Advice For an Old Fart

OK. It doesn’t happen often, especially now that my mum has gone. But occasionally, and I do mean occasionally, I am forced to turn to others to ask for advice.

I don’t like it. I’m not a good asker of anything.

I seem to have been born with a gene that does not mind giving but I don’t really like asking.

This is not a good thing.

Not at all.

No, no, no.

And I’ll tell you for why, if you’ll bear with me. (Hold on. Bear? Bare? Brrr?)


Here’s why not asking for help is not a good thing.

This could get complicated.

I’m just warning you.

If you like giving help there is the suggestion that you get a buzz from that. OK. I can deal with that. I like giving help.

If you don’t like asking for help, you want to be independent and self-sufficient and crap like that. Yup. That’s me.


Big problem.

Apparently, my inability to ask for help from those I give help to leaves them feeling like shit.

Now, no matter what my hang-ups are, and I have a few, never is it my intention to make anyone feel like crap. (Sorry, Opinionated Man. I like your style and your writing and your honesty but I’m not big on the whole, ‘please look in the mirror’ thing. No, that’s not true. I just don’t want to be the one to say, ‘Please look in the mirror.’ God, I’m so weak! I’m obviously looking for approbation and have no wish to directly offend anyone.)

Ho hum.

The point is, and I do eventually get there, is that my inability to ASK FOR HELP from the people I give help to leaves them feeling like a taker with no opportunity to be a giver.

Now that sucks.

If I like giving, for whatever dark and mysterious reasons I have not completely analysed, and enjoy doing so, why then do I continually deny others the opportunity to experience the same buzz?

I’ve been told this by people dear to me.

They’ve said things like, ‘You’re a shit. Why won’t you let me help?’

And sometimes they’ve just said, ‘You’re a shit,’ with no further explanation. Not good. Not good, at all.

(No wonder I liked that guy’s post. Insert

((And I’m truly sorry (no, I’m not) for reblogging this post once again. This man is a genius with words. I bow to his knowledge and ability. But, I’m sorry, I can’t help it. THIS post takes the biscuit. I really, really want it out there.))

Back to present.

Asking can be a good thing. Other people get to inflate their egos as much as you. Did I mean to say that?

Geez, I need a psychologist.

OK. Back to point.

I’m really enjoying this whole blogging thing I’ve got going on here. Reading posts, having people read mine, reading more posts, having people read mine. Having people read mine.

(How much approbation do I need? Anyone got a good psychologist’s number?)

My God, it does take me ages to get to the point.

No wonder my brother goes ape-shit on me when I’m talking.

Do I come out of the closet?

I have not yet connected any of my posts to the big, bad external world outwith WordPress. And, if the truth be known. I’m kacking it. (That’s shitting it, for those who don’t know.)

I like the anonymity. I’ve never been this verbose except when I’m pissed or with people who know me so well I can’t hide it.

I’m enjoying ranting away with all these lovely people. You’re all very positive, btw, I really appreciate that. (Fucking approbation again. I’m going to kick his head in if I find him.)

So, stay private and enjoy?

Go public and mortify myself and my children and, quite possibly, my husband?

I love them all to bits and back. But, I just don’t know.

I’ll give you an example. (There’s no shutting me up once I get started. Ask anyone who knows me.)

My eldest son asked me today what exactly I found to blog about. Now, for a young man who has xillion people on facebook I find that a strange question. If I were asking this of myself, it would make perfect sense.

I told him I was blogging about him and all his disgusting habits. It was a lie. Well, nearly. (Watch this space).

A few weeks ago I asked him if he would like to come camping with me and the rest of the crew.

His response?

‘I can’t think of anything I would hate more than sharing a tent with you lot. Except maybe  (having my testicles removed)’ The words in parenthesis are to prevent me from quoting my darling eldest son directly who actually said something somewhat less acceptable. It did involve balls but we weren’t playing tennis here.

So, you see, my decision to ‘come out of the closet’, as it were, reflects on so many more people than myself.

What do I do?

Sorry. I have to insert this here. The myriad ways our minds work!!!!

So, to cut a long story even longer. What would you do?

6 thoughts on “Advice For an Old Fart”

  1. I love laughing out loud and startling my darling Bette from catnap:) and that happens when I read your post! I love that I am not the only one who takes the long road rather those short cuts…hihi…you don’t need a therapist….trust me on that one….well, we all do from time to time but that is beside the point ( I have to promote my profession a little). I am in the process of writing more and much more on my blog because I will be writing less on the “out of the closet” self blog, which was started several years ago unlike tracesofthesoul which is a newbie. I want to be able to say {fuck, shit or piss” whenever I want and write freely…so that is the main reason and the fact that I work in a field that peeps may know me, I would have to be more conservative in my rants, poems, opinions etc. So that is what I decided this week…gee it’s almost like you and I are in sync sometimes, eh? WI


    1. Can I take it then that your advice is to stay in the closet? That way I get to be me without worrying whether anyone will know it’s me. Actually, if anyone I knew read the ‘About me’ section they would know who I was in a flash and without any declaration on my part.
      The thing is, I’m loving this.
      I’m really, really loving this. For years I have written and dated stuff and put it in the closet in the belief that one day I would say it out loud.
      I almost want to say, ‘Hey, everyone, this is me. Thought you knew me, didn’t you? Well, think again.’
      It’s kinda pathetic and liberating. There’s nothing huge going on with me but, like my ‘About Me’ says, I;m not who you all think I am.
      There was a me before there was a wife and a mother and a teacher and whatever.
      I do get you. Really, I do.
      Worlds apart and I feel I already just know you. I know we would be friends in the here and now.
      The truly wonderful thing is:
      1. I don’t do this sort of thing, saying what I feel to strangers.
      2. The absolutely wonderful thing is, I’ve done it. And you don’t feel like a stranger.
      3. You feel like someone I could meet in the pub/at a wedding/whatever.
      What this does make me sure of is one very real thing that I almost gave up on last week.
      We all have a voice and someone, somewhere out there is glad to hear it.
      I’m glad if I made you chuckle. I’m glad if you feel you know me. I’m glad because something I am saying, something you are saying reaches across space and time and commutes.
      God bless you WI. Now I know what that stands for.x


    1. You’re welcome. Seriously, your words are profound and I am humbled when I read them. One almost wonders, ‘What if…’.
      Should this not have been your life? Communication? What do I know? You possibly and probably have been doing this your whole life long.
      You talked about your admiration for one whose humour you appreciated and whose name currently escapes me (without reference to a previous post).
      I didn’t know that guy but I found out about him because of you.
      ‘Because of you’,really ought to be everyone’s epitaph.
      The reason I am reblogging your piece on ‘the most versatile word’ is because of the range such a post could entice.
      Words are unfathomable, at times, and your mastery goes before you. But your skill, surely, is when the idea communicates to many rather than few.
      Your description of breathing the air of a place you love so well was such that I closed my eyes and sought that special place for me.
      That is poetry. To communicate the often observed in a way that is recognised by many. You, Sir, have that skill. And I salute you.x


Comments are closed.