Take What You Want, Leave the Rest
Or how to avoid advice overload in the internet era
You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run…
And know when it’s time to stop taking in all the advice.
Seeking advice when you are delving into something new is a good thing. People with more experience have a lot to offer. Even asking people on the internet can be useful if done a certain way. Like, if you want to know what kind of mountain bike you should buy for your skill level, posting the question in your Facebook mountain bike group can yield some gems. Plus, there are probably close to an infinite number of articles on the subject you can read for free on the interwebs. That accessibility of connection and information in our age is wonderful until it’s not.
I’m giving a reading of my novel as part of an event tomorrow, and I have been nervous about how to pick the right selections, how long it should be, how much I should make eye contact with the audience, etc, etc, etc. There is no end to things to be nervous about when it comes to public speaking. So I texted a writer friend for advice. Then I read several articles on the subject. Then I asked about it in my online writer’s group. We humans — I’m certainly not an exception — love to give advice, especially when it’s as easy as hitting “comment.” Especially when it’s on a subject that excites us.
Sidenote: Go ahead and ask me about the self-publishing process. You’ll have a hard time getting me to shut up.
I got some useful tips, for sure. People gave me ideas for things I hadn’t thought of and reassurance for the things I had. Then, yesterday evening, I started to feel…a little overloaded. I started to feel more anxious instead of less, and I knew it was time to stop reading the advice. To take what people had shared, pair it with my knowledge and intuition, and make my own decisions. Stay off the internet for a bit.
Sue Monk Kidd, in the foreword to The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, writes in reference to what you’re about to read in her memoir:
Take what you want; leave the rest.
She presents her knowledge — hard-won through her exploration into her religious beliefs and the often misogynistic systems that helped create those beliefs — as not an instruction manual for all to adhere to but as an offering.
I’d suggest we approach all advice this way. We take it in, maybe let it marinate for a bit and decide whether it’s for us or not. Because even if it comes from an expert, that expert isn’t you and doesn’t know what you have been through and precisely what you need. They might have some useful information for you, so be open, but ultimately, you are your own best expert.
Advice is easier to come by than it used to be.
In times past, when you had to, at the very least, call someone on the phone for advice (and hope they were home and willing to pick up the phone), it was easier to get pointers from a few people and then make a decision. Now that endless amounts of advice are at our fingertips, we have to be more intentional about turning off the advice tap. It might mean reading a few replies to your mountain bike question, then turning off comments. Because no matter what you’re asking — whether it’s for the best place to eat oysters or what you should do with your career — no one needs 126 answers. That’s too much. It might mean staying away from the internet for a few days and giving yourself time to stare out the window, sit in the bath or go on a walk to clear your mind and take a look inside yourself to see what you really want.
Listen to your mentors, but make your own decisions.
When I was 20 years old and nearing the end of my college career, I worked for a human ecology professor doing a fascinating study on dating relationships. I had a lot of respect for her; she let me argue with her about the coding system she had invented and actually listened, though she had at least 25 years of experience on me. When I told her I was going the practicum route with my child development degree — teaching young children instead of doing research — she frowned. She said I had a great mind for research, and she would like to see me continue down that path.
I was proud that a teacher I respected thought so highly of my capabilities, and it was tempting to go into research and continue to work with her. There would, no doubt, have been some rewarding experiences down that road.
But there were things I knew about myself.
I spent one summer at a desk job — still to-date one of the worst jobs I ever had — and knew I didn’t want a career sitting down eight-plus hours a day. As fascinating as the research was, I craved interacting with real children more than with their data. Research would have meant grad school, and at the time, I was burned out on academia. So I went into teaching, not because Dr. Surra was wrong, but because I knew a few things about me that she couldn’t.
Listen to the advice. Take it seriously. Don’t do what I often did in my earlier life and do the opposite of the advice out of sheer reactionary, rebellious impulse. But treat the advice as a resource, as something to consider, and then look into yourself for the answer.
UPDATE:
We had the book launch party last night, and my short speech and reading went just fine. People laughed in the right places, and I didn’t die.