In her poem "Is/Not," Scorpio poet Margaret Atwood tells a lover, "You are not my doctor, you are not my cure, nobody has that power, you are merely a fellow traveler." I applaud her for stating an axiom I'm fond of, which is that no one, not even the person who loves you best, can ever be totally responsible for fixing everything wrong in your life. However, I do think Atwood goes too far. On some occasions, certain people can indeed provide us with a measure of healing. And we must be receptive to that possibility. We shouldn't be so pathologically self-sufficient that we close ourselves off from tender help. One more thing: Just because that help may be imperfect doesn't mean it's useless and should be rejected.

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