I have a new policy. If someone did not weigh in about whom I married and when, or how many kids I have, or where I choose to live, I will resist any urge to offer them my two cents on those topics. This automatically eliminates that portion of the population that was not alive in 1980. Which is half the human race. Further exemptions are granted to anyone who is not a native English speaker, since advice does not translate well.
“Me dejes consejarte.”
“Il faut que tu fasses ça.”
It is a relief, really. Passing judgment on the decisions that are out of my purview is an energy drain, even if I only give each person twenty minutes of deliberation. What's more the new practice is getting easier, which is a sign that the move is beneficial. Reactions projectile into my brain like when the newspaper used to land on the front porch from the flinging arm of a ten year old on a bicycle. Headlines are always in bold.
"They are doing what? They're too old."
Or on other days the converse.
"What? That's ridiculous. They are too young."
Monitoring my own shenanigans is a full time job, and when I spread these opinions around it dilutes the odds of getting my own business right. Which are not all that good to begin with.
