So many things sound like Tracy Chapman lyrics. Or maybe, if you are of the age when the 80s equal adulthood, Tracy Chapman is the soundtrack.

I don’t know.

But, Mountain o’ Things is what is in my head.

Tracy’s first album came out in ’88 I think. I got my first nonprofit job in 1989. Accounts payable clerking at a major big deal cutting edge research lab.

The founder was alive. Jack Whitehead, called Jack for no reason I could figure out, because his name was Edwin. He wore suits and bow ties and gave the scientists latitude to do big things.

The Whitehead Institute was founded with millions. A lot of millions. Maybe $100 million. But million is the key word.

It was the 80s. A million dollars were a lot of dollars. To me, he was rich, and the job brought a lot of comfortable things — salary, growth, generous parties, and an assistant to the president who bellowed “fuck” with conviction.

After the Whitehead, I worked for grants or research where people were no longer walking around alive. Legacy, brand names and death.

This week, working under living donors came back with conviction or a vengeance. But, these donors, who fall in and out of the top 10 richest people in the world depending on the ebb and flow of the market and how much they give away, were in preschool or kindergarten for my first job.

Crazy wealthy. Crazy philanthropic. And I’ve spent the week meeting people doing their best work. inspiringly crazy work. A woman who realized in her 40s that lifelong health issues were from a rare disease. A scientist who donated a kidney to a stranger.

And, back from COVID, back in an office, with 48 hour testing, someone literally served me caviar, and then a champagne and Aperol spritzer.