I guess most blogs contain some sort of advice.

‘What to do when, or if…’

‘How to deal with…’

‘Ten things that’ll help you when this or that happens…’

‘How I overcame….’

We love that shit.

If we could, I’m almost sure, we’d generously pay to have advice drip into our veins all day long.

Advice is a practical form of hope.

Advice is logical and repeatable.

Advice is literally everywhere.

And still, STILL, the world is filled with piles of miserable people.

So what’s that about?

The thing is: advice works very well for building a medieval wall in the garden, tending to your sunflowers, getting around in rural Spain, or cooking an exotic Sunday roast.

But it does almost nothing when it comes to our deepest wellbeing.

I know this for a fact because I’ve gobbled up advice ever since I can remember.

My bookshelves and iPads and computers are filled with it.

My fucking head is filled with it!

And every single day I talk to people who are totally lost and confused because they know everything there is to know and more, their heads are heavy with shit they’ve learned, but there’s hardly ever any sustainable, reliable happiness.

And STILL, they want to know more.

That’s also one of the biggest challenges in coaching: most people believe that they’ve learned and tried everything out there, and they’re convinced that their roaring intellect is still essential for getting it done.

Of course, this creates the most amazing, entertaining ‘fights’.

I love that.

This innocent, human, furious, and arrogant mind that has led to nothing but misery and hopelessness and lack, keeps hanging in there, making its erratic moves.

So why don’t I just give them tips and tricks and recommended books?

Is it really true that they’ll leave the session without homework?

Do I REALLY discourage them to write stuff down during the conversations?


I love that too.

The game.

The disbelief when they hear there’s really no hard work involved.

The confusion when I tell them it’s more about losing a lot of constipating, useless crap, than adding anything.

The frustration and temperament at the beginning, the urge to debate and be right in the middle, and the peace of mind in the end.

When people look at me when we quit our sessions, with a lazy smile and eyes stoned from life, I sometimes ask them if they’d still like some advice.

Only to fuck them around a bit.

I love that too.

(Photo by @jaygame, for Unsplash)

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