I Don’t Want to Be Independent (You Read That Right)

“Help!” I frantically texted my computer-savvy friend Jacob last night. “My laptop’s touchpad suddenly decided not to work!”

“Is there a button that turns it off and on?”

“Already tried it.”

“Did you try restarting it?”

“Yes. I even took out the battery.” (I’m beginning to panic at this point. I had a writing day planned for tomorrow and a talent show to make programs for this weekend, and just way too much of my life on that rebellious machine.) “I know it’s a huge favor to ask, but if it’s still not behaving tomorrow, could you meet me after work and take a look at it?”

“No problem!”

You guessed it.

I met up with Jacob, and he fixed the problem with… I kid you not… ONE TOUCH. More like two little taps at the upper corner of my touch pad, but still, the idea of it. Apparently my taps of the night before had been too violent. “It’s not pressure, it’s contact it responds to,” he explained, leaving me to laugh at my forcefulness with the thing and groan about the fact that I’d asked him to come thirty minutes out of his way to touch my computer.

It was the sort of thing that could potentially deeply embarrass a girl who likes to think of herself as an independent, twenty-first century woman who can handle things herself.

But the fact is, it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as it should have been. We had chosen a little restaurant as the site of the computer’s examination, and we proceeded to order large breakfasts-for-dinner and visit merrily for over two hours, laughing so hard at times that the deaf elderly couple at the table next to us made grinning comments about us having too much fun.

A lonely evening had been turned into a delightful outing. Bless the stupid computer and my ineptitude. And bless my gracious friend.

In moments like those, I look at my independent ideals and wonder just how sustainable they actually are. What, indeed, am I trying to accomplish? What exactly is it that I am trying to prove to the world? That I don’t need people to survive? That I can take care of myself? That I am a world unto myself? And who, exactly, am I kidding?

I need people. I need friends to fix my computer. I need the man at the repair shop to fix my car. I need the people at the grocery store to sell me the food I so proudly cook for myself. I need the farmers who grew that food. I need my students to keep me laughing and living and believing in making a difference. I need people to take care of and I need people to take care of me.

I begin to wonder if this elusive independence I am constantly striving for is really what I want. Maybe what I really want is respect… respect and trust. I want people like my parents and supervisors and the parents of my students to truly respect me as an individual and, in turn, trust me. I think it’s validation I’m striving for, not independence. Because real independence, freedom from needing others and having others need me, not only sounds utterly impossible, but it sounds utterly miserable.

So, thank you, Jacob, for fixing my computer. I’m not going to let myself be too embarrassed about needing help there. Because I really didn’t know what to do with the thing–and now I can work on my story tomorrow. And also because, let’s face it, I will never be really independent. And that is actually a very good thing.

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