I’m in the midst of collecting stories about volunteering for the second volume of The Social Cause Diet and a random email arrives, stating a desperate need for a “caller” for square dancing. I read that a large group of college International students, mostly Asian, have been promised a night of The Virginia Reel, yet no one has found a caller, not to mention the music, and the event is just days away. I’m about to delete the email because I see that it has been sent to many people, and surely someone else can do it. The familiar “someone else survival skill” may keep us out of trouble, but it also tends to keep others in need.
But this is a silly need, I think; there are far more important things that appeal to the volunteer in me. Yet, I pause, I am from Virginia. This hardly means that I am more accomplished at The Virginia Reel, but it is a slight connection. And, come to think of it, I was a loud, upfront, enthusiastic cheerleader years ago, and I’m still a leader at heart (even though I work alone in a home office with no employees, no sports team, no nothing but a family of other leader personality types who would rather I not tell them what to do).
If I send a flippant, “Sure, I’ll be your caller at your square dance full of students who barely know our language, much less antiquated dance steps,” it would be the most odd volunteer effort in my life-to-date. I have often volunteered my time and skills in areas that align with my business as a graphic designer. Skill-based volunteering, it is called. I also volunteer where it is entirely expected of me—that would be at my kids’ schools. As any parent knows, if you don’t volunteer where your child goes to school, you will feel shame now and regret later. I pity these parents because they usually have good reasons not to volunteer—like sixty-hour work weeks or younger toddlers and aging parents to care for—but that doesn’t seem to excuse them from the shame and regret. Life isn’t fair.
But back to the matter at hand, I email, “I’m your girl,” and a flurry of people reply in elation. Then there are frantic emails about the music, which I find in 5 minutes on iTunes. More jubilation. Rather than feeling slightly concerned that I might not live up to their enthusiastic expectations, I start to get excited myself.
