For more than three decades Willie Nelson’s Stardust album has been an enduring favorite of mine. Among other selections, it includes his inimitable rendition of George and Ira Gershwin’s “Someone to Watch over Me.” Often the lyrics get me thinking of what it would be like to meet a man who is comfortable celebrating my fierce independence and watching over me. Since no one with that distinctive combination has ever come along, I have remained steadfastly self-sufficient.

That approach to life worked well for me until a few weeks ago, when I fractured a bone in my ankle. I realized the moment it happened that I would have to cancel my impending trip to London. A broken ankle is a vacation deal-breaker, especially when the destination requires me to be on my feet all day exploring new neighborhoods, visiting museums, shopping and running up and down tube stop stairs.

After I accepted the fact that I would not be taking a trans-atlantic flight any time soon, I faced an even greater challenge – getting through the day. The doctor had prescribed an ankle boot and crutches. That sounded reasonable, except that I could not drive to the medical supply store to pick them up. Then there was the newly impossible feat of cooking my meals, not to mention retrieving my mail from the community box up the road and hauling the garbage and recycle cans down my long driveway to the street.

I rarely slow down, and I have never been literally stopped in my tracks. Even worse, my tenacious spirit of autonomy rebelled against the notion that I would have to depend on others to assist with the daily necessities. But in the absence of my own ability to accomplish even the smallest tasks, that became an imperative.

I called Whit and Jo Parker, who live across the street. Immediately they were at my door with dinner and suggestions regarding how they could help. It was a relief to surrender my mailbox key to them, along with a portion of my can-do attitude. Word spread faster than a tweet from Ashton Kutcher, and soon Anne McAlpin was chauffeuring me to the pharmacy in Phoenix to get my “gimp” paraphernalia.

With each passing day I relaxed a little more, grateful for my friends’ generous and uncompromising support. Whit actually drove to my doorstep to pick me up so that I could watch the Oscars at their house, my booted foot securely propped up on an ottoman.
I can now accomplish simple things I used to take for granted, like playing a CD. As I was listening to Willie this morning, the words of the Gershwin classic meant something altogether different to me.

I have someone to watch over me – a number of someones, in fact. They are my steadfast friends and neighbors, my community in sickness and in health. I do not need to accomplish everything on my own all the time. How reassuring – and liberating – is that?

Gates McKibbin moved to Jacksonville after working and living in the Bay Area for three decades as a consultant to major corporations. This column contains her musings about this remarkable community and her new life far away from the fast lane.