I don’t know about you but I’ve got a fair amount of self-help books sitting around. I love to read and have always gravitated to topics that cause me to ponder life’s choices and think about what’s next.
But, having said that, there’s a very distinct part of me that is so clearly my mother’s daughter: she, the feisty little narrator who lives inside my head and sports cat-eye glasses and pedal pushers. She snorts and nudges and whispers Balderdash!! whenever Oprah or some other guru-type starts telling me how we should be living.
You know what I’m talking about: you’ve seen the excitement when “they” are on the precipice of something meaningful. And sometimes they truly have been. I don’t mean any disrespect but I’ve rolled my eyes more times than not when listening to her.
See if I had O’s bazillions of dollars I’d probably have a monthly magazine with my fine self on it, too. I’d smile and cook with Paula Deen and get tips from Dr. Oz and give advice and tell other people how it’s done .. or not. Actually, it’s more likely that I’d set down the oven mitts and turn off the fans and look to the camera to say: You know more than you think you do so when that inner voice that we all have picks at you and pulls you back from doing what others think you should, stifle yourself and listen.
* * *
“I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, ‘Where’s the self-help section?’ She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.”
— George Carlin* * *
How about you? Do you trust your instincts and heed your own advice?
