The post where I finally get to be Dear Abby but I’m not nearly as good as I thought I’d be

There’s something you should know about me.  I give too much advice.  I love to give advice.  Some might think it’s arrogant, but it really stems from a deep desire to help people.  (And maybe a teeny, tiny feeling that I might possibly have a morsel of wisdom to share.)  When people start telling me about a concern or a struggle, my brain automatically makes a list of my favorite talks, quotes, scriptures, life experiences, etc. that seem to be a perfect fit, and those things totally bulldoze their way from my brain to my mouth. I swear it’s a little involuntary.  So if my siblings are reading, please know my unsolicited advice-giving compulsion comes out of LOVE (and maybe a little chemical imbalance in my brain).

Given this gift/defect I have, I’ve always kind of fantasized about being a Dear Abby type person, kind of like the bearded guru who sits on a mountain and answers people’s deepest questions (but more like an unshowered housewife who sits on an office chair with chocolate chips and Pringles while her kids watch Super Why and makes up answers for people who somehow thought she might have a modicum of insight.)  What can I say?  I dream big.  Well, Continue reading

Advertisements