Composing a Further Life

grueling and that anyone who was not strong enough would have to be carried out. We confronted a first lap up a long, narrow path, just steep enough to require an occasional handhold and full of bits of loose stone. Three quarters of the way up, I realized how badly prepared I was, and it seemed irresponsible to go on and become a burden on the others, so I stepped out of the line, knowing that the trucks would still be at the bottom of the hill to pick me up when I returned. But no, I was not allowed to stay behind. Enthusiastic comrades took my backpack and sleeping bag and pulled me into the line without so much as a canteen to carry, assuring me that, unburdened, I would be fine, that they were happy to share the load. For two days I managed, but just barely, dozing on the rocky ground at every rest stop. It was in the afternoon of the third day, on our way to a kibbutz where we would spend the night, that I collapsed.
    The next day, when the trek resumed and I was somewhat rested and still unburdened, someone asked if I would carry his camera and step out of the line from time to time to take a photograph of the group. I felt absurdly honored to be given a task I could do, the privilege of making a contribution, and found myself reflecting on the contrast between the ethos of mutual help that was fostered by the youth movement and my American emphasis on independence, on not being a burden on others. Half of me was euphoric and full of love for my comrades. Half of me was ashamed and resentful that they had exposed my weakness, angry at my need for help.
    Today, as I read the literature on aging, this story has a new meaning. Just as the theme of independence training is pervasive in American child-rearing advice, the literature on aging is full of discussions of independent living, the desire not to be dependent, the belief that one should take responsibility for oneself in order not to be a burden on others, stand on one’s own two feet. All this came into focus as I walked in procession with my new Polish acquaintances, ready to help me stand, and I was glad of their help.
    It seems to me that independence is simply an illusion. Certainly it is an advance when a toddler can walk across the room, deal with buttons and shoelaces, and brush his own teeth. Later on, he will be able to cross the street or the country alone, to manage money and time, and finally he will become an adult who can support a household. Perhaps the custom, rare in human history, of isolating an infant in a crib in a separate room fosters the ability to cope later on, or perhaps it merely reflects the goals of the adults. Certainly it was a step forward when the thirteen colonies declared and defended their independence from Britain. But the United States depends on Britain today as an ally, and Britain depends on us. We depend on the Arab world as suppliers of oil, and they depend on us as consumers of oil and exporters of a vast range of goods. Countries depend on each other to maintain freedom of trade and hope that the integrity of local markets will be sufficient to protect global financial stability; far too little has been said about the way in which financial irresponsibility and turbulence in the United States harms people around the world.
    Everywhere on the planet, the continuity of life depends on the rain forests and the bacteria in the soil and the plankton in the oceans, and we depend on the civility of other human beings and a vast network of exchanges to live our lives. Even where we “pay our own way,” we are dependent on others for that possibility and for the availability of what we need. Even where we think of ourselves as taking rather than receiving—as when a man pulls a fish out of the water for his meal—we are dependent on the lives we take. In many places the fisherman wisely thanks the fish—for letting itself be caught—or the river—for offering the fish—or God—for providing the needs of his life; but this is easily forgotten—the more so when we depend on unknown fishermen and a chain of unknown handlers and shippers to get the fish we eat to the store.
    With all these references to independence and to the need to avoid ever being dependent on others, we are caught in a false antithesis, for the choice is not between dependence and independence. The reality of all life is interdependence. We need to compose our lives in such a way that we both give and receive, learning to do both with grace,