"We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond."

— Gwendolyn Brooks

Lately, I’ve needed a lot of help. And for someone like me, that makes the things I want and need to get done feel inconvenient—sometimes even impossible.

For the first 40 years of my life, I prided myself on being the one who had the space, the tools, the equipment—and at least some of the know-how—to get things done. I placed a high premium on self-reliance, or at least on being prepared: always having what I needed close at hand.

I used to say there’s nothing more satisfying than having the right tool for the job. I’d get frustrated when I couldn’t complete something the way I envisioned because I lacked the right tool, the right space, or the right experience.

Over time, I built a life where that rarely happened. I spent years—and hundreds of thousands of dollars—creating a home and work environment that met nearly every need. I designed a kitchen from the ground up, tailored to the way I love to cook and entertain. I had a spacious garage for projects, a full basement that doubled as a workshop and home gym, and a beautiful historic downtown office and studio, equipped with the tools, technology, and team that supported my career as a designer.

I had almost everything. And when I didn’t, I had the means to get it. It was an incredible privilege.

And yet, somehow, it never felt like enough.

Looking back, I can see how much of my self-worth had become entangled with what I had and what I knew. Always needing to be the provider in order to feel good about myself.

And then—after a gut-wrenching season of soul-searching—I walked away from it all. Suddenly, I had almost nothing.

The circumstances surrounding that decision left me feeling isolated and alone. In that moment, I had little more than the clothes in my bag and my car. If I was going to have a roof over my head, I had to depend on someone else to provide it.

Thankfully, two dear friends opened their home to me, offering a safe place to land while I began piecing together who I was and what this next chapter might look like. There were no strings attached, no perceptible judgment. Even now—four years later—thinking about their generosity still brings me to tears in a way nothing from my former life ever could.

Depending on others didn’t make me weak. It made me more human. And humans are wired for connection.

I’m deeply grateful to my friends for taking me in. And I’m equally grateful to myself—for loving myself enough to accept their offer. Though they were already close friends, our relationship deepened in ways I will always treasure. The bond we formed during that season is something I’ll carry with me forever.

"Sometimes asking for help is the most meaningful example of self-reliance."

— Fred Rogers

That experience—and the love and generosity it revealed—made it possible for me to begin a new chapter: buying a van and starting a minimal, nomadic life with my partner, Leslie.

Though I chose a simpler life, it’s still hard to accomplish what I once could with far fewer resources. Living—even part-time—in a van makes me vulnerable. It forces me to rely on others. I can't carry everything I might need, and since public land is limited east of the Mississippi River, where we now have a home base that we share with others through Airbnb, we often rely on the kindness of friends and acquaintances who let us park in their driveways and yards.

At times, I feel inadequate or self-conscious. Worse, I sometimes feel ashamed—like I’ve become an imposition or a sympathy case: a middle-aged vagabond mooching off others.

None of this is actually true. Most often, people are excited to host us and happy for the connection. Longtime friends cheer us on for living in a way that allows us to see each other more, and more intimately. Newer acquaintances often treat our visits as a mark of trust and closeness. Some have even felt left out when we parked in someone else’s driveway.

I can’t begin to count the relationships that have formed—or deepened—because we’ve chosen to live so openly, so vulnerably.

"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much."

— Helen Keller

I was talking recently with a friend about what makes a “good neighbor,” and I realized many of the best neighbors I’ve had shared a common thread: mutual dependence.

We borrowed tools, shared food and advice, swapped skills, and had keys to each other’s garages.

Need a truck to haul something heavy? A one-off tool? A cup of milk? Extra parking? Help getting a tree off your fence?

These were all invitations to connect, to be useful, to belong. And, not to mention required each of us to own fewer things.

"Interdependence is a higher value than independence."

— Stephen R. Covey

Western capitalist culture prizes self-reliance above all else. It idolizes ownership and rugged individualism. It urges us to accumulate—so we never have to need anyone. And once we’ve taken more than enough, it celebrates our ability to give some back.

It tells us that only the fittest survive.

But Darwin’s “survival of the fittest” has been tragically misinterpreted—used to justify violent, exclusionary ideologies. The phrase has fueled a “dog-eat-dog” worldview that ignores the evolutionary truth: the species that survive do so through cooperation, adaptability, and interdependence. Even when that's not what it looks like to we humans.

Relying on others isn’t a liability. It’s life-giving. It’s what keeps ecosystems, relationships, and communities thriving.

And it takes strength, and courage.

"We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow [beings]."

— Herman Melville

No one taught me about the beauty, healing, and sustainability of relying on others with intention. I didn’t know that releasing control—embracing dependence—would change my life so profoundly.

But I know it now.

I’ve felt the gratitude. I’ve seen the transformation in myself and in others. I see the power—and promise—of dependence.

With gratitude,

Matt

Journal Prompts

In what ways have you tied your sense of worth or identity to your ability to do things on your own?

Describe a time when you had to rely on someone else.

What emotions come up when you think about asking for help?

Who in your life demonstrates strength through interdependence?