Advice, Stories, or Confessions
I feel I’ve been a good listener for most of my life. I’ve been told this by friends and strangers alike who stumble into conversation with me about a topic they want advice for, but don’t outwardly ask. I’ve had a few encounters with people I have just met who give me the cliff notes of their life story only to realize as they are leaving that they have no idea who I am.
I’d like to think this is a super power, but I think my big brown eyes just come across as kind and trusting (well I can’t think of any other reason). I actually really like this little ability I have to listen intently to other peoples’ stories and offer insight. I’m only in my early 30’s, which is young yet just old enough to have adopted some pearls of wisdom from the various stages of my life so far.
enter cheesy quote
“Some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80. It’s not the time that matters, it’s the person.”
Okay so that sounds super deep and poetic and you might think that’s a direct quote of Galileo or Nietzsche, but it’s actually a line from the 10th doctor in the amazingly strange and wonderful British TV show, Doctor Who. It doesn’t matter where the quote came from, it has a riveting truth behind it.
I’ve lived lot of life so far for someone in their 30s. Granted, others before me had lived much more in their first 10 years than I have in 30. Times were different and I can admit I am much more spoiled than my parent’s generation. In 31 years I’ve lived in 11 homes in 5 states, been married, birthed 2 children, got divorced, worked at several various jobs, suffered loss, suffered a nasty legal battle, and about a million other smaller things I’m certain have taken years off my life.
I got my first gray hair when I was 27 from years of stress and a crazy life in general. These events have been exhausting but have helped to shaped who I am. They have also given me a strong sense of empathy. Life is hard and sometimes it really fucking sucks, but guess what? It’s sucked for everyone, so at least you’re not alone.
my biggest lessons came from bad decisions
Don’t assume I’m saying I want to tell you how to do things the right way because “I’ve never fucked up” (<—it was hard to even write that without spitting wine from my nose). I’ve made downright bad choices; those are the ones that stick to your memory the hardest. They’re kind of like a nasty scar. You can’t get rid of it, and while you may go a few days or weeks or even months forgetting it’s there, eventually you’ll see it in the mirror and cringe at the sight.
So if you can’t get rid of it, make good use of it. Tell people you got it while wrestling a shark during a mission to save sea turtles. Just don’t make it worthless. Bad decisions are the same way. You can either let the memory of them beat you down and terrify you into avoiding having to make any decisions (which will backfire), or you can pass on the lesson you learned to someone at the same crossroads you once stared down. Maybe they’ll take the better path if they hear your story.
Sometimes listening is all a person wants. No judgments, no opinions, just someone to listen and acknowledge they are being heard.
So while I am still building this site up and trying to get it rolling, I want to try something. The worst that could happen is that nothing happens at all and I start over.
I’m going to add a new page to Milk and Holy Water. It will be a place for you to vent a grievance, share a story, get something off your chest, or ask for advice. I may not offer the best advice, or any for that matter, but I bet I can find someone who can. For example, if you ask me what’s the best method for disassembling a carburetor/transmission/engine (I am literally just naming the car parts I can remember), I would probably tell you to not even deal with that mess and just “buy a new one”. This would be expensively terrible advice, so I’d probably just suggest YouTube or a mechanic.
If you don’t want advice because you know, I’m not a licensed therapist, you can just take the proverbial stress-monkey off your back. (Not to be confused with Brass Monkey which is, oddly enough, my 8 year old daughter’s favorite song, #ripMCA). Sometimes you need to do this because all that guilt/anger/sadness can become too fucking heavy.
So here’s how I want to do this:
Use the contact page to send me your story/question/grievance/waffle recipes….
These will be completely anonymous unless requested otherwise.
I will review them first to make sure they aren’t promoting any hateful rhetoric.; You’re better off applying for a job making political campaign ads, and I think the current administration is hiring.
Remember, something you might be facing could be something Greta in Germany is also facing, but too embarrassed to ask. Your story could help a stranger, and wouldn’t that feel nice?
I intend to add a page sometime down the road about music. So if you’re going to ask me which early 2000’s emo-punk band is better: Brand New or Taking Back Sunday (Brand New, obviously), I’ll be happy to answer it here. Just understand these 2 very important things:
- I will probably cover that and much more in the music section of this site at a later date.
- This question will undoubtedly cause the gagillionth debate between me and my boyfriend, as we both stubbornly dig our heels in and neither of us come any closer to changing the other’s opinion (even thought I’m right).