Sometimes I am struck by the desire to do good, to get involved. I impulsively sign up for community service opportunities I see in The Chronicle and write "e-mail soup kitchen guy for info!!!" on post-it notes. I go to the Peace Corps' table at the career fair and imagine myself holding some little Liberian boy's hand as we stand together in quiet reflection, watching the foundation being poured for a shelter of some kind. Soft music plays in the background. One small step toward making the world a better place has been taken. By me. Sigh.
I do this all the time, sign up for mailing lists, get 100 e-mail's about nursing homes and shelters and blah, blah, blah, decide after a week or so that it's really just the thought that's important and that at least I'm aware. I delete the messages without reading them and feel little pangs of guilt when I click "expunge." But I do nothing.
I was struck by one of these do-good desires when (after being struck by a better-myself desire to go to mass), I read in the church bulletin, Interfaith Spring Break in Uruguay! Serve the Impoverished of That Area! "Wow," I thought, "serve the impoverished. That sounds nice." I resolved to go to an interest meeting the next day. Bryan Center, Meeting Room A. Reserve Your Spot Today For This Exciting Interfaith Opportunity!
After all, what are my other possible spring break alternatives? Get drunk in the Bahamas. Get drunk in British Columbia. Go home and get drunk in my friend's garage. How horribly selfish I would be to spend my time lazing away skiing or tanning or playing with my shitzu at home. I could be helping Uruguayans! I could be planting vegetable gardens and inspiring the rural farm workers to really work together and pull their communities up out of poverty! Unite them!
All through the meeting I was excited, thinking how noble it was to give up my spring break to help those in need. I smiled at everything anyone said and nodded my head in response to questions other kids asked and folded my hands over the application, looking very concerned and excited. "We'll be having a real impact on the community," said the girl who was organizing everything, "feel free to flip through the responses some students had last year after coming back."
She passed around a large manila envelope stuffed full with papers, all of them gushing about how incredible Uruguay was. "It was the best time of my life," said one girl. "We really made a difference. I returned over the summer to help out some more!" read another one. "Going to Uruguay is a good idea. If you don't go after reading all of this you are a horrible person and I hope that you blackout and drown during your shallow, spoiled, selfish trip to the Bahamas."
And then, about 20 steps out of Meeting Room A, I realized I didn't want to go to Uruguay at all. I couldn't spell Uruguay. I could barely pronounce it. I had no idea at all where Uruguay was. I wanted to want to go, but I didn't. An Interfaith Spring Break? Who was I kidding? I folded up the application and placed it next to my computer screen next to post-it notes that said "declare major!!!" and "contact ron. mc-don. house!!!"
I called my mother that night to tell her about the Uruguay thing. She decided there was probably something like a 92 percent chance I would get malaria and that I shouldn't go. I felt like I'd been absolved. My mother didn't want me to go! How could I? "Why don't you go visit your cousin in Dublin instead?" she wanted to know. That's a good idea, I thought. My cousin is lonely. I could help her. Service begins at home, with family. Or anyway, in Dublin. And I wouldn't even need a fake ID.
Even though technically I've done nothing to help anyone anywhere in the world, I thought about helping Uruguayans. I almost wanted to help them, for a minute, and that's more than some people.
While I haven't actually gotten involved with service at Duke, or with anything at all for that matter, I almost took the first step toward getting involved. I almost take them all the time. And almost taking the first step, getting ready to take it (if it doesn't mean sacrificing a perfectly good spring break or getting malaria or even going to any more information meetings, because that was really annoying) is what it's all about, isn't it?
Denise Napoli is a Trinity Sophomore. Her column appears every other Friday.
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