It's like Golf.
I sat in the middle of our center today just soaking it in. The time was 9:15, our Coordinators just came out of a meeting juiced about new policy. Six volunteers were on hand to staff the day. Eight homeless, formerly incarcerated, recovering addicts, nearly all men of the "unwanted race," bustling and scurrying to prepare for the day--to prepare to serve scores and serve themeselves.
These little pieces of positive awareness come even in the midst of and despite (i.e. they are real nonetheless) the undertones of dramatic personality conflicts between the staff. These little pieces of positive awareness come even as the Coordinator continues to struggle with managerial consistency: reminding others not to store their personal belongings in the center, for example, as his girlfriend rolls a full shopping cart behind his desk.
It's small things like this that you learn to appreciate. It's taking a step back, putting the behavior in context of the clients' backgrounds, and appreciating the outcomes we so often claim are invisible.
You see, it's like golf. You live for that one shot. You know the one. That one sweet, effortless swing where the ball feels weightless, your form perfectly efficient and, as that ball flies, the ground beneath it undulates so as to conspire to bring that little ball in flight towards its one true resting place, a carved out divot in the middle of a soft pasture. This one shot will make a golfers day regardless his final tally. While some might say it's illogical and irrational--claiming that a single shot, a single moment of joy, can possibly justify 17 and 2/3 holes of pure misery--any amateur golfer basking in the 19th Hole will tell you it's all worth it.
In much the same way these small moments--they seem so few and far between when they're not happening, yet they limitless when underway--justify our work despite the vast majority of let downs and setbacks.
I sat in the middle of our center today just soaking it in. The time was 9:15, our Coordinators just came out of a meeting juiced about new policy. Six volunteers were on hand to staff the day. Eight homeless, formerly incarcerated, recovering addicts, nearly all men of the "unwanted race," bustling and scurrying to prepare for the day--to prepare to serve scores and serve themeselves.
These little pieces of positive awareness come even in the midst of and despite (i.e. they are real nonetheless) the undertones of dramatic personality conflicts between the staff. These little pieces of positive awareness come even as the Coordinator continues to struggle with managerial consistency: reminding others not to store their personal belongings in the center, for example, as his girlfriend rolls a full shopping cart behind his desk.
It's small things like this that you learn to appreciate. It's taking a step back, putting the behavior in context of the clients' backgrounds, and appreciating the outcomes we so often claim are invisible.
You see, it's like golf. You live for that one shot. You know the one. That one sweet, effortless swing where the ball feels weightless, your form perfectly efficient and, as that ball flies, the ground beneath it undulates so as to conspire to bring that little ball in flight towards its one true resting place, a carved out divot in the middle of a soft pasture. This one shot will make a golfers day regardless his final tally. While some might say it's illogical and irrational--claiming that a single shot, a single moment of joy, can possibly justify 17 and 2/3 holes of pure misery--any amateur golfer basking in the 19th Hole will tell you it's all worth it.
In much the same way these small moments--they seem so few and far between when they're not happening, yet they limitless when underway--justify our work despite the vast majority of let downs and setbacks.
posted by Ryan at 9:21 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home