CAN’T TOUCH THAT
Advice Should Be Consensual
Don’t molest people with your wisdom unless they say Yes
This morning I was feeling untethered. Squirrelly. Jiggeddy jaggedy. Unfit for human interaction. An empty shell looking for the clam that wiggled out. The clam that moonlights as my brain.
I called my friend Lizzie and vomited my disequilibrium through the phone’s transmitter. Metaphorically. That’s okay because we take turns discharging our emotional discontent. It’s a two-sided spew. We never disgorge our grievances at the same time so it works for us.
Lizzie listened and asked me if I wanted advice.
She refuses to offer unsolicited advice on principle and because she values her time. She requires my consent before she unleashes her psychological mumbo jumbo.
If she senses I’m only venting, she puts in her earbuds and listens. To Taylor Swift. However, if I scream “Yes! I am asking for your advice. Help me!!” Lizzie removes her earbuds, does her mandatory Taylor Swift crossing of herself, and says, “Okay. Are you sure you want my advice?”
This is her two-factor authentication to make sure I know what I’m asking of her.
