I realized I was grappling with a First World sort of problem. I had food in my fridge and means to refill it, but the calendar told me it was almost summer, and I could not grill outside.

Being able to share my second floor condo with a dog and fire up a gas grill on the redwood stained deck only steps from my kitchen represented the main perks of ownership.

But I had no propane. My tank was empty, and I lacked the upper body strength to carry a full tank upstairs and confidence about adjusting the hoses and nestling it properly in my Weber Spirit’s tank cradle.

The man in the unit next door is having work done on his family’s place and has not been around for weeks, and I really don’t have an exchanging favors type of relationship with my other building neighbors. We buzz in Amazon Prime deliveries for each other, but that’s about it.

I didn’t want to hire someone from Taskrabbit or some such service and pay an hour-minimum rate for something that could be done in ten minutes.

I tried to make the exchange as easy as possible. I bought a new tank from Home Depot and talked them into the “exchange” price assuring them I’d bring in an empty within the week.

I texted a young father down the street with whom I frequently exchange pleasantries when we run into each other while walking our pooches at night.

I repeated my request for help when I ran into him and his wife dropping their daughter off at daycare later in the week. He immediately agreed to the idea but didn’t commit to a time.

A couple days later, he called me from the alley and Instructied me not to come downstairs, just to pop the hood of my trunk. He would carry the heavy metal cylinder upstairs directly.

Ten minutes later, the task was completed. My eyes fixed on the gauge. I was almost giddy.

I imagined having my friend, Holly, come over for brats and watching the sun set over the commuter tracks that run behind my building. I thought about gin and tonics, yet to be mixed, sipped slowly while the temperature rises.

Ah. My tank was full.

Two days later, I wrote a thank you text to my neighbor.

“Had my first bloody grilled burger of the season. My carnivore self thanks you.”

I was thrilled about knowing my tank was full.

My gratitude was not just about having a full belly. It was about agency; about having control over getting what I want, when I want, about exercising choice.

I’ve lately noticed commercials and various public service announcements about giving to food banks during the summer.  Many children greatly miss school lunch programs and donations tend to drop when the temperature rises.

I’ve also been thinking about freedom from worry and choice as qualities I’m especially grateful for. It changes how I feel about my life — not just having food now but knowing where it’s going to come from next week.

To me, having a full tank means feeling grounded in my ability to meet my needs and wants myself and then … giving away some of what I love.  Choosing what causes I want to support yields such a different feeling than merely responding to a solicitation.

Each month, I donate a modest sum to The World Food Program https://www.wfpusa.org/ and the American Civil Liberties Union,  https://www.aclu.org/  (Feeding America, which  helps you find local food banks, is also good. https://www.feedingamerica.org/)

Sharing freedom from worry over the source of next week’s meals and celebrating everyone’s freedom to choose (who they love, how they vote or plan their family) is part of how I maintain a full tank.

Knowing that giving away something of what I value is no small thing.