The universe supports me in every way.

The chair you are sitting on holds you because somebody in a factory got a weld right and never thought about it again.

The floor underneath it was sized by a person who has been dead for thirty years. There was bread on a shelf at seven this morning, which means somebody else was awake at three. None of it was aimed at you personally, and that is exactly why it is easy to overlook and impossible to feel watched by.

Whether you call it the universe or simply other people getting on with their lives, the arrangement holds all day and asks nothing. You are being carried by an enormous quantity of work that nobody will ever let you thank them for.