I enjoy watching the Monk show on TV. Mr Monk is a fictional private detective and former police officer who suffers from the obsessive compulsory disorder, whatever that means, but basically he's a nutcase with impossible antics, and a cheapskate to boot. He's afraid of milk, can't stand anything asymmetrical or counting to an odd number, fastidious to a criminal extent, requires a wipe after touching no matter what but doesn't want to pay for it.
But Mr Monk is also surpassingly brilliant. He picks up clues and interprets them in a way no one else can, thus able to solve the most bizarre mysteries. The police count on him whenever they run into a wall, which they have a tendency to do.
Sometimes I feel so aggravated by Mr Monk's crazy oddball behavior that I wonder how his friends and colleagues can possibly put up with him and not relegate him to an asylum. But right there and then he always gives me an answer: he solves the mystery. Mr Monk does take a lot from his friends, driving them all nuts, but he also gives back a lot by catching the criminals.
So it all boils down to an accounting of taking and giving. The more you take, the more you have to give. After all, c'est la vie.