Seeking Counsel

The lost art of giving and receiving advice.

In an effort to be as actually honest in this present moment as I can be, I write as close to when I post here as possible; usually, the night before. Therefore, I’m subject to the whims of my Monday mood, and whatever comes out on this page is a combination of that mood and the ideas I’ve been tossing around in the recent few days.

This Monday feels low; I woke up feeling it, and it’s lingered. It’s not quite sadness, but melancholy, that has emerged from a couple of weeks of feeling deeply into the impending changes in my life; not knowing how (or if) they will happen. I’ve been contemplating what I want for these upcoming chapters while simultaneously reckoning with the fact that life is under no obligation to arrange for what I want. As I’ve experienced it before, this kind of melancholy means that inevitable transitions are coming, and I cannot really do anything except keep my eyes and heart open to see and feel it all.

Tell me, those esteemed wiser-than-me readers of which I know there are plenty—is all of life going to be like this? A sometimes clunky, sometimes graceful dance of figuring some things out, waiting to see what else happens, taking some action, changing your mind, and feeling a lot about all of it? Is there ever a point at which you know what you’re doing?

When I feel a wave of inevitable change coming, and am uncertain of its nature, I find myself gravitating toward advice. I want to hear what other people think and what they’ve done. I know, ‘advice’ often gets a bad rap, because no one can really know what you need and your intuition is ultimately what should be relied on. It’s become popular to not give advice, to just listen actively and validate (‘of course you feel that way,’ etc.), instead of offering your actual opinions and trusting that the other person will do with those opinions what they see fit. Sometimes, especially when we’re being delusional or stuck in the traps of our minds, we need someone to give their legitimate feedback instead of validating our delusions. The trick to receiving advice is to be open to it; the trick to giving advice is to make sure the other is open to it, and not obnoxiously suggest you know better about their life than they do.

Good advice is not telling people what they should do; good advice is just an opinion or idea, ideally a more objective one; that encourages you toward facing what you might be afraid of, or illuminates what you might not yet know. Despite what your most boldly individualist networks of neurons might say (‘you can do it all by yourself; no one knows what’s right for you except you‘), the truth is that often, you don’t actually know what to do. You cannot always see yourself or your life clearly; and as it turns out, you don’t have to figure it out alone. This is where other people come in handy: you can outsource what you do not know. You can seek counsel from friends, family, or

Cheryl Strayed

from Dear Sugars (the woman who wrote Wild, among other things, and gives excellent advice on her podcast and through her writing).

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A previous version of me is shuddering at the implication that one should ever *outsource* what their intuition should be telling them. That previous version of me, so it went, was also more susceptible to placing people on pedestals, and perhaps would have joined a cult circa 2016 if she hadn’t had such strong bold, individualist networks of neurons in her brain.

But, there is—of course there is—a friendly, nuanced middle ground between “outsourcing your life via pedestalization because you don’t trust yourself” and “not taking any advice because you think you always know what to do”. It is so tempting for me to live on either of those starkly defined poles, and alas, I often run from one to the other.

That friendly, nuanced middle ground can teach us that there is so much good stuff to learn from other people; and, that you are the one who must do the learning.

In my experience, asking for, receiving, and offering advice has been enormously important in helping me build trust within my relationships. The art of advice deepens connections, and the closest friends I’ve had are ones who listen genuinely and offer their honest responses, even if I disagree with what they have to say.

I also routinely seek counsel from people I don’t know—not via the classic self-help “do ABC to get XYZ” kind of way, but by reading and listening to people talk about their experiences. Hearing the twisted trajectories of those who have lived through more decades than I have is tremendously comforting: everyone who has gotten anywhere they’re proud of now has changed their mind countless times and tried different paths. Everyone I find myself looking up to has spent years scrapping around to figure it out, taken risks that might not pay off, and continuously adapted to what life throws their way. My short 25 years on this earth have not yielded me enough experience to confidently navigate challenges that I have not yet overcome: I want to hear from people who have done things I’m struggling with. I want to hear the complex, unexpected winding paths from people who have gotten farther than I have. Continuing to listen to others’ stories is teaching me that no matter what, life will take me in directions I cannot plan for, and that doubting myself and making mistakes is part of the process.

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Seeking and receiving advice is a humbling recognition that we don’t have it all figured out and we do need other people. Thank goodness, honestly. If we remember to approach advice-seeking with a deep trust in our own selves and competence, then the opinions of other people can enhance our lives and deepen our bonds with each other.

Good advice will take you closer to what feels right for you; and, you’re the only one who can really know what that is. You don’t have to act on anything that doesn’t feel right, but it’s worth taking in others’ opinions and experiences. Continue outsourcing, then consulting within.

May we all engage in the lost art of advice this week.

Maggie