The First Lesson

An arcade nickel on a string, dropped into the slot and cunningly pulled back out again: this is the nature of my ungenerous generosity. I discover, suddenly, that which I have somehow known all along. That when I give, I do not give up, but have sought instead to keep it all by keeping you in my debt. I tie you to me, demand something in return, which is to say everything. It is hard to submit oneself to the vulnerability of giving without strings. But also, it is hard to be confident when your confidence rests on building heavier armor and hard to love those whom you also fear. Does the rose refuse to bloom because the sun it seeks will one day wither it? If it stays a tightly furled bud on the branch, it will never know light or warmth or beauty. It will still die, and worse still, die without releasing its delight into the world. The end is the same: how we get there is what matters.