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By Lauren Reuss
Special thank you to Mr. Connor Tracy (2016), for introducing me to this essay; to Mr. Eric Bush (2020), for leading insightful and heartfelt talks in MeCosta Circle all those years ago; to Mr. Sawyer Depp (2024), for your sense of humor; and for Mr. Shelby Disney (2025), for inspiring this blog.
“And that is only one example out of a thousand, of the things in daily life we call dull that are not really so dull after all. And I am confident that there is no future for the modern world, unless it can understand that it has not merely to seek what is more and more exciting, but rather the yet more exciting business of discovering the excitement in things that are called dull. What we have to teach the young man of the future, is how to enjoy himself. Until he can enjoy himself, he will grow more and more tired of everything else.” (Chesterton, The Spice of Life).
It was a chilly Saturday morning as I grabbed my keys off the hook behind my door and bundled up in my gloves and tartan scarf. Of course, I was running a tad behind. As I locked the door behind me, my breath fogged before my face – and I frowned upon realizing that though the vapor would disappear in moments, the frost gracing my windshield would not. Brushing the crystals away, I jumped in and turned the ignition, ready to meet the others. With the symphony blaring through my speakers, I hopped on the road to pick up my partner for the day. The day was November 6th– my last Project Warm service event during my collegiate career.
Part of being a McConnell Scholar is to commit to serving in the greater Louisville area. The Project Warm Blitz is an annual event in which we assist folks across the city in winterizing their homes. Many of the homes are old and naturally can get quite drafty during the winter months. To help elders, disabled, and those in need, we prepare their windows and exterior walls so their winter will be warm (and their electrical bills low). Out of health concerns, we, unfortunately, could not participate in the Project during the Fall of 2020; to be able to get back out in the community for such valuable service was exciting – even if things could not be done the old way. Instead of putting up the materials ourselves, we were responsible for delivering them to each residence. For a few hours, we were Door Dash – but instead of pepperoni pizza, we brought paper sacks of heavy-duty plastic and caulking materials. Instead of working in teams of four, we were sent out in pairs – and I was paired with one of the newest members of the program, Shelby.
Each year, I invite the incoming freshman to a one-on-one “date” of their choosing. Whether we go to the game or the grocery, the intent of our time together is for me to get to know each individual in an intentional way. Having not been on my “date” with Shelby yet, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would he be nice? Would he have a dry sense of humor? Would he be annoyed by my incessant chatter and stream of questions, or worse, would he be quiet? Why couldn’t I have been paired up with any number of my classmates that I already knew?
Stealing myself, I jumped out of the car to greet Shelby. While he wasn’t overly enthused by my claim that we were “The Dream Team,” he did quickly warm up to the idea of doing service with me – if only because I turned up the heat radiating from the vents. Driving to the pick-up site, we began chatting about the act of service itself. Shelby let me in on a not-so-little secret: he hadn’t found his groove with service yet. Like I always do, I jumped in with some advice. Much like the old adage “if you don’t like reading, you haven’t found the right book,” I believe the same should be said for service: it’s not that you don’t like service, it’s that you haven’t found the right mission to serve. Shelby was naturally hesitant to buy into my philosophy – until I asked if he “liked old people.” His stone-cold façade then broke, and with a chuckle, he began to tell me a story about getting lost at the Cumberland Falls State Park. While losing one’s four-year-old on Mother’s Day is quite frightening, I’m sure being found in the reception hall shaking hands and behaving like a proper gentleman among the graduating class of 1954 made it all better in the end.
Driving around the city, we traded stories about our childhoods and our hometowns. I learned that he came from Corbin, where the original KFC is located; I didn’t have the heart to tell him I don’t enjoy eating chicken off the bone. He told me about his favorite class and professor (Economics, of course!), his weird suitemates (we’ve all had them), and how he was scared of snakes (and motorcycles, flying, dogs, messes, and people). We compared the restaurants in our hometowns and laughed about the number of McDonald’s popping up on every corner. My overactive imagination likened him to the most ironic superhero, and we joked that his alter-ego would never be discovered as we narrated the drive like we were in a Marvel Comic. I told him about my work with the food pantry, my lovable family, and what I missed most during the pandemic. He shared that while he enjoyed the new opportunities the city afforded him, he missed his morning routine of getting up at 5:30 to drink coffee and watch the news with his Dad.
At the end of our time together, we returned to our apartments (or dorm, in his case) with unforeseen takeaways. What began as a hesitant day is now an experience that I treasure. As we spoke about everything and nothing, I was reminded of Chesterton’s “The Spice of Life.” Life is not made wonderful by the big and exciting moments, but the expected dull and drab in between. The dull Saturday was decidedly not, and for it I have a new friend and a memory to cherish. Serving on a cold Saturday morning with Shelby was an unexpected treat, the definition of the spice of life, and I wouldn’t have traded my passenger for anyone else.
Lauren Reuss is a McConnell Scholar in the class of 2022. She is studying political science, economics, and philosophy at the University of Louisville.