Remember how I said in my first post that I’d rather be in bed than a bar?
Guess what I did on St. Patrick’s Day? I went to what seemed to be every bar in Richmond and handed out condoms to drunks.
It was part of the “Getting Lucky?” initiative at the Heart of Richmond AIDS Society where I volunteer. Let’s be safe, people! But can I just share with you that this had to be one of the more awkward situations of my life? There’s nothing like crashing someone’s dinner and handing out prophylactics. Presumptuous, don’t you think? “You look like you might be getting some tonight! Here! I am praying you’re not related!” Conversely, if I DON’T give them to someone, what does that say? “Your shirt is birth control enough, Sparky. But here’s a rubber glove, if you still want to be safe!” Fraught with peril, that night was.
But, I have been receiving confirmation without condoms myself, lately. I snagged the volunteer position I was hoping for, Keep A Breast Canada is still looking to have me help them with events (yay!), and I’ve been offered a job (repeatedly) that I cannot accept. Makes one almost bouncy. But the oddest confirmation came from a place I was not expecting it…
Yesterday, I attended a professional development breakfast put on by the American Fundraising Professionals group here. It’s about telling stories to motivate both your staff and donor base. Sounds like something I could use for my future grown-up job, so I dragged myself out of bed at 5:15, put on a pretty dress, and off I went.
We were tasked to tell a story about how we have used a story to motivate staff and/or fund raising.
Yeah, the thing about that…
I’ve never done fundraising like they’re talking about. What on earth do I say? How do I not sound like a fool?
I am the last in my group of four to tell my story. So I relate the tale about my first management job, and the issues that it brought. Sort of an anti-motivational, if you will. At one point during my narrative, I noticed they were all leaning forward. They laughed at my jokes. They were nodding.
Biscuits and gravy, Bristow. I thought to myself. You have UNDIVIDED ATTENTION. Why doesn’t this work on your children?! Wait, what? Why are they looking at me? Do they want me to feed them or take them to the park?
When the facilitator came around, she asked who among us had the best story. Three fingers pointed my direction.
Aw, thanks, y’all.
But I pointed out that my story was only within shouting distance of being on topic, and nominated the lovely lady from the Red Cross who invoked a mental image that gave me baby goosebumps.
I left and went home to put on jeans and go grocery shopping. Talk about your paradigm shifts. But instances like these are reinforcing my decision in little ways. I really feel like this is what I am best suited for. Having others validate this through offers of employment or requests for help is just…I don’t have the word. It kind of feels like being internally carbonated. It’s a physical sensation I get when something is just going RIGHT. I’ve got that feeling, and it’s freaking fantastic.
Please, no one shake me. I may explode.