How to Accept Advice

I read an article recently about giving advice.  The crux of the piece is that advice is almost always more beneficial for the giver, and it cautioned the advice-giver that even offering advice on request isn't always well-received. It goes without saying that offering unsolicited advice is rarely welcomed. Most people when they ask for advice really just want to hear their own opinion validated, and will discard advice that doesn't align with what they'd hoped to hear.  I found myself in this exact situation recently when I asked a co-worker for advice on where to stay when I traveled to a city where they used to live.  In retrospect I realized that I'd made a few mistakes just in the asking.

I believe my first mistake was that I don't know this person socially. I have no idea if their food or entertainment choices would match mine.  I was asking purely about 'safe' neighborhoods to stay in but I didn't consider what biases would color their response, which leads me to my second mistake.  I was guided by my own unconscious racial bias in choosing to ask someone "like me" for what *they* considered a safe part of the city.  My destination was an ethnically diverse city and I sought the opinion of one person I didn't know well only because they were in the same ethnic and socio-economic group.  In my defense, I don't know anyone else who is from my target destination so my choices were limited to this person or strangers online.  I defaulted to the devil I know.  

So, how did I receive the advice given?  Not well, actually.  I had found this really cool AirBnb that met everything on our checklist - location and price and amenities - and I was basically looking for permission to stay there. I wanted someone else (other than the host) to tell me that it was in a cool neighborhood where we'd find interesting things to do and places to go.  My co-worker responded with a map highlighting the 'good' neighborhoods and not only was my AirBnb not in any of them but the exact neighborhood was X'd out and was discouraged.  When I asked specifically about the neighborhood I was targeting, there were coded phrases I was hoping to hear like "transitioning" or "trendy" or even "edgy."  What I heard instead was "high in crime" and "unsafe at night."  In the end, I booked the stay and ignored the advice given.

To be fair, I was prepared to tell my co-worker if they were right had I actually felt unsafe.  But we didn't.  The home we stayed in was delightful with a huge yard for our dog.  The neighborhood was primarily residential and friendly, where we met other dog-walkers during our stay. Our host (who lived in another unit) recommended some local eating establishments that were mixed-use properties (commercial spaces below with residential spaces above) and featured a clientele of regulars who seemed to know one another. We felt safe and welcomed, and ultimately well-fed.  Upon my return, my co-worker inquired about my trip and I shared photographs first before they asked where I stayed and I had to sheepishly admit that I hadn't taken their advice but it had turned out okay anyway.  They admitted to me that it's an "up and coming" neighborhood but they aren't too familiar with its features.  It seems we both failed in the advice arena.

My recent foray into seeking advice didn't include due diligence in evaluating the expertise of my advice-giver.  By their own admission, they didn't know the neighborhood I was considering so any advice they gave was suspect, which I only learned after the fact so my dismissal of their recommendations was pure luck on my part. In general, asking for advice is a compliment to the asked; it implies that you trust their judgement.  But in following advice received, consider that although you might have things in common you are different people with different biases and interests.  So how does one deal with advice? With grace and gratitude. If you wind up on the receiving end of a request for advice, consider that your advice may be rejected without any acknowledgement of the effort you put into the giving of it and, if you're the one requesting, thank them for their contribution even if you don't agree. If you can avoid giving or seeking advice, do that instead.  Trust me.  You'll both be happier.

On the Importance of Bleach

 At the beginning of 1996, I was married with a baby and a new house. It was early spring and the weather was near freezing. We bundled up the baby and went out to the new house to take measurements and decided to order a pizza and just eat on the floor of the dining room. We had no refrigerator, an ancient stove that came with the house and questionable plumbing. But it was ours. My husband, we'll call him M, had arranged earlier in the week for his mother to meet us at the house to bring a housewarming gift, which turned out to be an antique steamer trunk I'd had my eye on. I loved it. When my husband carried it inside, it was our only furniture. 

 While M goes to get the pizza, I stay behind with dear daughter(DD), who was perfectly safe crawling around on the carpet. My biggest fear is that she'll chew on the window sills and get lead poisoning from eating paint chips (She did none of those things, btw). Meanwhile, I'm measuring windows for curtains and getting room dimensions to plan furniture placement while the baby explores at my feet or in view if not in reach. Some time after M leaves, DD loses interest in whatever I was doing and she makes a beeline for the trunk. What happened next I re-live in slow motion. 

 At first I think I'm just going to intervene and prevent her from chewing on it, so I start walking towards the trunk. I swoop in a moment too late to rescue her. Her legs collapse from under her as she's pulling herself up, faceplanting directly onto the closing latch of this ancient trunk. The shrieks that followed would rival a banshee and I'm hoping this is not the way I meet the neighbors. It's not just the indignity of the injury. There's blood. A *LOT* of blood. Passersby were amazed by the unusually large amounts of blood. 

 I clasp her to my chest and rush her to the bathroom, where we had set up the diaper changing station. She's barely 10 months but she has the strength of legions, fighting my every attempt to staunch the blood so I can see if this is a serious injury. Did I mention there was a lot of blood? I read that scalp injuries bleed a lot, but this seemed like too much. All I have at my disposal is baby wipes and toilet paper. I'm having zero luck with either of them, so I sit down on the floor and decide to nurse the baby to calm both of us down. This works like a charm, and while she's nursing I wipe the blood from her face and realize it's just a scratch. She won't need stitches. 

 M returns to find me and the baby covered in blood. She's quiet now but I'm at the edge of hysteria, trying to calmly explain what happened and feeling very guilty for letting her get injured on my watch. M remarks jokingly that my shirt used to be white and I'm still worried that he will think I'm a terrible mother. I say out loud that I'll never get that stain out and he says, "That's what bleach is for" and that was the end of it.