In Native American sweat lodges, 12-step programs and myriad schools of Buddhism, advice-giving is verboten.
Founders of those healing modalities understand how pernicious providing unsolicited "help" can be. In fact, in some Buddhist sectors, seekers of wisdom have to knock on the monk's door three times before they are accepted as a student. Most of the enlightenment process will consist of meditation, through which those searching discover their own answers.
Since my parents have long been dead and my sister Anne Murga-Ring and I haven't spoken since 2003, no one had piled on the advice. At least until I joined Facebook.
There several members of the Seton Hill University Class of 1967 were merrily posting photos, liking each others' and sharing holiday recipes. I have a hunch this weekend there are tips on how to put together a mean chicken salad for the picnic in Happy Valley park.
My presence got their attention. I seemed to become a project to be fixed. Back then Seton Hill was an all-women's Catholic college. Not that these were Mean Girls or Queen Bees. But they didn't seem to be able to overlook my quirks as do males.
There was much advice given. The tipping point was a post about Polaroid sunglasses I could purchase for under $35. After all, they assumed I was not as financially comfortable as they were.
Thinking like a lawyer (the best takeaway from at least trying law school as a 1L) I wondered if I could sue the Pom-Pom Squad who were trying their best to whip me into shape. From what I know about what constitutes a public nuisance, I would say their sustained behavior fit the bill. But I would have to consult Fidelma Fitzpatrick at Motley Rice before I actually decided to move on to an actual lawsuit.
Then, I recognized how draining a lawsuit is. I took down my Facebook page. Perhaps the next person they pull out all stops to help will not cave. That person might even list along as defendants Facebook and its leadership. There could be money to be made.