reciprocity Q take and give to provide equal satisfaction over the long run; mutuality; switching often between being the number and its reciprocal; ... 040309 ... ovenbird You tell me about your new therapist. He wants to make a map of your support systems. You’re going to need a sturdy network in the earth rending days ahead. So he helps you make a chart that depicts the relationships that will keep you from crumbling. You put me at the top, on the same line as a sibling, and I want to cry when you tell me this. “He asked if we have a reciprocal relationship. He wanted to know which one of us gives more to the friendship and which one takes more,” you explain. “I said I thought it was pretty even.” But then you look unsure. “Do you think it’s pretty even? Do you think I support you?” I don’t hesitate. I say, “Yes! Yes of course you support me.” I’m thinking back to my darkest days when you were the only person who didn’t give up on me. When I was being eaten alive by suicidal depression you were the only friend who kept calling, who kept inviting me out into the world. You still wanted to be my friend even when I was not in any shape to be a friend to anyone and I have never, ever forgotten it. The thing with reciprocity is that it doesn’t mean that everything is even at every moment. There were days when it was me who couldn’t keep my head above water and you were the one throwing me a life line. Now it’s my turn to stand on the shore, a stalwart lifeguard, my focus never wavering. And it’s true that you don’t have the capacity now to listen in the way you once did but I don’t see this as a failure of friendship. It’s my turn to feed the embers of your soul to make sure it doesn’t burn down to ashes. You once did the same for me, and I can’t think of reciprocity more powerful than that. I won’t tell you that I’m lonely now. I won’t tell you that I miss our afternoon walks and the days when we could go out for lunch spontaneously. I won’t tell you that I miss your boundless energy and your insistence on pushing me into adventures wilder than I would choose for myself. I won’t burden you with the way I hurt in your absence. It’s my turn to keep watch. I will stand on the ramparts and throw my gaze to the fire flecked horizon. I will stand here, my hands going numb in the cold, until something like morning slips under the door of your life. I don’t know how long it will take but I will stand here until my muscles seize and I forget what birdsong is, if I have to. I miss the days when we could stand side by side watching the relentless turn of the world and I know we’ll have those days again. For now I’m guarding the possibility of a future you’ll want to wake into. You can tell your therapist that I’ll be here. Always. 251007 what's it to you? who go blather from