Feb. 7, 2014 6:27 p.m. ET
A few weeks ago, a neighbor I like very much came over for coffee. While inspecting the vast record and compact disc collection that takes up a large part of my living room, he suggested that I load all my CDs onto a server to clear away the clutter. He also said that I should convert my LPs to MP3 files and get wireless speakers installed in every room. I said thanks, those are really great suggestions. But I am never going to do any of this stuff.
My wife is always telling me that yoga will help relieve the pain in my lower back. She is almost certainly right. Yoga would probably be an immense help to my aching lower back. But I am never going to a yoga class.
People say that a man my age should be looking into annuities. Down the road, I won't want to deal with the stock market's volatility. They're probably on to something there. A steady stream of income would make a lot more sense than a portfolio filled with volatile equities. But I am never going to purchase an annuity.
Prompted by the unsolicited comments about my record collection, I got to thinking about the last time I had taken anyone's advice about anything. I couldn't remember. It was certainly far in the past. Maybe when I was a kid hitchhiking at night and a trucker told me to stop accepting rides. At night. From truckers.
Mostly, I could only remember advice I had ignored. Don't give up a great job. Don't give up another great job. Stop giving up great jobs, period. And don't write for right-wing publications; you'll be slitting your own throat. I did not take any of this advice. The very nature of advice makes me avoid it.
Alan Goldberg, a Philadelphia-based psychologist who plays guitar in the rock 'n' roll band we recently disinterred after 43 years of well-advised inactivity, puts it this way: "When somebody says, 'You should do something,' the subtext is: 'You're an idiot for not already doing it.' Nobody takes advice under those conditions."
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