Dear Joely: Asking for a Friend, Obviously

Dear Joely,

I have to admit I’m not sure I really believe in this sort of thing.

Advice columns always seem a bit made-up to me. People write in with these dramatic problems and then someone like you gives an answer that sounds wise and everyone claps. Maybe I’m being cynical, but it all feels a bit neat.

Anyway, I read a couple of your replies and thought I’d test you.

What exactly are you offering people here? Because from where I’m sitting, most advice is just common sense with nicer words. If someone is unhappy, leave. If someone treats you badly, tell them. If you’re lonely, join a club. If you hate your job, get another one. I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t seem that complicated.

The problem is, people don’t do the obvious thing, do they?

I know someone who complains all the time about being lonely, but then when people invite them anywhere, they say no. They say they want connection, but they don’t answer messages properly. They say no one understands them, but they don’t explain themselves either.

At some point, surely you have to stop making everything deep and just admit some people are their own problem.

So what would you say to someone like that? Not me, obviously. Just someone I know.

Yours,

Not Entirely Convinced

Dear Not Entirely Convinced,

First of all, congratulations on writing an entire letter about “someone you know” while leaving your fingerprints all over the windows.

Very elegant. Very subtle. Nobody noticed. We were all too distracted by the enormous false moustache.

You ask what I am offering people here, and I’ll tell you: not rescue, not instructions, and certainly not a small laminated card marked How to Live Correctly. Most advice is not magic. You’re right about that. A great deal of it is common sense with better lighting.

Leave if you’re miserable. Speak if you’re hurt. Rest if you’re exhausted. Apologise if you’ve behaved badly. Stop texting the person who treats you like an optional side dish.

Simple, yes.

Easy? Almost never.

That is the bit you’ve conveniently stepped over while wearing your sensible shoes.

People often know what the obvious thing is. The problem is not usually information. The problem is fear, shame, habit, hope, pride, attachment, grief, and the horrible little truth that change asks something of us before it gives anything back.

As for your “someone” who complains of loneliness and then says no to invitations, doesn’t answer messages, wants to be understood but won’t explain themselves — yes, they may well be part of their own problem.

Most of us are.

That doesn’t mean the loneliness isn’t real.

Sometimes people refuse invitations because accepting one means admitting they wanted to be asked. Sometimes they don’t answer messages because the first reply feels like stepping onto a stage. Sometimes they say no one understands them because explaining themselves and still not being understood would hurt too much.

Is that frustrating for the people around them? Absolutely. Is it self-defeating? Often. Is it solved by telling them to “just join a club”? My dear, if human suffering could be cured by joining a club, the world would be a much quieter place and municipal badminton would have saved us all.

So here is my advice to your friend, whoever they may be wearing your shoes:

Stop using cynicism as a crash helmet.

It may protect you from looking foolish, but it also stops quite a lot of air getting in.

You don’t have to become one of those people who speaks entirely in therapy phrases and thanks the universe every time a parking space opens up. You don’t have to become soft-boiled and available to every invitation. But you do have to admit, at least privately, that wanting connection while avoiding exposure is a very lonely little trick.

Start small. Answer one message properly. Accept one low-stakes invitation. Tell one person the truth without making a joke immediately afterwards. Let yourself be seen in one inch of daylight and see if you burst into flames.

You probably won’t.

And if you still don’t believe in advice columns, that’s perfectly all right. I don’t believe in most things before breakfast either.

But you wrote.

So something in you is less convinced than you’re pretending.

Still not entirely convinced, but hopeful,

Joely