Volunteering: A tale of Time, Perseverance and Paperwork

I’ve always volunteered. It’s like my version of a hobby—except it never comes with an off switch or a “project complete” sign. Even when I was working full-time, I volunteered for a group restoring our local historic theatre. And here we are, ten years later, still chipping away at it.
We’ve made progress, sure, but donations in our small town are as rare as a solar eclipse.
There have been plenty of times when it feels like I’m trying to push a boulder uphill—lots of movement, not much to show for it.
But a real turning point came for me about a month ago when I almost decided to walk away. It wasn’t the theatre project itself that had me ready to quit; it was the toxic drama at the workplace that
spilled over into the community. A few people’s frustrations with a boss sparked a chain reaction, and suddenly, the entire town was caught in the fallout. The negativity spread like wildfire, and
every conversation seemed to revolve around it. It felt like the whole community was drowning in drama, and I realized I’d had enough. I decided to resign from the board overseeing the theatre restoration. I thought, “That’s it. I’m done with this community and all the chaos.” I showed up at the meeting, shared my reasons for stepping down, and thought that was the end of it. But then, the group came back with solid reasons for why I should stay, and I found myself questioning if I was letting all the workplace drama take away something that still mattered to me.
Here’s the thing with small towns: It’s always the same people doing the heavy lifting. But why? Why don’t more people volunteer? Why does it feel like only a few folks are carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders? Maybe it’s because people feel they don’t have time or don’t want to commit long-term. Or—let’s be real—sometimes it’s because no one ever asked them. So how do we get more people to step up?
Maybe the answer is to make volunteering feel less like climbing Mount Everest and more like taking a casual stroll through a park. We could offer short, simple projects where volunteers can
see immediate results. Throw in some social media shoutouts or turn it into a team event where families and friends can pitch in. Suddenly, the whole time commitment thing doesn’t feel so
overwhelming.
For me, the key to sticking with volunteering was reconnecting with why I started in the first place. I had to ask myself, “Why do I need to keep giving my time to this group?” The real reason I almost left was my frustration with the community itself. When you live in a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business—or at least they think they do—and it’s easy to lump everyone together in one big ball of frustration. But then I thought about the people in the theatre group—the ones who would actually benefit from the project. They weren’t the ones causing all the drama, so why let that stop me?
So, like a stubborn mule (thanks, family genes), I decided to keep going—just in a way that would allow me to take a step back from the chaos. I’m not dealing with the public-facing stuff for now; I’m sticking to the behind-the-scenes work. Paperwork, grants, all the unsung heroes of the volunteering world. And you know what? It feels a little bit better this way. I found a grant and dove into the paperwork, like it was a treasure hunt that was totally worth the time.
I also learned that volunteering can help reduce stress, anxiety, and even anger. Sure, “rage cleaning” is still my go-to for handling frustration, but diving into this grant has given me some
peace. It’s helped me focus and calm my nerves in a way I didn’t expect.
Will my attitude towards the community ever change? I don’t know maybe, maybe not. There’s still a lot of division and bitterness. But now, I’ve got my pen, my grant applications, and a quiet corner to work in. Maybe it’s not the loudest way to volunteer, but it feels right for me, right now. And hey, who knows? Maybe we’ll even get that boulder up top.