No Shortage of Advice

No matter which way you turn, someone out there is waiting to offer you advice on how to live, where to live, how to be healthy, what to put on your skin, your hair, your body, what to wear, how to wear it, what to study, where to study, what books to read, what books not to read, how to invest, where to invest, how to save, what not to save, how to clean out clutter, how to start your day, how to exercise, meditate, pray, how to end your day, how to sleep, what to do for your heart, your hair, your liver, your brain, where to vacation, when to vacation, where to stay, where not to stay, what type of shoes to wear, what type of seltzer, dishes, laundry soap, toilet paper, cough medicine - and Lord help us, the bombardment of pharmaceutical commercials that we are all able to sing along to. You name it - there is just no shortage of advice - on social media, TV, magazines, books, conversations and an endless supply of pop-ups.

We spend so much of life wading through it all. Of course, some of it is helpful, but at times one piece of advice eclipses another piece of advice or even contradicts it. Diet books and plans and meal delivery services - blenders, juicers, smoothies - calories eaten, burned, gained, lost. Protein, carbs, sugars. Whole wheat, whole grain, sourdough, gluten-free. How do we all keep up? How can our minds just be at peace with the same old grocery list and food on the table? My goodness, how many plans can you purchase that tell you how and when to walk? Simply walk.

When someone shares the next best piece of advice, helpful recommendation or diet plan, I may have a hard time focusing or remaining hopeful. I have just hit a wall - a “too much information” wall, a “just let me live in peace” wall. Through all of these years of trying this or that, with self-help, philosophy, diet and exercise books on shelves and in dusty boxes, I realize the need to come home to my own sense and sensibility - my own inner voice, my own awareness - with a very carefully curated balance of what is good for my being and what is good for my soul.

And since life on earth is finite, I feel the need to come to rest on an inner knowing of just how I should or shouldn’t fill this singular existence with the most life-giving ingredients - physical, social, emotional and spiritual. What do I keep, and what do I intentionally recycle or relinquish? What works for me?

I guess throughout the journey we learn about ourselves and become more selective—and try not to jump too quickly onto the next greatest thing. How many basements house the newest piece of exercise equipment? Maybe it is all just part of the aging process - the step into life’s third act carrying both the knowledge and the excess we’ve gained along the way. Does true freedom come from letting go?

Through nearly seven decades, I have come to know more about what works and what doesn’t work, and I find peace and beauty in the simplest things - the right face cream, favorite tea, cotton T-shirts, jigsaw puzzles and a favorite mug. Maybe there is a soft place to land in this world so full of the next greatest thing.

Maybe that is part of the beauty of aging - shedding some of those layers of the next best thing and settling on “good enough,” “I know who I am,” or simply, “I’m at peace.” I know that information can be helpful and even life-changing at times, but I often feel that the world may have reached its saturation point. Perhaps part of wisdom is learning what deserves our attention and what we can simply let pass by.

I guess the world has to feel full - with eight billion people finding their way, dreaming their dreams and bringing their bit of something to the table. As life’s prospectors, we get to hold the sieve and decide what gold stays in the pan and what gets filtered back into the river.

In this fast-paced world of plenty, there are times when two kinds of yogurt and Plaid Stamps sound so life-giving. So we put our hearts out there and see what calls our names.

Maybe wisdom isn’t finally knowing all the answers. Maybe it’s knowing which questions we no longer need to ask. There will always be another plan, another product, another expert telling us there is a better way to live. But after all these years, perhaps there is something to be said for looking at what remains in our own pan and saying, “This is enough. This is what works for me.”

That’s our terra firma.

That’s where we land.