Philosophy of Service
Service is a funny thing. It takes many forms in which very fine lines distinguish one form from another. Often it is manipulated in order for an individual’s benefit, for better or for worse. Sometimes one is forced to serve the community for reasons unrelated. Usually it is performed monotonously as if it were a chore, lacking in personal connection to a site. Service may be pursued out of boredom just as well. Throughout my service career I have seen these unenthusiastic and abusive attitudes applied to service, and can honestly say that I may have harbored attitudes such as these at one point in my life.
Unfortunate it is that many do good work for the wrong reason, it still happens and there are but few ways to remedy this problem. What I have noticed though, in myself and others, is that there is a point in which a change of heart occurs, where one no longer sees the cause, but the need. I believe that service is needed, but service in which an individual has a deep personal connection to is needed even more.
I am a firm believer that in order to develop a deeper connection, one must move out of their comfort zone. Growth does not occur without challenge, and what holds people back the most from delving beyond the confines of their habituations are preconceived notions of what is and who is. Too many people let fear make the decisions in life, especially when it comes to serving areas in need. This fear of the unknown then takes a toll on the individual and the community in which they serve, or decide not to serve. Thus, the prejudice of race, social class, gender, sexuality, and economic status perpetuates in society.
The day I stepped over the line of my own comfort zone, I was on my way to an elementary school, a place I had been many times before. I could feel the fear telling me I didn’t belong and it was unsafe for me here through a rapid pulse, sweaty palms, and a nervous tick to keep checking the luggage lock on my backpack. However much I genuinely believed that there was nothing to fear, that stereotypes were only inventions of the mind – illusionary standards – society’s influence hung heavy on me.
No matter how strong the ardor to help others is in someone, if they do not move past their prejudices, the potential for the good in that person to flourish is stifled. That evening, I walked, alone for the first time, down the street of a Chicago neighborhood known best for having the highest murder rate in the city. My fear made me acutely aware of the color of my skin, the shoes I was wearing, and my manner of walking, as if it was trying to undermine my want to be here.
What changed me was not the sudden change of scenery – I had been to places like this many times. It was not the fear edging under my skin either – this sensation was not unusual. This time I was by myself, without the false comfort of others who looked like me. What had once separated me from building a personal connection to this community was not with me this time, and all I had to rely on was the person underneath the pale complexion, her experiences, her likes and dislikes, her beliefs and values.
My fear, my influences, my stereotypes became completely irrelevant when I really realized the true reason I was here. I was here for these kids, I was here to read to them, to play with them, to spend a couple hours with them on the floor of their classroom in which they could otherwise be spending them on the streets. To move past fear is the way to stop this continuation of prejudice that plagues society, and most affectively through service.
Woodlawn, Chicago