BY CARRIE STEVENS
Back when dinosaurs roamed the suburbs – and by dinosaurs, I mean people who freely brought food to funerals and joined the PTA without needing to be bribed with Starbucks gift cards – volunteering wasn’t a big decision.
It was just something people did.
You saw a need, you signed up. You wore your name tag proudly and walked around with a clipboard like it meant something.
Even if you had already decided to say “No”, all it took were four magic words: “We really need you.” And like some Pavlovian parental reflex, you’d hear yourself reply, “Of course! What do you need?”
There’s no logical explanation for it. Most volunteers are the busiest people you know. Their grocery lists read like disaster prep guides, and their carpool schedules could double as doctoral theses in logistics. And yet — they keep showing up. Over and over. Smiling. (Mostly, after coffee.)
Why?
It’s not for the recognition, or the glamour. It’s definitely not for the pay. Unless you count leftover cupcakes and a “World’s Best Volunteer” keychain.
We do it because, somehow, in the chaos of our overbooked lives, it fills us.
Recently, I went with some friends to our community’s volunteer fair. A fancy name for a room full of frazzled people sitting behind folding tables, smiling the kind of desperate smile that says, “Please help us.” Most tables offered coffee, donuts, or candy to lure you in. Most visitors paused, smiled politely, and walked away with a Hershey’s Kiss.
“Would you like to help tutor kids after school?” asked a lovely woman at one table, eyes brimming with hope.
“Oh no,” the passerby replied. “I’m just looking for the bathroom.”
And so it goes.
The problem isn’t that people don’t care. It’s that we’re already overwhelmed. Jobs, five kids, two dogs, and a faucet that’s been dripping since last Christmas. Modern life is a circus, and most of us are the clowns juggling flaming swords while trying to feed dinner to whoever shows up.
But here’s the thing: if we all wait until we’re less busy, the food bank doesn’t get stocked. Hospitals get more expensive for lack of the friendly helpers. Your town’s Fourth of July parade? It’s just one guy with a flag and a kazoo.
So, what happened?
Somewhere along the way, volunteering became optional.
Back in the day (yes, I’m going there), if the school needed treats, you baked them. They didn’t come from Whole Foods in gluten-free, polka-dot wrappers. If someone was sick, you brought soup. If the Sunday school room or community center needed painting, you brought your husband and lied to him about how fun it would be.
Now, when a sign-up sheet goes around, people suddenly get hand tremors or fake a phone call: “Oh, I’d love to, but I’ve got a conflict. So sorry!”
Look, I get it. Life is full.
But so is the need.
And here’s the truth: you don’t have to solve world hunger. You can just serve lunch once a month at your local community center. Or deliver Meals on Wheels to someone who might go hungry otherwise.
Even one hour of your time can make a huge difference.
Trust me.
Someone, somewhere is hoping, maybe even praying, that you’ll show up.
