Lately I’ve found myself asking of others quite frequently.

And on the days I’m not asking, I tend to accept help when it is offered. 

When, for instance, my best chums say that they will take turns delivering dinner once a week while we are without a kitchen?

I say, um, yes.

And when my kids are at a neighbors all morning and they offer to keep them all afternoon?

I say yes. 

Dogsitting?

Yes.

Advice?

Yes.

Get out of jail free?

Yes, thank you. 

Yes. Yes. Yes.

And then, at two a.m., the voices in my head (who are all sort of pull yourself up by your own dang bootstraps kinda folk) say to me:

How ya gonna make good on this, Missy?
How ya gonna pay these people back?

And they sit there sneering, the voices, waiting for the paroxysms of guilt and shame.

And I teeter.

And they sneer and twitter with anticipation.

And I waver.

And they are lovin’ this! 

“Look at her,” they say. “Needy and wobbly as a two-legged stool.”

And that is when I plant my third leg firmly on the ground —
this is a benefit of yoga, my friends (third eye, third leg, all sorts of extras that balance and enrich) —
firmly on the ground, I plant it.

And I say, “I am not going to pay these people back. Their gifts are not about me. Their gifts are reflective of them. They are just good folk.  I am blessed and surrounded by a hundred very fine friends with open hearts. And sometimes when you are faced with open heartedness, it’s best to be open handed. That is the third leg of the stool called love. Tomorrow, it is my turn. Tomorrow, I will offer my ear to the person who needs to talk, my car to the person who needs a ride, my bag of pecans to the squirrels. And in the meantime? I will say thank you.”

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.