On Asking for Help
Seattle has been home for me since we arrived here, but this week I’ve been longing for my true home, Phoenix. Really what I want is to be near the people I can ask for help — my parents, Hart’s parents and friends who might as well be family.
I’ve got it all figured out. My dad would sand and paint the kitchen cabinets, my mom would cook comfort food and Hart’s mom would keep a steady supply of movies coming. Our friends would bring our favorite Phoenix foods and distract me in any way they could.
We have good friends in Seattle, but I make excuses about not asking them for help. One couple has just had a baby, another is getting married in a month, another is totally swamped with school. I wouldn’t be comfortable making even the slightest imposition.
It’s all good justification, but deep down I know that I if I were in Phoenix right now, I’d have excuses for why my family and friends there couldn’t assist me. I wouldn’t even ask. If I did enlist some support, it would only be from my parents. I like to think that I’m more willing to ask for help now than I was a year or two ago. But I’m pretty sure that the distance is just a convenient excuse.
What’s it about? Vulnerability? Pride? Pretending I’m better off than I really am? All that and then some, I’m sure. Until I figure it out, Hart bears the responsibility of doing all that I need. Poor guy.