Coffee and Concept Notes

There is a very specific kind of person who measures time through cups of tea/coffee consumed, number of smokes, and versions of concept notes. I am that person. My day does not begin at 9 AM like everybody else. It begins when the first sip of tea and a puff of grey poetry hits my bloodstream and convinces my brain that solving structural poverty through a two-page document is a reasonable life goal. By the third sip/puff, I am ready to change the world. By the fourth, I am opening last year’s concept note and renaming it “Final_Updated_Latest_UseThisOne_v3.0.”

There is something deeply optimistic, almost delusional, about writing a concept note. It always starts innocently: ‘Let’s improve livelihoods in rural communities.’ Twenty minutes later, I find myself writing sentences like, ‘This integrated, community-led, multi-stakeholder convergence model seeks to catalyse sustainable socio-economic transformation…’ At this point, I pause and admire my own ability to say absolutely nothing in 21 words. Concept notes exist in a strange parallel universe where every problem is solvable, every intervention is scalable, every outcome is measurable, and every budget is ‘indicative.’ Of course, the reality is sitting quietly in the corner, waiting for implementation to begin so it can laugh.

Starting a concept note is a ritual that starts with my caffeine fix, opening a blank document, and staring at it as if it owes me money. The blinking cursor is not neutral as it blinks with judgment. ‘Go on,’ it seems to say, ‘design systemic change.’ So I begin with writing a suitable title, then change it, make it sound more ‘strategic,’ add the word ‘transformative,’ remove it because it feels too ambitious, and then add it back because the funder likes ambition. Thirty minutes later, the only thing I have finalised is the font.

At some point in my career as a fundraising professional, I have accepted that coffee/tea is a programmatic input and not just a beverage. Without caffeine/nictone fix, there is no Theory of Change, no LFA, no pathway to impact. With the ‘fix’, there are frameworks, diagrams, and a dangerous amount of confidence. This fix makes me believe things like, ‘Yes, we can align community aspirations with institutional frameworks through participatory convergence.’ Without the fix, I would simply say, ‘We will try our best and see what happens,’ but that is not a fundable language.

Every concept note reaches an uncomfortable moment, usually around page two. I have written the problem statement, objectives, and proposed intervention, and now I am staring at the section titled ‘Expected Outcomes.’ This is where things get philosophical. Will this actually work? Are we solving the problem, or just describing it better? Is this impact, or just well-structured optimism? I leave my desk, go for a quick fix, and look at the skies as if answers are stored there, but they are not.

If you have written enough concept notes, you develop ‘the donor voice’ in your head as your second personality. It appears uninvited and asks uncomfortable questions like, ‘Can you make this more scalable?’ ‘What is the innovation here?’ ’How will you measure impact?’ ‘Can you reduce overheads?’ The last one hurts the most. So I return to the document and start adjusting reality. I make things more efficient on paper, outcomes more certain, risks more ‘mitigated.’ At some point, I realise that I am not just writing a concept note, instead I am negotiating between truth and fundability.

Have you heard about a fine art in fundraising called strategic vagueness? You must say enough to sound intelligent, but not so much that you become accountable. Instead of writing, ‘We will train 1000 farmers,’ you write, ‘We will build the capacity of local stakeholders through targeted interventions.’ Who are these stakeholders? What interventions? That is a journey for another day.

One of my favourite moments is when a concept note meets the field. In the document, community participation is enthusiastic, systems respond efficiently, and timelines are respected. In reality, the meeting starts late, half the participants are confused, and the system is ‘on leave today.’ And yet, the report will still say, ‘The intervention was successfully initiated with active community engagement.’ Because technically, there was engagement, and someone did show up!

Concept notes also have a strange relationship with time, as they do not end, but they evolve. There is Draft, Final Draft, Final_Final, Final_Reviewed, Final_Reviewed_Updated, and the legendary ‘Final_Reviewed_Updated_Latest with version 1.0 to versions n.n. And just when you think you are done, someone sends an email saying, ‘Can we make a few small changes?’ This is how legends are born.

What concept notes really offer is the illusion of control. You design inputs, outputs, outcomes, and impact, and everything flows neatly in arrows and boxes. But development work is not a flowchart; it is more like a messy, unpredictable, human conversation. And yet, we keep drawing boxes, because boxes are fundable.

Every now and then, after multiple cups of coffee, endless sticks of ‘(un)holy smoke’ and several minor existential crises, something magical happens, which is clarity. I suddenly see the program for what it is, what matters, what is unnecessary, what is real. I delete half the document, simplify, and write something honest. For a brief moment, the concept note feels true, and then, almost instinctively, I complicate it again. My colleagues say that I write in Russian! (No offence to Russians here). Because honesty is risky, I add a framework, a diagram, and a few strategic words, and just like that, I am back in the safe zone.

Despite everything, including the caffeine and nicotine dependency, the document gymnastics, and the existential crises, we keep writing concept notes. Somewhere in between the jargon and the formatting, there is a real intention. A belief that things can improve, systems can shift, and people can live better. The concept note is simply the translation of that belief into a language that institutions understand. At the end of the day, I close my laptop. The concept note is sent, the cup is finished, and the existential questions remain unresolved. And still there’s satisfaction, not because the document is perfect, but because I tried to make sense of something complex. Tomorrow, there will be another concept note, another fix, and another moment of staring at a blinking cursor. And I will begin again because this is what we do. We drink coffee and smoke cigarettes, we write concept notes, and occasionally, we question the meaning of it all, preferably before the next deadline.

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(Disclaimer: The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not purport to reflect the views or opinions of any organisation, foundation, CSR, non-profit or others. This is a humorous attempt, and not angst, and certainly no disrespect for fellow fundraisers, donors and funders of social impact.)

(Cover image is generated using AI)