Life loves me and contributes to me constantly.

A road was resurfaced before you drove on it.

Water arrived at the tap having been tested at four in the morning by somebody whose name you will never know. The recipe cooked on Sunday was worked out by a stranger's grandmother in a country you have never visited.

Almost nothing you used today was made by you. Most of it was made by people who will never know you exist, and who mostly did it well.

Whatever you want to call the source, the contributions are constant, largely invisible, and they do not stop during a bad year.