That's some nice light on the water

Summer surges on down here in the antipodes.  (My crossed fingers severely obstructed the typing of that last sentence.)  And before those of you suffering one of those mildly alarming California winters, cool it with your envy.  The temperature here has yet to surpass 75.

But I'm not complaining.  This morning, I woke to the glaring sunrise prying its way through the blinds and ricocheting off the shivering water of the bay.  The wind is in a holding pattern.  I was told by a Kiwi that the absence of wind in Wellington is actually the peaceful consequence of a blustery north versus south skirmish being waged overhead.  Whether the winds are duking it out or blowing their breath on other parts, I'm pleased to rest easily and unruffled in the hot, unchallenged February sun.

A little inspired by the golden glimmer beaming off the ocean's many facets, I did some extra sun salutations and reflected on the bits of goodness I might be reflecting these days.  And with some shock and a little disappointment, I realized that I haven't done any volunteer work since September of last year.  This may be the longest I've ever gone without donating time to something, someone who could use a little help.

I did try, some.  I contacted an organization called Volunteer Wellington and after having my interview time scammed by a woman who claimed my name and appointment, I sat in an office with a man who didn't know how to type or apparently use a mouse who asked me questions typed on a print-out about my interests and experience.  He then took ample time tediously converting my answers into the letters that comprised them and entering them on the keyboard.  I made it clear that I was not in the mood to do any one-on-one counseling, as all that lawyering had pretty much sapped that protective plasma that keeps counselors from falling victim to empathy overload.  I knew the guy didn't really understand because he told me, "I don't quite understand what you're saying."  Accents, etc.  He typed slowly, "n-o-(space) t-a-l-k-i-n-g."

Despite my request, Volunteer Wellington suggested that I give my time to a community clinic offering ears to frustrated folks with financial, social, medical or educational issues.  "No, thanks," I said, and then reminded them gently that I had overtaxed my compassionate ears for a while and wanted a break.  "Remember," I asked, "no talking?"  Apparently, the guy had failed to save my answers.

Ultimately, I finally secured three referrals to some Wellington organizations who needed something. One was a hospice looking for fundraising support.  Another was a refugee assistance group looking for someone to review business plans.  The last was a volunteer support organization that aims to serve as something of a clearinghouse for other charitable organizations looking for help.  Only the hospice made an appointment to meet with me.  The refugee program never called me back and the last organization called but then forgot then called then forgot again and ultimately offered a project that had already been completed but was "something that was easy" for them to reassign if I really wanted to do something.  At that point, I sort of... um... forgot to contact them again, feeling like my repetition of someone else's work probably wasn't going to be the best use of my time or their supervision.

Both the hospice and the support organization suggested that I volunteer at the community clinic after reviewing my resume.  I politely ignored their suggestions.  Now, staring at this beautiful water shooting more points of light than a pristine night sky, I'm thinking about the effort required in self-transformation, especially when it seems to go against everything lumped on a resume, especially when I still hope to prove myself somewhat useful to humanity, even in the smallest ways, like just one of those tiny points of light on the water.

I suppose it's like accepting that summer comes in February and planning accordingly.  And when one side of the wind emerges the victor, I'll do my best to keep it at my back as I continue to type with crossed fingers that I might ultimately become someone who can find a role to play around here.  In the meantime, I'll keep busy writing a bunch of words that no one reads.

Ahem.  Yet.