I’m declaring today the National Moratorium on Advice Day.
There’s way too much advice directed toward women in particular. A tidal wave flooding magazines, websites, radio shows, television talk shows, spouting from lovers, family, friends and strangers.
Listen up. A list of 10 ways to do this or to avoid that does not constitute a life philosophy. Come on. Do these lists really sound like they add up to a strategic plan?
What to wear now? How about the clothes in your closet?
The top 10 jobs. Until the economy tanks, again.
How to tell if he’s interested in you? Check for his marriage certificate then ask down at the DL club.
I’m opting out because
… too often these folks prove to be all too human.
… if I’m going to be wrong, damn it I want to make my own mistakes on my own terms.
… trying to leap over every crack in the sidewalk’s no way to live.
… as soon as I make moves, here come the sisters of mercy and the patriarchs of paternalism with their ad-vice. They leave and I feel depressed, demobilized and despondent. That doesn’t seem right.
Think I’ll take my chance on figuring it out for myself, soliciting wise counsel and trusting God.
As a matter of fact, unless I’ve asked for your advice, I have some advice for you. MYOB, my sister. ST*#, my brother.