A Personal Revitalization
When I moved into Regent Park in 2012, I had no idea what my role would be, but as an introvert, I assumed it would be something quiet and small, possibly like the volunteer ESL teaching I had previously done at Yonge Street Mission. Instead, by a series of flukes, I ended up in a daunting leadership position, working with a couple of colleagues to start a new Regent Park Neighbourhood Association.
Never having done anything like this before, I found myself scrambling to learn new skills. I needed to chair meetings and facilitate small groups, so I did what most of us do – I watched others, revamped old skills, and learned from my mistakes. But it was when we came to advertise our group that I faced my most demanding challenges – public speaking, knocking on doors, and canvassing in building lobbies – which stretched me in often uncomfortable ways. Gradually, though, I developed more composure in front of a microphone and greater ease in meeting and greeting strangers. Despite struggling with shyness for most of my life, I have now come to enjoy talking with my neighbours in Regent Park, and I am grateful for this gift of new learning – a gift that continues to open up my life to fresh opportunities and adventures.
Volunteering has also given me new interests. I’ve started reading and thinking about city development: walkable neighbourhoods and district energy, green roofs and buildings designed for safety, community gardens and local art. I also ponder issues of poverty. So, although I’ve had no formal training in economics, I’ve waded through a few challenging books on income inequality and reforming capitalism, as well as tackling the classics on social connectedness. Even more importantly, now, when I read, think, and talk about the problems of our cities, I understand these issues not just in conceptual terms or as political policies but in deeply-rooted human terms. I know the stories, aspirations, and lived experiences of those who make my mixed-income community their home.
Another transformative gift that volunteering has provided has been the opportunity to make new friends – people I would never have met in the ordinary course of my life. These face-to-face relationships have helped to smash stereotypes. For example, when I meet a Muslim woman who covers her face, I no longer assume she is impossibly conservative. Perhaps she has the spunk of my middle-aged friend for whom the highlight of her family vacation was to go zip-lining and whitewater-rafting – all the while wearing her niqab. I’ve learned to look deeper and not be put off by my initial impression. In this regard, I think of one tough chain-smoking woman who – I discovered to my delighted surprise – gives ongoing care to an elderly neighbour. And I’ve gained a new respect for some of 220 Oak Street’s invisible heroes – people so damaged by mental health and addictions that merely getting out of bed in the morning must take more courage and resilience than most of us have ever had to discover.
In all of these encounters, I’ve appreciated the acceptance these new friends have given me – an acceptance that frequently spills over into gifts of kindness. I remember struggling with bronchitis, and an immigrant neighbour showed up at my door with chicken soup – not the usual noodles and broth, but lentils and fire-spice, which startled my cough into submission. Another time, when I was in hospital with a dangerous pneumonia, a friend assured me that half of Regent Park was praying for me to Allah. While I’m sure she exaggerated, I was still grateful for my neighbourhood’s concern. And I will never forget how a nearby family has frequently welcomed me into their home to share in their Eid al Fitr celebrations. Since I am sometimes the only person among their guests who is neither Muslim nor from their home country, I feel honoured to be included. Meanwhile, everyday encounters with neighbours on the street or in the grocery store continue to lift my spirit and make me feel at home in Regent Park.
Volunteering has repaid me many times over. It has allowed me to develop new strengths and skills, explore new ideas and interests, and, best of all, enjoy new friendships. The result has been a renewed sense of purpose and joy in my life. Whereas many seniors live in shrinking worlds, I’ve had a new rock face to scale – one which offers both a strenuous climb and far-reaching vistas.