The women where I work had an ornament exchange. I brought a felted angel hanging from a slender thread. Another woman brought a glass cardinal, and the one I took home was an owl carved from a gourd.  He hangs on my tree as if he belongs. 

There is a scene from Sleepless in Seattle that replays in my mind at times like these. Annie walks up to her parents' house carrying armloads of Christmas gifts for her family. Then at the end of the day she walks the other direction carrying different packages. In between there were gasps and ripping, and exclamations of surprise. But probably the difference in net worth before and after was a wash. 

This season I sold eighteen quilts, one of t shirts, others with fairy prints and flannel baby colors. Without any advertising beyond Facebook I sold sixty copies of our songbook, which is the culmination of a lifetime of composing. I in turn bought from other artists. I dropped the price of a quilt on gorgeous cards by a local photographer, and filled a bag with specialty honey for stockings from my cousin. To help me get ready I hired my son's girlfriend to clean.

That is a lot of trading. You clean for me, I sew for her. He photographs a pile of leaves, I write music. We create varying values for our time, paying more for legal advice than for gardening, yet each of us is part of the network.

Relationships are just that. We relate to one another through our offerings. Interdependence creates a web. John is happy to format the Christmas card, but I address and deliver them. I put gifts under the tree and he deposits his paycheck to pay for them.  

Orneriness slinks in when I let my efforts eclipse his. Noticing how capable I am comes easily, but appreciating his contribution takes attention. 

It would be possible to strive for complete self sufficiency, eliminating the need to trade or join forces. 

But that would be lonely.