Lockdown and the unsolicited advice epidemic

It came to a head last night, when a sweet, well-meaning friend suggested that I go for a walk.

I’d been prickly all day. Loose where I should be tight, and tight where I should be loose. My feelings were all over the place, and I had no thoughts or facts to match them up to — just a sense that there was a layer of tepid, dirty dishwater between my skin and my bones. It wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t have told you what it was.

When it comes to managing my feelings, I’ve put the bloody hours in. After a couple of decades of trial and error, I know that there is a golden ratio of exercise to meditation, hydration and P-funk playlists that keeps me sweet. But I was on a Whatsapp group chat and responding to a different pal who was talking about her reasons for avoiding a hangover the next day. I said something to the effect of ‘I’m impressed by your resolve. I have been feeling hyper sensitive and deranged with weepy rage all afternoon, for no real reason, and I’m craving a big gin to take the edge off. However, I know that at this stage it will do more harm than good, so I’m trying to breathe deeply, wait until the weekend and make sure I’m cheerful before I booze.’ And Other Pal said, nicely, with a heart full of love, ‘If you’re feeling so rotten, why not go for a walk! That might help!’

The dishwater turned to lava. My urge to bite my nails turned into an urge to peel my hands off.

We give unsolicited advice all the time, but we do not like to take it. I try…