The thing is, I LOVE being self-sufficient. Getting myself from one place to another, figuring stuff out, having what I need. I love it.
It’s one of the things that makes me me.
I understand that there are other ways of being in the world. And I appreciate offers of help when they come my way, even if I choose to decline them.
There are also the words: self + sufficient. Which seem to exclude others. But to me, the words just mean I can be an entity unto myself if that’s what I choose. And I don’t always choose that.
I know that as I age, there will come a day when, for example, I can’t hoist my suitcase into the overhead bin. If I’m lucky enough to get older, aging will at some point bring an end to my self-sufficiency. And I’ll think back fondly to when I was a girl of 58…
Photos from last night: Underneath the rising moon, the green light from the lighthouse across the harbor.