There’s a balance between independence and dependence. In nature, the process is demonstrable. You see tides clearly ebb and flow; ecosystems wan and replenish; grasses die and return from season to season. It is a reliable balance that, while endlessly influenced by external factors, clearly shows a sustainable process. A expected give and take. The same is not easily said for humanity.

In today’s world, independence and dependence are in a constant flux, with no demonstrable pattern. In one vein, it is easier to be independent, given all the tools (social media, phones) at your disposal. In another, you are crippled by just how easy it is to dial for help or share a thought that’s been plaguing you. We are both oceans independent of others, and rivers that pour into peripheral channels, reliant on one another for balance.

The most sustainable model is the river mentality. We all pour into each other — as time, energy, and resources allow — in a healthy, supportive way. We do not isolate, or wall off our emotions. We live. We offload excess weight to people willing to receive it, knowing that the effort would be reciprocated. We support each other so that there is something to support, and a system to rely upon.

If you’re like me, however, you’ve likely ignored the river scenario. Not because you don’t want to rely on others, but because life has consistently taught you that you are your most reliable source. Too many people have come to your well of resources and drawn, drawn, drawn away from it until you’re left with silt, sand, and the sharp grit of survival on your tongue. You exist. You thrive. You set your own expectations. You don’t wait for others. You simply do, because if anyone can be relied upon, it’s you. It is an honorable mentality to have.

Until it isn’t.

Eventually, it all adds up. Usually in the most inconvenient time and manner possible.

For example, it could happen as you are staring down the massive two-foot wall of snow and ice erected like a barricade on either side of your car after two weeks of erratic sickness. Your dog — restless from being shut in with a sick mom for several days — is pressing at your heels, and the too-tight noose of an outgrown career is chaffing at your neck. Of course, you have other jobs, too — passions you’re turning into reality — but they are still responsibilities. More tasks you’ve convinced yourself you can handle on virtue of your determination, drive.

But drives are hindered by barriers — especially the cold, self-created ones you’ve built up around yourself for protection. At that point, independence isn’t helping you anymore; it’s hindering your peace.

So, you ask yourself: What needs to change?

The answer isn’t simple. Partially because it requires two things: (1) a willingness to ask and accept help, and (2) reliable, willing people to provide that help without taking advantage. It is the very opposite of (2) that caused the hyper-independence in the first place.

It helps to realize that we are never truly independent. Not really, even if we’ve convinced ourselves otherwise. Humans are nature as much as any creature, or prairie. We’ve just convinced ourselves we’re not. We’ve fooled ourselves into believing that somehow, we can be excessively independent of one another without obligation; but our obligations to one another are written into our lives. Your rent ebbs and flows based on the people who live around you; the air you breathe is suffused with the energy, potential of your roommates and neighbors; and the snow around your parking space is directly correlated to how people parked around you (or the careless actions of the damn snowplow).

So, you move forward with small steps.

Step one is realizing that you are part of something greater, like nature. Let that mean whatever it means for you — spiritual, physical, or otherwise.

Step two is accepting that you can trust others. Maybe not to plow snow in the right direction, but you can anticipate a neighbor would lend you their shovel, or a contact, or another tool to help you, if you only asked.

Step three is surrendering to the realization that you deserve to have people there for you. Consistently. Without malice or guilt. Perhaps in the way you were there for others, before someone abused that power — before someone showed you how unreliable and draining some people can be. Trust that your people will find you.

Step four is the cliché “start small.” Have a conversation without anticipating someone will ask something of you. Stop neurotically staying 15 steps ahead of things so that you don’t have to ask others for help. Stop leaving your boxing gloves loose so that you can slip in and out of them without asking for help, or arriving 30 minutes early for things in anticipation that something could go wrong.

Being human isn’t easy. It never will be. But the act of being human does not denote isolation. We are just as connected as anything in nature — we just have to allow ourselves to echo its give and take.

And to ask for a neighbor’s snow shovel.