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what does it mean to be “independent”? how is it possible? everywhere i go, everywhere i am, i am dependent on someone, something, to make it through the day, to get through this moment, to grow and to give and to learn and to know. the smell of lemongrass–is it an herb? a flower?–or the highlight on the clouds–hello, cloud, i need you today–or this look in that kids eye that gives me shivers, or the ring ring ring of the phone and it’s HIM, or the taste of something sweet to remind me that sometimes goodness comes in strange packaging, like those prickly lychee nuts. and i think “who wants to be independent? who are these people?” . i want things to stick to me. i want to gather up these people here in a big warm yummy duvet and hold onto them and crawl in there with them, and stay safe inside, make a little fort, just us, draping the quilts and the blankets over furniture and hunker down underneath there and understand our respective needs. with all my cells and organs and bones and limbs, i need them. 

you can’t be independent. it’s impossible. we are like velcro, things and experiences adhere themselves to us, everywhere. 

i went to a rural orphanage yesterday to visit and meet and look and learn. and we pulled up and this tiny gorgeous creature came running to me. she ran to me and launched herself into me. she would not let me go. i didn’t know her until that moment. she was a stranger. but we were velcroed. splat. we were glued and adhered and connected, and we were in an invisible fort, just her and me. 

independent? no. not me. i am unabashedly  dependent on this. here.

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