There is a troublesome crisp casing half sunk in the mud under the brambles. Every time I fasten it inside the jaws of my garbage picker, another piece tears off. I keep going until all the pieces of colored foil are in my trash. Then I go on.
I volunteer with a group at my local park. They perform a range of tasks, but today – my first time – we’re picking up litter. “Aren’t you well?” passers-by say as they walk through the park with their takeaway coffees. Or sometimes: “You’re fighting a losing battle there, love!”
When our bags are full, we gather for a break, in our fluorescent yellow gilets, drink tea from flasks, munch on apples and tumble over people hanging cat bags from bushes when there are lots of dog litter boxes. I arrived this morning on a knife edge of anger and tears, but this simple, repetitive and collective act stole my attention and distracted me from the eternal doom roll of my mind.
It’s easy to assume that the best way to cheer yourself up when you’re feeling down is to do something nice for yourself. A hot stone massage, perhaps? An online shopping spree? But research suggests that altruistic acts work better. In one studyparticipants were assigned actions that benefited either themselves, other individuals, or all of humanity; those who acted in the interest of others experienced a boost in positive emotions and psychological well-being, while those tasked with treating themselves kindly did not.
I didn’t know that when I joined the conservation group. I also didn’t know that volunteering is associated with greater self-esteem and better self-reporting health and life satisfaction, or that helping others activates your brain’s “reward” system.
What I did know was that I felt deeply troubled by the ecological and climate crises. I was engulfed in hopelessness and helplessness, and I reached a point where, when I read this this glacier would have completely melted, or it species would go extinct, by such-and-such a date, I would do the math and think: “Okay. I’ll be dead then.”
It was the counselor I saw who turned me on to the idea of volunteering. As I sobbed in front of my computer screen during one of our online sessions, muttering about turtledoves (the bird most likely to be the next extinct in the UK), he said: “Do something.” He gave me three rules: make it simple, immediate and collaborative.
That’s how I find myself a week later in Victoria Park in Ashford, Kent, fishing old duffel bags out of the river. In subsequent sessions, our group of volunteers set up bat boxes, created new paths, renovated the dried-up pond and surveyed for amphibians.
Psychologists call the mental boost of volunteering the “helper is high“. And boy, did I get high.
Litter picking seems to be my gateway drug. I soon signed up to also volunteer at a Sussex Wildlife Trust reserve, where we managed habitat for butterflies, built leaky dams and built roads with dead hedges.
I haven’t stopped since. Every time I volunteered, I came home invigorated by the fresh air, the natural environment and the company – and, perhaps most importantly, by acting in accordance with what I value and care about. “Volunteers who have strong needs to express and act on their personal values may be the easiest to attract and retain,” say the authors of a paper titled Understanding and Encouraging Volunteerism and Community Involvement.
I didn’t care if the tasks we did were exhausting or repetitive. I was taking action. I learned new skills – everything from how to use a saw correctly, to how to tell the difference between the song of a great tit and that of a big knife. I felt part of something – something good.
That’s not to say I didn’t – and still don’t – sometimes wonder: are we really make a difference here? Or do we just make ourselves feel better? I remind myself of something Isabel Losada writes in her book The Joyful Environmentalist: “Don’t be discouraged by people who say your actions are just a drop in the ocean. What is an ocean but millions upon millions of drops?”
That first attempt at volunteering was four years ago. I haven’t stopped since. I used to think that people who volunteered regularly were either retired or not working for some reason. But I soon learned that volunteers aren’t just people with time on their hands – they’re people who make time for the things they care about.
I moved to the Scottish Highlands in September. Do-gooder that I am, I was soon looking for opportunities to roll up my sleeves. I tried to volunteer somewhere every few weeks – an afternoon here, a Sunday there. It was a brilliant way to meet people as well as helping me get to know my new surroundings. I’ve mostly opted for conservation work – a tree nursery helping to restore the lost forests of the Cairngorms, a wildcat reintroduction project – but the other day I’ve been helping out at the local parkrun.
“Thank you, marshal,” the runners said one after the other as they passed me and stood next to a big arrow pointing the right way. You’d be pretty badly directionally challenged to go wrong here, but Aviemore parkrun always places a volunteer at this location and the gratitude I received for being that day’s volunteer was humbling and uplifting.
Later, I reflected on a paradox: while it was my total despair with people that led me to volunteering, it is the goodness and kindness I witnessed while working with my fellow human beings that kept me going. And I think fluorescent yellow is my color.