Sometimes, I find myself stuck in a messy room.
Filled with old stuff.
Advice.
Expectations.
Other people's opinions.
And there are thoughts that I no longer recognize myself.
What is the most familiar reflex then?
I go looking for more advice.
Like a lost person keeps running around –
not to find the exit,
but to find someone to say:
"It's okay. You're on the right track."
Then I come across a note from "Julie Zhuo":
"Advice does not bring you wisdom.
Life provides you with wisdom.
If the advice is helpful,
it's only because it helps you clean up so you can find the key you have had all along."
I pause.
And an image appears in my mind like a movie scene:
I am sitting in the dark house.
Weak light.
My hands keep rummaging for some key that I have long forgotten.
And there is a soft, yet firm voice, whispering:
"It's right there.
You can't see it,
because you forgot where you put it."
Before, I always thought advice was the solution.
Now, I see more clearly:
Advice is a flashlight.
Not a path.
It does not create wisdom.
It only helps me see clearly what I already know –
but have forgotten.
And I realize one thing, very light… but also very deep:
The only person who can find the key – is me.
The only person who can clean up the messy drawer – is me.
And the only person who knows which door that key opens – is also me.
Advice can illuminate.
But if the house in my head is too chaotic,
that light only highlights the disorder.
I need to clean up.
Not more light.
I need a pause.
Not more words.
I will still listen.
But I will no longer confuse the two types of advice:
A kind that helps me find myself again.
And a kind that is only used to soothe temporary anxiety.
Every time I find myself about to ask someone something,
I will ask myself first:
"Are you really looking for answers,
or just trying to escape?"
Maybe what I really need…
is not another voice from the outside.
But it's about rearranging inside –
to hear my own voice more clearly.