Volunteering Something of Myself by Monique Cuillerier
1000 words, ~5 minutes reading time
Issue 9 (Winter 2025)
Ten years ago, I went to my local science fiction, fantasy, and horror literature convention, Can*Con, for the first time. I attended two workshops and a day of panels. And I barely spoke to anyone.
I was totally overwhelmed by this group of people who all seemed to know each other and were all speculative fiction writers in a way that I most decidedly was not. My credentials, such as they were, were a handful of short stories published in (I can’t stress this enough, very obscure) literary magazines. But I loved reading science fiction and hearing what all those writers had to say in those panels and workshops inspired me to start writing it.
Despite this sense of unease, despite not knowing anyone, despite feeling like I didn’t quite fit into the space, I also had a great time. As I wrote on my blog afterwards, “I love when I come away from a writing event inspired and encouraged and that is certainly how I left...” I kept going back to Can*Con.
Then, a couple of years into the pandemic, Can*Con was looking for someone to help with their online component. I volunteered to lead their virtual track of panels (at the time it was part of the live con, now the virtual version is a separate event). It was an easy way into the community, dealing more with tech than people.
Volunteering with Can*Con was a wonderful experience . These people, whose work had inspired me as an attendee, were just as nice as they had seemed from a distance. My initial, self-imposed isolation was replaced by a sense of purpose and belonging.
There is an invigorating solidarity that comes from working collectively towards something. This three day, in-person convention has hundreds of attendees, all with similar interests and hobbies. I’m the volunteer coordinator for the in-person con now, working to bring together people who are so eager to contribute, who take time away from enjoying the event themselves to ensure that others are able to do so. There is kindness and compassion in that.
I feel incredibly fortunate that I am in this position that I am able to benefit others, but also gain this lovely sense of connection with these wonderful people who have come together to do this.
So what have I learned from all of this?
One thing is that I have a tendency, which is embarrassing to admit as I get older, of assuming that clichéd advice isn’t really going to be true or valid—or at least not for me (this despite the fact that I have repeatedly found this not to be the case). Does volunteering and otherwise doing things you enjoy help you to make friends? Absolutely it does, even as an adult.
And that awkwardness I felt when I first attended Can*Con, that sense of not knowing anybody, not knowing how to strike up a conversation—I’ve discovered that I can preempt a lot of that by having something to do, by having a role to play. If I’m even a little bit busy, there’s much less room for that yawning mental space that fills with worries about being awkward or saying the wrong thing.
Of course, not all of that doubt goes away so easily, but I’m definitely a more relaxed person when I have a job to do. Busyness eats away at my imposter syndrome.
No matter where you are or what you’re doing or who it’s with, we see everything from our own point of view. Other people can see us differently. The more uncomfortable I feel, the more I know that I radiate discomfort and it makes everything so much more difficult. When I can allow myself to relax, even if only a little, it’s much easier to do everything else.
I feel fortunate that, over the last several years, I’ve been able to find a way towards being more open to new possibilities, that I’ve developed more of a seize the day attitude (sudden, dramatic onset of chronic illness can do that, but I don’t recommend it).
In retrospect, while I do think that many of my fears and my sense of discomfort were valid in the moment, they were also misplaced. The people that I work with at Can*Con are kind, generous, and delightful people. I needed to get over my own sense of discomfort and imposter syndrome to become a part of this group.
I was in my forties the first time I went to Can*Con. There’s no set age at which we stop feeling awkward, but thankfully, there also isn’t one at which we stop being able to grow and change and become a different, perhaps better, version of ourselves. There’s no age at which we stop being able to make new friends or find new ways of finding others.
There’s something about friendship that comes in different shapes, in different places. Friends you see once a year, or a few times a year (along with semi-regularly on Discord…). There is preciousness in all of that.
I got a lot out of Can*Con, even when I was attending in my stealthy way. I learned a lot about writing craft, I went to presentations by subject experts. I appreciated what I was being offered.. But once I took the steps to become more of a part of it? I love it even more. I look forward to it so much, to seeing everyone each year.
Ten years ago, I wrote on my blog, “I think that, if I can (it wasn’t really feasible this year because of other commitments), I’ll go to the whole thing, or at least more of it, next year. It was a great day.”
