My Big Fat Momentous Decision

I feel GREAT today! Better than I’ve felt for days. Not physically, but emotionally. Want to know why?

Today I’ve vowed to keep my big mouth shut.

I’ve been struggling this week with the number of people who have recently solicited my advice yet haven’t taken it. I realize people aren’t obligated to take my advice, so I can’t fault them. However, I CAN change my response to these requests. And I’ve made the liberating decision to decline such requests—no more advice, solicited and otherwise.

If someone wants my input, I’ll come up with something. Input is easier to dispense than advice. It can be as simple as one thought that, when added to the clamor of all the other input the person has reeled in from friends and family, may or may not get used. When people ask for input, they’re comparing options. One person’s input may carry no more weight than anyone else’s.

But advice is altogether different. There is an implied trust between the asker and the giver—an implied respect—that compels me to honor the request with supreme thoughtfulness, seriousness, and compassion. It requires consideration of many scenarios and their outcomes. Guiding the person through these possibilities to make the best decision takes time and energy. And I believe the advice should be regarded by the receiver in the same light.

I’m not alone in this. I know other folks who are bothered when people—especially family members—ask for their advice and then subsequently find that it’s been ignored. Often, people who ask for advice have no idea why the people they ask get upset. I believe advice-dispensers must view this as a communication problem—a language glitch and not a personal snub. It’s up to us to ascertain whether individuals want our advice or our input. If we have to explain the difference, fine. It may be the only way to prevent future hurt feelings, which can jeopardize relationships.

Anyway, today I’ve decided that mum’s the word. And mum feels fine.

[Art: Three Wise Sock Monkeys—See No Evil, Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil by PeeWee's ClayHouse.]

Spare a Few Words for Our Graduates

As I was enjoying the sunshine in our backyard the other day, I couldn’t stay focused on the book in my hands. Instead, my ear kept wandering to a nearby volley of bird calls. Finally, I saw the reason. This little guy was in flight rehearsal, which meant he spent a whole lotta time calling out to Mama (and listening to whatever she said in return) and fluttering his wings before each takeoff.

His practice route was from the roof edge to the tree just on the other side of the driveway. Whenever he managed to get in the air, his landing gear dangled and wiggled—eager to hit something solid. He succeeded every time, thankfully.

’Tis the season: Young birds prepare to leave the nest, and young college graduates prepare to do the same. (Correction: Young grads prepare to leave academia; many will have to return to the old nest because a recession has made it impossible to do otherwise.)

I’ve been noodling on writing my own little commencement address for today’s graduates. Phrases like First, Do No Harm and Life Isn’t Fair bob around my gray matter. Kindness, awareness, compassion bob there, too.

But then I thought, Why not ask Lull readers to weigh in on this? Why not include a collective of advice, encouragement, warnings, and inspiration?

So tell me—to borrow from Dorothy Allison’s Two or Three Things I Know for Sure—one thing (or more) that you know for sure now about life that you didn’t know in your early 20s. Or tell me one thing you’ve always known that might help others to know, too. (I, for instance, should have listened to my grandmother’s advice ages ago.)

If you’re too shy to post anything in the Comments section, I understand. But how about shooting me an e-mail instead and I’ll post your contribution (with or without your identity, as you please)? You can send your remarks to lilloflull at gmail dot com.

I look forward to hearing from you…

The Guiding Light of Fiction

You may have noticed that I finally finished a couple of books this week—Iris and Her Friends and The Bell. The latter is a fictional study of cause-and-effect, and of the myriad ways people love one another. Oh, there were the other typical themes Murdoch so often employs in her fiction (religion, goodness, history, morality), but these two were the lightest-and-breeziest of the lot and the only ones I had any inclination to pay attention to. I liked this description of the consequences of our actions/behavior:

“Our actions are like ships which we may watch set out to sea, and not know when or with what cargo they will return to port.”

This reminds me that even our most thoughtful actions may have unintended results, may lead to consequences that are out of our control. It reminds me that actions are never short-term, that every action has echoes that endure through time and space. Act with care.

This morning I tackled the difficult task of choosing a new book to start. As I scanned the spines on a couple of bookshelves, I delighted in spotting about 10 more books I could add to the sale. Then I found a big-type, short novel by Jeanette Winterson that seems perfect for my current mental state. In the first few pages of Lighthousekeeping, I read this timely advice:

“And if you can’t survive in this world, you had better make a world of your own.”

That is just what I intend to do, too. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I feel better already knowing I have a goal. And a new story to read.

Who needs self-help books when fiction offers both pleasure and guidance?

[Pigeon Point Lighthouse photo by Tyler Westcott.]