ASK FOR FAVOR, GET ADVICE. ASK FOR ADVICE, GET A FAVOR

 

Whoever came up with the above relationship advice knew of what they speak.

 

On the face of it, it doesn’t sound right. In real life it is just about spot on.

 

I noticed long ago that when asking for a favor, something I never found easy to do, others are full of helpful advice. But few of the advisers are there to be of practical help. Something about being asked for a favor causes a defensive/protective wall to be erected in the persons asked.

 

I had a friend who always asked for advice. Being asked for advice is flattering. Someone you care about values your thinking. This sets you into an expansive state. Now you don’t only want to offer your thinking on their issue, you want to be part of the solution. Being part of the solution on a practical level becomes your reward.

I was always right there, ready to do and be if that friend took my advice. I have to be honest and admit that said friend, when they asked for a favor, didn’t always get the best help from me. This is one of the ways I know the title of this post holds a truth.

 

Of course, I’ve been fortunate to have people in my life who follow their advice with practical help. The years have taught me they are not the rule but the exception. This makes them stand out as exceptional, and you know who you are.

©Anastasia Ames

WHEN THERE’S A HUMAN BEING IN FRONT OF YOU, PUT AWAY YOUR PHONE

 

Yes, I know. I know. But what if…

            It’s someone who rarely calls and I want to talk to them. Or…

                        It’s an answer to a (non-medical and not from a doctor) question I’ve been waiting for.

 Or…

                                    It’s one of my kids just wanting to chat. Or…

’NUFF with the “ORs,”--- these really can wait because there’s a live human being you are with, as in NOW.

 

I have few friends who agree and fewer who act as I do.

 

So, what do I do? With some of the above I send a one-sentence text saying I will respond later unless this is an emergency. So far, it only qualified as such once, and that is to this day my one exception.

 

I go one further and usually go for walks by myself sans phone. This is more than being present because I’m with a live human being other than myself; it’s about being with the human being that is me.

 

I suppose this sounds radical to many. I am blessed in the sense that I grew up in days of yore and have an idea of what life without phone-slavery is like, and I have little fear of keeping that aspect present in my life now.

 

You do you. I post this just as a wee consideration.

HOW NOT TO MAKE WHAT SOMEONE ELSE TOLD YOU INTO YOUR NARRATIVE

 

The above is not a simple matter. This applies to every notion and decision on life’s journey, but writers know it as how to handle critical feedback, whether from caring beta readers or less caring publishing professionals.

 

Long ago, when a beta reader to one of my manuscripts reacted to only one small aspect of the story with “how could this protagonist be so mean to her sister,” I scratched my head (the MC was in no way “mean” to her sister, nor was any aspect of the sisterly relationship central to the tale) until I remembered this beta had long complained about having a mean sister. This Beta was not on speaking terms with her only sister, something she mentioned often.

 

It was long ago, and it was also a pivotal moment in my addressing others’ input into my understanding of reality.

 

It’s their narrative. I have mine. I’ll always listen, weigh, and always, but ALWAYS, note who it’s coming from.

 

When I don’t know the person enough to evaluate, I put what they report on a mental shelf, to be looked at and considered along with other items as I move along. When I do, who they are and what I know about them is front and center.

 

I recently had two betas giving opposing advice that was not just incompatible; it was diametrically contradictory. I shelved it, and two months later I have decided (because I know them both, one much better than the other) to ignore both of their suggestions.

 

It’s my narrative. That’s why.

The DREAD of SEPTEMBER 1ST

Growing up in Israel, September 1^st was the first day of the school year. No matter what else would suggest bumping the beginning of our toil either forward or pushing it back, the schedule was as firm as it was non-negotiable.

Unless it fell on Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath. Oh, how we hoped it would. One year, when September began on Saturday, we rejoiced as if we had won the lottery. Our summer vacation got an extra day of freedom.

 

There was something sad that enveloped the last day of summer vacation. The whiff of changes to come loomed large, and when I reflect on that predictable feeling, which came like clockwork on August the 31^st, I realize I was always anxious and unhappy about change. Each new school year meant a new teacher, a new room (Israel didn’t have a “homeroom” system for elementary schools back then) and possibly a few new classmates to get used to.

 

It wasn’t the return to school, which I mostly liked. It was the return of the daily homework assignments, which I mostly disliked. When I reflect on my distain for homework, I realize very few assignments were stimulating or interesting. The few that were interesting made me happy. But most were a drudge and the word boring is too kind for the almost mindless regurgitation imposed. How can one not feel sad that many months of these daily backpacks laden with heavy cement were about to be placed on our backs, and for so-o-o many months until summer vacation begins again?

The last day of August bore the color of cement.

 

You know how you might dread something, like getting a shot or swallowing fish oil pills, and the dread grows inside your belly until it swells too large to be contained and floods your whole being? That about describes what August 31^st was like.

 

But, like the shot or smelly pill, once done it amazes how needless the dread should have been.

 

September 1^st, by the end of the school day, all was well and you are assured it will continue to be, rolling from week to week until the great summer vacation comes again.

 

So many years later, I still feel both August 31^st and September 1^st every year they come around.

I say to the me-of-then and to school children in Israel, it will be all right.

My very first September 1^st: still joyous with my best friend the first day of first grade, before we knew a thing about the vat of daily homework we were about to be dunked into.

The words behind us spell “Hello First Grade”