Acts of Care (Springs)
How many times have I felt so reassured during a moment of awkward terror about being alive and sick because a friend told me Don’t worry, look at me, here’s my hand, that’s yours, let’s get through the next two minutes. And then we check in again.
Objectively speaking, the only reason I am still alive right now has been a series of acts of love. By my parents, at least back when I was a toddler. By doctors. By friends. By everyone down the supply chain of my food, clothes, and shelter. By all the computing infrastructure maintainers that make it possible for me to talk to people on the internet. By all the artists that keep making things that remind me the world can be beautiful. And yes, of course, some of the people who helped me are dead, or hate me, or are you just so far away emotionally or geographically that it’s extraordinarily easy for me to think that I’m going to fall with no one to catch me, but:
It doesn’t make their help meaningless, and it doesn’t make my gratitude any smaller.