Monday was Martin Luther King Day, an optional Day of Service at Ohio State, and I know exactly how it went. Ohio State students, hundreds of us, shook off our hangovers and congregated in the Union. There were bigwig university speakers, followed by the inevitable film clip of Dr. King himself. We boarded the legion of CABS buses taking us to our destinations: nursing homes, libraries, city parks.

At our destinations, we sorted old books. We made awkward introductions to the elderly. We handled ten thousand cigarette butts. Within the first half hour, we exchanged a glance with a friend that clearly said, this kinda sucks.

Then, something funny happened.

Someone in the group made a joke. It might not have been a good joke, but we laughed. Our spirits suddenly lifted, we went about our work with renewed energy. A few hours later, when we got back to campus for a late Buckeye Donuts or Commons breakfast, we were still laughing. We, all of us, felt filled with that warm glow in our stomachs, like we’d swallowed one of Mario’s gold coins. Some of us even discussed going back, making the service a regular thing. We planned to look into it as soon as we got home.

We promptly forgot.

It’s understandable, this forgetting. When well-meaning college kids like you and me partake in service events like MLK Day, we feel we’ve fulfilled some do-good quota for the quarter. We sink back into our routines like a worn beanbag chair, contented in the knowledge that we’re basically decent people.

Yet the homeless still lack homes and the elderly still age, even when we’re not paying attention. Having a tangible impact takes more than four hours. It’s strange that the designated autumn day of service is called “Community Commitment.” In most cases, a commitment takes longer than a half-day to fulfill. It can take years. Some take a lifetime.

I don’t wish to hold myself up as a paragon of selflessness. The past six months, I haven’t visited a shelter (animal or homeless), set foot inside a nursing home or donated an ounce of Red Cross blood. I’ve been, in short, a fair-weather fan for service. I can do better. When it comes to service, we all can do better than one-and-done.

I’m not saying we should serve more in order to “make a difference” or “change the world,” because in all likelihood we won’t. We should do it, as the Christmas song says, “for goodness’ sake.” In other words, because it is right, because it adds to the general well-being of the world.

But we can also do it because it feels good.

With repeat service, you can get that warm stomach-glow any time you want. That’s why we serve, even when we’re hungover and there are kittens on YouTube. Is that selfish? Probably. But selfish service is better than none at all.