Laughing at Unwanted Advice

I just returned from my annual weekend at Rockaway Beach on the Oregon Coast with my best friend from college, Barbara. Unlike other retreats I take, which are all about working, this one’s about play, self care, and delightful self-indulgence. It’s about eating smoked salmon and tuna, sipping tea, sharing wine, sleeping in, poking around antique shops, beach walking, and talking endlessly about what matters most to us. It’s also about watching movies, usually classic black and white ones, on TV. Last weekend, though, since it was Valentine’s Day, romantic comedies abounded - fortunate us: our husbands sent us away with their blessings because it was one of the few long weekends Barbara and I could both take off - and we saw Sleepless in Seattle, Must Love Dogs, The Wedding Singer, and Failure to Launch. They differed in plot, but all shared something besides clever writing and happy endings: characters receiving unwanted advice. In Must Love Dogs, Sarah Nolan, a kindergarten teacher in her mid-30s, has been divorced for eight months when her family decides it’s time for her to find romance again. Well-intentioned but misguided, her sisters place an Internet dating ad for her, using her high school graduation photo, and offer unasked for counsel about dating. Perhaps most hilarious are the exchanges between Sarah, played by Diane Lane, and her butcher, from whom she wants to buy just one chicken breast for dinner. The butcher tries to persuade her to buy more than what she wants – after all, it’s on sale, so why not purchase the whole chicken for about the same price?! – not realizing that the more he insists, the more he annoys her, rubbing in the fact that she is alone. I found myself laughing and cringing through these movies, reminded that it’s not just those punched by cancer who field oft-unwanted advice, but also the divorced, bereaved, and heartbroken of every stripe. At least two of the statements from my book, Help Me Live: 20 Things People with Cancer Want You to Know, apply here as well: "Asking my permission can spare me pain" and "I want compassion, not pity; comfort, not advice." Though I accept and forgive that we all (including me!) dole out unwelcome advice at times, I feel strongly that we should attempt to be conscious and respectful and at least try to hold our tongues. I’ve made it a point to refrain from asking my single friends about their love lives, because I know they’ll bring up the subject if there’s any news to report. And if they want my advice, they’ll ask for it. I know that they realize that I keep silent not because I don’t care about them, but because I don’t want to bring up a subject that could hurt them. It’s like asking someone who’s unemployed, “Have you found a job yet?” If they have, they’ll certainly tell you, and if they haven’t, they probably don’t want to say for the nth time, “No, not yet.” What cancer and romantic comedies have in common is that they can both teach us how to show we care in a respectful way that enriches rather than diminishes our sense of self. Another good reason to watch funny flicks! Always hope,rnLorirnAuthor of Help Me Live: 20 things people with cancer want you to know www.LoriHope.com This post originally appeared on Lori's CarePages blog, "Hope for Cancer: what helps. what hurts. what heals."