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

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Dear Joely: I’m Not a Drunk, But

Dear Joely,

I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing to you, except that a friend of mine’s wife likes your column, which I imagine is about as glowing a recommendation as one can expect for an advice page.

In any case, I have a question, or possibly a problem, depending on how dramatic we’re being.

I think my drinking may be getting a bit out of hand. I say “may” because I’m still employed, still paying my bills, and not waking up in a hedge in Stevenage with one shoe missing. I’m not pouring vodka on my cornflakes, and I haven’t yet become the sort of man people speak about more quietly over Christmas lunch. So I do have some perspective.

That said, I’m drinking more often than I mean to, and more than I intend to once I’ve started. I’ve also begun waking up feeling woolly, thick-headed, and vaguely disgusted with myself more often than I’d like. A woman I was seeing recently told me she never knew which version of me she was going to get after a few drinks — the funny one, the moody one, or the one who suddenly wants to start an argument over absolutely nothing. I didn’t enjoy hearing that. Mainly because I think she may have been right.

So my question is this: at what point does “I should probably get a grip” become “this is an actual problem”? And before you say “go to AA” or “talk to your doctor,” I am aware those options exist. I’m asking whether you think this sounds like a genuine issue, or just a man in his fifties noticing that the body is no longer as forgiving as it once was.

You may well be the wrong person to ask, but I seem to have run out of the right ones.

Signed,

Woolly in Watford

Dear Woolly,

First, thank you for that stirring opening vote of confidence. “A friend of mine’s wife likes your column” is exactly the sort of endorsement every woman dreams of.

Men do so love to arrive at vulnerability wearing a fake moustache.

Now that we’ve both survived that, yes — I do think this sounds like an actual problem.

Not because you are waking up shoeless in a municipal shrubbery, but because your drinking is no longer behaving as a harmless supporting character in your life. It is changing your moods, your mornings, your relationships, and your own opinion of yourself. That is enough. You do not need to wait until you are pouring vodka on your cornflakes or being discussed in lowered tones over the Christmas potatoes before you are allowed to take it seriously.

Men in particular do seem to love the idea that a thing only counts once it has become catastrophic. Until then, it is merely “having a few,” “blowing off steam,” or “one of those patches.” This is often very convenient for them, and rarely for the people around them.

The woman who told you she never knew which version of you she was going to get did you a favour. Not a pleasant one, admittedly, but a favour all the same. If alcohol is making you unreliable to yourself and unpredictable to others, then I would stop fussing over whether the word “problem” feels too dramatic and begin with the plainer truth that something is not going well.

And yes, since you’ve pre-emptively rolled your eyes at the obvious advice, I’m afraid I’m going to be boring and sensible anyway. Start keeping proper count of how much you drink and when. Not your charming estimates — the real number. Then speak to your doctor, or a proper alcohol support service, or both. There is no medal for trying to out-stubborn a habit that is already beginning to cost you pieces of your life.

You ask whether this is a genuine issue or simply the body becoming less forgiving. I would suggest that if the body, your conscience, and at least one exasperated woman are all trying to tell you something at once, it may be worth listening.

And for the record, advice columns are not magic. They are simply one of the places people end up when denial has started springing a leak.

Yours, surprisingly sensibly,

Joely

More dilemmas? Read more letters and replies in the Dear Joely advice column.