In my initial posts, I promised "Beyond the Expected" would offer valuable, hard-won wisdom. To fulfil that promise, we must ensure the advice offered is not only useful but genuinely wise.
But what constitutes true wisdom? How can we distinguish it from advice that sounds good but ultimately falls flat?
Statements can sound wise but, upon closer inspection, appear only true on a superficial level and buckle under the weight of scrutiny. "Superficial wisdom" often consists of platitudes and clichés, offering little in the way of practical guidance or genuine insight. Real wisdom, on the other hand, has foresight and can therefore only be truly appreciated in the future. It ages like a fine wine, growing richer and more valuable with time.
An example of this "superficial" wisdom is the statement I, and I imagine most readers, will have heard after a devastating life change: "You need to get over it... or... move on." I agree that to live a life worthwhile, we must learn to accept things we cannot change. However, no one seems to know how this could or should be done. I often felt like a man on fire with onlookers suggesting that if I didn't put the flames out, I would surely burn. In these moments, you need a practical suggestion; something like, "Try rolling around on the floor to extinguish the flames." I can promise that neither I nor anyone who contributes to "Beyond the Expected" will offer you such glib advice.
I do have an example of wisdom that a very dear and now departed friend gave me. My friend was warning me about how individuals' reactions to your loss can be equally surreal and cruel at the same time. You are caught off guard and think, "What are you saying and why would you say that?" He told me in no uncertain terms that someone would ask me if I would have rather my daughter had died and not my son. As you can imagine, I was taken aback by this idea and how specific he was about it. Within a 12-month period, I was asked that very question. Worryingly, it was a clinical psychiatrist who had just met me. Thankfully, like a vaccine, my friend had made me somewhat immune to the question. In that moment, I was more amazed that the question I was asked was predicted so accurately by my friend, than by the fact it really is an awful question to ask anyone, especially in an initial therapy session. I think I smiled at the psychiatrist and told them my friend said that some idiot would ask me that question.
For a moment, I was able to gain some objectivity and see the ridiculous nature of the statement for what it was as opposed to being drawn into my own desperate misery at the time. More importantly, my friend had given me something to protect myself with. I was forewarned and thus forearmed. It will come as no surprise that I did not see the psychiatrist again. I also learned that I would have to more carefully assess who I let close to me in both my personal and professional life. So maybe I should be thanking the psychiatrist; on second thoughts, maybe not.
True wisdom transcends empty platitudes and simplistic solutions. It offers insights that are both true and practical, possessing a deeper truth that withstands the test of time. Such wisdom can bring clarity and foster resilience. You often don't know what person can offer wisdom, but you will often know why. My friend had lived a very eventful life and, on a personal and professional level, watched how people react in high-pressure situations. It was indeed hard-won wisdom, which he knew when and how to share.
Thank you for this, David. I'm numbed out of surprise these days. The question (posed by a clinical psychiatrist - whiskey tango foxtrot!!) is hideously cruel. I've heard so many superficial platitudes and clichés (definitely NOT wisdom) - and a LOT of unsolicited 'advice' that is definitely not advice.
In Carer Mentor, I aspire to share meaningful insights. As no single human can be an all seeing/knowing wise-one, I hope we can share our hard-won wisdom, just as you've done here, David - these are painful, very human insights. I appreciate you sharing, Thank you.