Practically broke and wading the waters of rising credit card debt, I headed towards Washington, D.C. to gain a little more perspective on my (possible) future as a social justice maverick who uses artwork as an advocacy tool.

The Rayburn foyer, where our exhibit is being displayed, has hideous carpet.

Side note: I wonder if all government buildings in D.C. have such scary looking carpet.

Besides thinking about the unfortunate carpet, I wonder about the three hours it will take to set up the Congo/Women exhibit. It ends up lasting well after midnight, despite 12 volunteers and an energetic three-year-old (Leslie’s son).

When we are done, my colleague Wendy and I head to our hotel. Out of nowhere, I get an immediate gush of smallness. Everything suddenly feels so small. I feel absolutely tiny…right now. If I get any smaller, I fear I might disappear. Everything seems so big now – I’m overwhelmed.

The next morning, Wendy and I have a meeting with an NGO to pitch a partnership with our Human Trafficking project.

During that meeting, they didn’t ask many questions. But it doesn’t stop them from wanting to snatch our marketing materials. I feel like the bad guy when I tell them they can’t keep them.

Wendy is nicer than I am about that kind of stuff, and offers to send them a digital copy.

She always thinks of the nicer stuff to say. I’m a little too forward and direct with people sometimes.

Once finished, after handshakes and goodbyes, we cab over to the Rayburn. We have to hang around for several hours because our event doesn’t end until 7 o’clock that night (we arrived shortly after 12pm). Afterward, we have to break down the installation.

Our guest speakers arrive and the program begins. When I hear Stephen Lewis speak about his experiences in Africa, my gush of smallness evaporates.

Nothing is out of place.

What I’m doing makes sense.

No ridiculousness. No second guessing.

I think that can be rare for people. While working as a volunteer, I’ve had to reexamine my ideas about work versus career versus fulfillment. Sometimes, the idea of your life’s purpose becomes muted. Within the tapestry of insecurity, second guessing almost becomes a part of your daily language.

In short, there are a lot of things you can do while you have a job that don’t make sense. You may think they are unnecessary, a waste of time or even beneath you. Yet, when don’t have a job; there is very little excuse to do things that don’t make sense to you.

That’s the core of good, stimulating and worthwhile growth. The stuff that makes sense. Stick to the continuities that are logical for you before you become part of doing something (for a paycheck) that doesn’t make sense.

Do what makes sense to you no matter how out of whack it may initially seem (like going to D.C. with very little money to help set up a one-night exhibition in a government building that has hideous carpet).

This is not about being reckless.

It’s about taking steps towards the most fulfilling risks and reaping their rewards.