The serendipity of it all makes me smile. A friend has a standing offer to pick up items from the local Whole Foods, and since we were out of our favorite condiment for all things tofu, I sent a message. Not being familiar with where it sits on the shelves he inquired on social media for information. Several people chimed in, including one woman who said she had a bottle she no longer needed. She lives across the street from him. In offering it to me, she solved the problem even before he left his house. I happily went to pick it up. 

 

It all felt like a sublime analogy for how we can lean on our interdependence in these uncertain times. The instance was not unique, even if it was charming. Often people in my community ask for or offer generators, or bike racks, or garden tomatoes, or elastic to people who have or need them. The connections happen in a few clicks and everyone benefits. 

 

Intangibles, too, can be transferred from one to another. Encouragement, child care, prayer, and laughter all whirl around filling holes even as they overflow from abundance. 

 

When we lived in California we were more isolated. We had friends who lived five or ten miles away that we loved, but there were only two families on our street that we shared a meaningful connection with. I didn't even know the names of people three houses away, much less their needs. 

 

Division is an insidious device for amplifying our vulnerability. But the antidote is closer than we could possibly imagine.