Thought for the day, 8 December 2022

Not being able to do stuff irks me. To be honest, I wouldn't necessarily even do the stuff if I could. But like everyone else, I want the choice to be half arsed, not have it thrust upon me.

Iain came round to do my section yesterday, after dinner. We're workmates and mates from years back, but we hadn't seen each other in ages. He'd messaged me, once, twice, maybe a few times.

He brought his extended whānau. There was J, who I recognised from catching the train, but we'd never spoken, and F, who I'd never met at all - but they're just good humans from down the road, who believe in people and kindness and our Upper Hutt community. They came to the door in working clothes and practical shoes. Iain backed the trailer up the driveway.

They worked until dusk, the three of them. They just said, pay it forward.

I'm looking out at their mahi. The only thing more onerous than mowing my lawn was convincing my stupid ass to accept the help. Both tasks required next level grit and persistence.

I don't know why accepting help is hard, when all my values tell me to do the opposite - tell me that my reticence to reach out is a lapse of courage, and maybe humility. I do know that I love the neatness and the order, the care to tidy the edges and to rake up the clippings; the smell of freshly cut grass.

We live and learn, even on the days when living seems effort enough, without the bloody learning. Maybe that’s part of what paying it forward means: the learning bit, the willingness. My lungs might be reluctant to expand sometimes, but my heart and my mind and my wairua don't have to be.

I watched out the window as the sun went down, and I made cups of tea for the workers.

Thank goodness for people and kindness and community. Before and after.

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