Volunteer(holic)

Ballet Ball
Originally uploaded by graciecavnar

Grace Notes Column as published in Tribeza Magazine, December 2007 :
By Gracie Cavnar

It is a glorious autumn day and I sit on my balcony pretending that writing this column is the only thing on my to do list. Of course I am in complete denial.

Hello, my name is Gracie and I am a volunteerholic. I’m trying to quit.

What happened to the carefree days of my twenties and thirties when all I had to do was hold down a job, raise a child, read, garden, cook, craft, attend painting class, jazzercise and throw dinner parties every Friday night? Why is it that now I’m an empty nester with no 9-5 grind and plenty of household help, I can’t find two minutes for myself, let alone time to read, garden, cook, paint, (see above), etc.? I am determined to regain time in my life to do the things I love.

My family remains dubious about my commitment to recovery. Listening to my endless excuses, they nod and smile. “As soon as I’m done with this (fill in the blank here: gala, auction, program, website, blah, blah, blah) I will have so much more time to (fill in the blank here: spend with you, talk to you on the phone, cook, travel, read, paint, write, have weekly dinner parties, go to lunch with my friends, learn to play golf, blah, blah, blah.)”
“I have been hearing this my whole life,” laments my son. “You have said this before,” reminds my husband. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” laughs a girlfriend.

In my defense, I have cut back a lot, inspired by several incredible friends who have accomplished great things by focusing their energy on one primary mission (at a time.) A girlfriend suggests her mantra: “I am so honored that you would think of me for this important job, and if I could do it, I would, but I can’t.” This is what I’m trying to do. Stay focused. One thing. Say no. Uh huh.

As anyone who has raised money for a charity knows, with every donation comes a chit, and when that chit is called in, it can’t be ignored. This causes me to make lots of guilt commitments: “Of course I can help with your auction, after all you did for me!” Having been in the wheedling business myself causes me to take pity on friends, even when I know that they are lying: “This won’t take any time at all . . . the staff does everything . . . just sign a few letters . . . really we just want to use your name . . .”

The most enticing petitioners are canny enough to ask for your time years in advance, when you can talk yourself into the commitment by playing like you won’t have anything else to do by then. This tactic works particularly well for big galas that will dominate an entire year of your life—a prospect that can only be entertained through the rose-colored glasses of time and distance. Of course it never works out that way—the nothing else on my plate by then delusion.

Usually it plays out like this: The year you are chairing a million dollar ball, your child will decide to marry and your husband will get a wild hair to build a dream home in another state—maybe even another country. Both endeavors should bring joy and excitement to your life. Instead, you clock the hours equivalent to three fulltime jobs and maintain a 24-hour rolling to do list in your head that moves you through the day like a shark. For a year, you will be thirty minutes late to everything, forget friends’ birthdays, cut them short in telephone chats and miss all the relaxed no reason lunches, trips and fun. You will maneuver daily through a flood of emails and never have a moment to shop despite the perpetual need to wear the perfect ensemble to endless rounds of gatherings and meetings. You will eat on the run and fall off your exercise regime yet still manage to lose weight, which should look great in all the photographs if it weren’t for the circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. And you will never convince your sisters, or anyone else for that matter, that you are not living the Life of Riley because the social press makes it seem as if you are having fun, fun, fun. (This is a clever tactic by the media to entice others into the fold of over-committed ball chairs.) You will collapse from exhaustion the moment you finish and not wake up for a month. The phone calls start even before your kudos from the successful event dies down. “We would absolutely love for you to chair our ball next year!”

Not that this has ever happened to me, I’m talking about a woman I know. Take a deep breath and repeat: I am so honored . . .