After introducing
myself to a few people at a recent event, one guy
said, "I know you -- you write that diary advice
column for the
Reader! Hey, those questions aren't real,
right? You, like, write 'em yourself and then answer
'em, huh?"
I wanted to be agreeable and nod but found myself
shaking my head left to right. "I don't know what
you're talking about, man. I don't give advice;
sometimes I just suggest what I think is appropriate
behavior for specific situations." Unable to handle
the disappointed look on the guy's face, I added, "But
I totally know what you're talking about and I
agree -- some of those questions seem bogus."
I once wrote to an advice columnist. I asked
him whether or not it was appropriate for me
to help "out" a coworker. I explained in my letter
how obvious it was that this buddy of mine was
gay but that he had yet to accept himself as
such. I withheld my buddy's recent comment over
lunch -- "If you're drunk and you kiss a guy
down there, it doesn't count." -- but I made
it clear that I had "good reason" to believe
what I did and admirable intentions to help my
acquaintance live a more rewarding, true-to-himself
kind of life.
Several months later, I stopped checking for
an answer. I realized it was silly to wait around
for someone to tell me what to do. I knew the
scene, I knew the players (and for which team
they played), and I was quite capable of directing
myself. I contemplated my options and decided
to do absolutely nothing.
It's not your dog
, I advised myself.
You are not responsible for his choices, only
yours. If pretending he's a straight man helps
him sleep at night, who are you to intervene?
You already have a life to live -- why don't
you focus your attention on that instead of fretting
over whether or not your buddy is fulfilling
his, uh, destiny.
I wondered what kind of credentials one might
need in order to advise others. A degree in psychology?
Nah, knowing
why
people do things isn't the same as knowing what
people
should
do. My father says, "Every marriage and family
counselor is fucked up," which is what drives
them to study psychology in the first place.
Dad thinks the only way a person can earn a reputation
for sagacity is by displaying empirical evidence.
That is, the only people qualified to give advice
in a certain area are those people who have had
personal success in that same area.
According to the criteria above, I feel I am
competent to hand out tips on how to make a relationship
rewarding. Why? Because I am one half of a mutually
beneficial, healthy, communicative, and exciting
relationship going on five years. Instead of
going through the whole question-and-answer charade,
I'll give pointers using recent, real-life examples
of how my man and I resolve conflicts and keep
our partnership scintillating.
Don't let snaps escalate into arguments. Yesterday
I was having great difficulty trying to peel
a hard-boiled egg. When David suggested I run
water over it, I spit out something along the
lines of, "What the hell do you know, anyway?" Then
I returned my gaze to the task at hand, hurling
follow-up expletives at the egg. David could
have snapped back. He could have told me to shut
up or suggest I relocate my problem egg to some
unnamed orifice. But he didn't. Instead, in a
soft voice, he asked, "What's bothering you?
It's not like you to get so worked up over an
egg." People are not usually angry for the reasons
they think they are. I was stressed about something
else and taking it out on the egg and then David,
who got in the line of fire. It takes one person
to snap. It takes two to squabble. By never taking
vented frustrations personally, we are able to
catch and squash 99 percent of potential arguments
before they begin.
