Introducing The Next Generation Of Leaders And Thinkers

A New Perspective: How My High School Volunteer Job Changed Me

My memories are littered with half-hearted tries to maintain a sense of balance, to find a rhythm to pedal to. I soon took up the habit of holing up in my room, creating worlds in my head instead of exploring the one outside my window. No longer did I envy those picture-perfect families on their shiny bicycles—I had found a new way to travel, all while remaining wildly sedentary.

As the years passed, I began to dream of being more than just an observer. I knew there was a way for me to seize adventure, to become it, instead of just watching it happen between the lines of a page or behind my eyelids.

It all started in a small research and therapy clinic in the Bronx, where a new kind of reality existed that I had never encountered before. There were no dragons, witches or evil masterminds. Instead, my antagonists had real problems, ones they couldn’t escape or ignore. With every day came new plot twists, new leads to follow or bad influences to chase off. Our regulars became my heroes. For once in my life, I wasn’t just a bystander—I was part of their stories.

Knowing patients first-hand only meant I wanted to understand their plights more. Thus, biking became an exercise in compassion, a way to feel my bones and muscles ache in the same way that their hearts do. I didn’t walk in other people’s shoes– I rode straight into their realities.        

I did not think my adventures would look like that– so realistic, so daunting, so true. However, no matter how fast I pedal, I couldn’t escape the fact that they were. The road is never an easy one, but there are lives that are steeper and rockier than I could ever imagine. With every push, I thought of sunken bones and tired, aimless stares. With every pant, I thought of misshapen jaws rotted from not having enough in the pantry. Some days, I could make it powered by the thought of trembling pouts alone. Others, I could barely finish before I had to stop for breath, haunted by those who live dangerously because it is the only way they know how.

Still, I am not a hero, not yet. I don’t get to save them at the end of the day—they do that all on their own. Maybe dialogue won’t save lives, but it can make a difference. I know that—I’ve been a part of that change. I will never leave those families out on the road—not when they’ve been so instrumental in helping me find mine. They are not satisfied with their lives, and neither am I. And if they can keep pushing and pedaling, if they can keep making it to the end of that road, if they can brave that dusty, hilly terrain every day of their lives– I can, too. And for them, I will.

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