmth—the giving—has been slowly drained out of our public conversations.
Maybe it’s just the nature of politics. Or maybe it’s something deeper. Maybe we’re living in a time where taking is easier than giving. Where people are so focused on surviving or winning that they forget there’s another way to live.
Reading Give and Take made me realize that givers don’t just exist in quiet corners. They can lead, too. They can shape movements, organizations—even countries. But only if we start valuing giving as a form of strength, not weakness.
The world doesn’t need more people shouting to be heard.
It needs more people listening.
It needs more people giving—not just resources, but trust, patience, and empathy.
I don’t have answers to fix the system. But I do know the kind of person I want to be in it. Even when things feel harsh or competitive, I want to hold onto that small piece of myself that still believes in giving. Not because I expect anything back—but because that’s how I want to live.
Even in a world full of takers, I’ll keep choosing to give.
Not blindly. Not endlessly. But consciously.
And maybe that’s enough to make a difference.