The Horror of Advice
There is this horror lingering every time people asking me for advice. A rather implicitly philosophical issue of anxiety for deciding whether I am a good or bad person.
I’ve been wondering why it is easier to tell people instead of myself on how things should be done. My brain seems to most enjoy thinking for someone else than me. I am annoyed more than ever to finally know what is going on.
First, I am gonna take my curiosity to the court. It is the utter motivations that fuel me on giving advice. I enjoy taking someone’s problem more like a research topic. I’ve been keen to observe who and what he is going through, then how it will go if I give him a certain advice. It doesn’t matter how it really goes tho. Even if I wish it’s going well, the most rewarding thing is in the gaining of the knowledge : that a particular solution won’t work for the respective problem, without me needing to risk myself. There is somebody willing to do the dirty job for me to learn.
Now that I’ve said that. Curiosity won’t be so much of a problem without my ego speaking. The perks of being asked for advice is I might know something that the other person don’t and it could save his ass. It is the cocky tendency I owned along with ego. I give advice not because I am in the possession of the wisdom, but power. It might sound bad, and sometime it is. I will give you advice that weigh more on my gain than yours.
Those shameful thoughts are mine tho. I am not sure everybody has them but still, there are possibilities. Why it is then we always need guidance and rely to someone we think owned more than us.
My best guess is that maybe we are all pussies.
In the achievement-centered culture, we tend to more appreciate the result. Hence not want to be judged fail if ours are not preferably chosen among the others. Then we ask opinions, we seek advice, by asking how it should be done. How to buy other’s interest. How they live their life so we can adapt accordingly then be liked to feed our ego so we could someday, feel like in the possession of power to unleash our curiosity.
Or maybe. It is just me. I made myself to think of those above to negate the despicable aftermath of being human. Cowardly inclined to be as flawless possible by borrowing “we” as the subject represented my true disgusting self.