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The Advice Epidemic

The urge to convince others is overwhelming. On the surface, it appears virtuous to help, to instruct, to coach, to guide, to motivate. Giving advice gives the impression of nobility, as if we have a obligation to ameliorate the plight of the world, to assist people headed the “wrong” way, to point people in the “right” direction. We are all middlemen in the middle of a self-help epidemic.

Just look at social media.
Overnight experts espousing advice:
You should wake up early.
You shouldn’t eat that.
You should embrace change.
You shouldn’t get anxious.
You should change your habits.
You shouldn’t wear socks with sandals. (Okay, maybe they’ve got a point with that last one.)

But, really, there is no “should.”
There never was. And without that sandcastle of “shoulds,” all advice begins to crumble in the wind.

Each time we advise someone, it may feel like it’s arising from a place of love, but it’s actually the ego saying I know what’s best for you.

The implication of which is disconcerting:
I am right, you are wrong,
and if you subordinate yourself to me,
I will fix you.

How is this loving?

There is no bigger ego than that of the Helper. The helpful man simply cannot help himself. He feels obligated to tear an eagle from the sky to save it from falling, to drag a dolphin to shore to rescue it from drowning.

This is the opposite of helpful. I know because I’ve done it a thousand times. And for that, I’m sorry—a thousand apologies.

My first inclination is to delete it all— every exhortation, recommendation, suggestion, and opinion. But we cannot start over by erasing the past. We can only move forward in the Everlasting Now.

Perhaps I developed an allergy to advice because propagating it only feeds the ego. The ego is not a “bad” thing. Just like fire is not “good” or “bad.” It can warm you; it can burn you. The desire to help isn’t good or bad, either. It appears for myriad reasons,
all of which belong to the ego. And fortifying the ego is a surefire way to decrease the peace.

Advice? No!
I don’t want to help you;
I don’t want to not help you, either.
I want to Love you.

Love requires speaking the Truth
and remaining neutral as to whether it “helps” anyone. If it helps, that’s fine.
If not, that’s fine, too. The reception is up to the recipient.

The Truth is exposed through honest observation, through seeking and awareness, through an examination of obstacles and a deeper understanding of the way things are.

To be clear, this is not a recommendation.
I don’t think you “should” do anything.
I’m not arguing my “point” in this blog.
Nor am I urging you to comprehend my “message.”
I don’t hope to convince you of anything.

The moment we try to convince someone,
we have lost the plot.

To convince, to influence, to prove oneself—
these are all ribs lining the same umbrella.

The Truth does not require persuasion, coaxing, or coercion—
it is the Truth whether you’re convinced or not.
As is Love.

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Addition by Subtraction

We have too much.

Too much stuff.

Too much stress.

Too many obligations.

Yet we don’t have enough.

Not enough time.

Not enough money.

Not enough energy.

Looks like we’ve stockpiled the “wrong” things, and that’s why we don’t have enough of the “right” things.

Of course, “right” and “wrong” are just moralizing constructs. There are no right or wrong material possessions. The reality is we have too many things that increase our misery. As a result, we lack composure, contentment, calmness. Soaking in suffering, we glimpse occasional moments of happiness. We attempt to reprise those moments by acquiring new possessions. We try to “fix” the misery by gathering objects that make us happy.

We act as if it’s an inventory problem. As if that Instagrammable couch or that area rug will “spark joy.” As if that indoor planter or that vertical bookcase will complete us.

As if that new shirt or those skinny jeans will make us anew.

Subtract the “wrong” things;

add the “right” things.

That’s the key, right?

Yes, that’s the key to anxiety, restlessness, and dissatisfaction. We cannot consume our way out of discontent.

Well, we can—but only for a fleeting moment.

It’s not unlike a drug addict’s high.

We can purchase pleasure,

but, in doing so, we also purchase future pain. An addict is never “fixed” after getting his “fix.”

For after that spark of pleasure, misery always awaits.

There are no exceptions—

pleasure and misery are two sides of the same coin. We’ll never have all the right things, because there are no “right” things.

That’s the lie we’ve been sold by advertisers and by confused “influencers” who don’t know any better. Yes, some objects may enhance our lives,

but only after we subtract the attachment that gets in the way. Peace cannot be packaged and placed on a conveyor belt.

It is buried beneath the hoard we’ve added to our lives. The path to misery is cobbled with addition. The path to peace is uncovered with subtraction.