Two questions your donors are secretly asking themselves.

By Andy Ragone

A fundraiser told me a story not long ago. She'd sent a simple invitation to a longtime donor—coffee, nothing more. The kind of meeting that should have slipped neatly into a morning. Instead, the donor sent back an emoji, a tight little grimace that said everything without saying a word.

It wasn't personal. It rarely is. At least that donor replied!

Most donors don't wake up hoping to slip into a corner booth and talk through another pitch. They don't crave folders or pie charts or the moment—inevitable, heavy—when someone leans forward and asks for money.

But that same donor, days later, RSVP'd to a backstage tour of the organization's animal rehabilitation center. Eagerly. Without hesitation.

Why?

Because two silent questions had been answered—questions donors ask even when they don't speak them aloud:

Who's going to be there?

Will I have any fun?

Not: Will this be important?

Not: Will someone hit me up for money?

Not even: How's the quiche?

Who. And fun.

Two words simple enough to be overlooked and powerful enough to change everything. Because donors aren’t driven by obligation. They're human beings. And human beings are wired—almost primally—for belonging and for energy that feels alive.

The Belonging Question: Who's Going to Be There?

Seth Godin likes to call it this: People like us, doing things like this. It's a compass pointing toward community. Toward resonance. When an organization we trust hosts something that feels authentic, something aligned with its mission, we sense it. And when a room fills with people who share our values—people who would give their evening to something meaningful—we lean in. We breathe easier because we are not alone in this. We feel we're on the same page.

A donor once confided that her first event had nothing to do with the mission at all—not at first. She showed up because she'd heard her kind of people would be there. Curious people. Kind people. People who didn't waste time on lackluster events.

She didn't want a stiff coffee meeting with the uneven power dynamic. But a room full of peers, a table where she could sit among equals? That felt different. That felt worth the drive. Worth getting dressed for.

The Energy Question: Will I Have Any Fun?

Fun isn't balloons and cake. Not here. Fun is aliveness.

It's walking into a space where the mission is happening in real time—students rehearsing until they glow with effort, wildlife being rehabilitated back to life, researchers explaining breakthroughs with the excitement of children discovering fire. It's my passion being carried out by an organization I trust.

I don't want a meeting. I want a moment. And I want to share it with someone who values it like I do. Something that reminds me why your work matters—without an agenda lurking in the wings.

If you fundraise at a university, the campus is a daily parade of possibilities. Recitals, games, lectures, galleries—take them there. Show them what they already care about, in motion.

If you work in a hospital foundation, your halls are full of stories the community wants to understand. Offer tours. Meet with civic leaders. Engage senior communities. Offer free clinics in the community. Let people see the heart behind the hospital.

If you serve at a homeless shelter, you hear some of the hardest stories. But you also hold hope. Invite partners, churches, and volunteers. Show them the work. Let them feel the impact.

If you're at a performing arts center, you have magic on tap: rehearsals, talkbacks, private concerts. Pull back the curtain—literally—and watch their eyes widen.

And yes, fun includes something we pretend not to care about but secretly do: the feeling of being chosen—the sense of being one of the few. Exclusivity has a gravitational pull, ancient and undeniable.

When donors are engaged, they bring more than their wallets. They bring themselves.

Something Bigger Than an Ask

If you want donors to show up, offer much, much more than a meal. Offer an exclusive group experience. A glimpse backstage. A room filled with people who they'll be glad to stand beside.

People like us, doing things like this.

A moment that says: Something important is happening here. And I am one of the few invited to witness it.

Donors are moved by belonging. By aliveness. By the promise that they will walk into a room and walk out changed—even if only a little.

Who will be there?

Will I have any fun?

Answer those two questions, and you won't have to persuade anyone. You won't have to chase meetings. Your donors will start saying yes before you finish the invitation. They'll know when something's worth showing up for. And they'll come.