I am terrible at letting people do things for me.
Buy me dinner and there is a reasonably good chance I’m already mentally calculating when I can buy the next one. Help me with something and I’ll start looking for a way to return the favor before you’ve even finished helping. Give me something for no particular reason and apparently my brain immediately opens a spreadsheet.
Okay, what do I owe you?
I’m beginning to think that’s not how this is supposed to work.
I know how to be useful. I know how to help. I know how to solve problems. Receiving is harder because receiving requires me to admit that maybe I need something too.
I used to think reciprocal meant equal. You do something for me, I do something for you. Like an Emotional Venmo. Debt settled. We’re even.
But relationships aren’t accounting systems. One person listens today. The other needs listening tomorrow. One person cooks dinner. The other does the dishes. One person is having a shitty day and gets more than they give.
Sometimes that imbalance lasts longer than a day.
Reciprocity isn’t everything always being a 50/50 split. It’s both people being willing to show up for each other over time.
For most of their lives, my relationships with my sons weren’t reciprocal in the traditional sense. I gave because I was Dad. Food, housing, time, money, rides, advice, protection, worry, and probably an impressive amount of shit they never knew I was doing.
That’s parenting.
But now they’re adults, and something has changed.
They check on me. Help me. Listen to me. Give me shit when I need it. There have been moments when I’ve realized that these people I spent decades caring for are now capable of caring for me.
That’s a strange adjustment.
I’m discovering that one of the things I value most about the relationship I’m building with my girl is that things move both directions.
I want to know what she needs, but she’s interested in what I need too. I want her to feel safe enough to tell me what she’s thinking, and I’m learning that I get to do the same.
I reach for her hand. Sometimes hers is already reaching for mine.
I don’t think relationships are 50/50. Sometimes they’re 70/30. Sometimes they’re 20/80. Sometimes one person is basically standing there saying, I have about twelve fucking percent available today.
The important part isn’t the math. It’s knowing that both people are still in it.
I’ve had people show up for me during the past several months in ways I never expected. Some of them probably don’t even realize how much what they did mattered.
A phone call. Food. Sitting with me. Checking in. Listening without trying to fix anything.
For someone who has always been more comfortable helping than being helped, accepting that wasn’t always easy. But refusing someone’s care isn’t necessarily independence. Sometimes it’s just refusing to participate in the other half of the relationship.
I’ve spent years saying that I “take” photographs. That’s actually kind of a shitty description. I can’t take a meaningful photograph unless somebody gives me something first.
They give me their trust. They give me an expression. A moment. Sometimes they let me see something they probably don’t show everyone else. Even photographing horses works that way. I can have the camera, the lighting and the plan, but the horse and the person still have to give me the moment.
Then I get to give something back.
Maybe that’s why photography has meant so much to me for so long. I’ve always thought I was capturing something. Maybe I’ve actually been participating in an exchange.
I’m probably still going to reach for the check. I’m probably still going to feel the urge to return a favor immediately. And when somebody asks if I need help, “I’m fine” will probably remain dangerously close to the front of my vocabulary.
But I’m learning.
I can give without keeping score. I can receive without owing. I can reach for someone’s hand. And sometimes I can just notice that hers was already reaching for mine.
Maybe that’s reciprocal.
Although I’m still probably fighting you for the dinner check.