Blimix

Here's a deeper framing of the "Bear or man" question.

In short, non-men have been asked whether they would prefer to encounter a bear or a man while hiking alone in the woods. Most choose the bear.

Some men understand. Some men are butthurt, challenging the answer.

The hidden undercurrent is this: These answers publicly highlight the fact that people view men as threatening. Men who are invested in the current, partriarchal power dynamic do not want this discussion to happen. Those men try to enforce taboos against speaking up about sexual assault, and against pointing out the bad behavior of people in power. All such taboos exist to reinforce existing power structures. (That goes for any too open discussion of money, race, religion, social status, etc.)

It's not that these men don't understand why women and nonbinary folks feel threatened by them. They just don't want people saying that they feel threatened. They know that their unearned patriarchal power must remain unexamined and unchallenged in order to remain at all, and so challenges must be silenced.

Of course, patriarchy hurts everybody, so these men are harming themselves along with others. But they're also showing their asses far more than they realize.

On this topic, I just helped my friend Amalia shoot a hilarious video:
https://www.tiktok.com/@thewildamalia/video/7366042053735681281
https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6pYRZaxZLu/

The Doubleclicks just posted their first live show since the start of the pandemic. (No, I'm not happy about performers (or anyone else) pretending that the pandemic is over, but that's a side note. I guess they held out longer than most, and this seemed like a big auditorium with a lively but small crowd.)

The last two times I resumed my YouTube subscriptions after a long hiatus, I had received awful news. This time was a nice change of pace! Last I had known, Laser had recently come out as nonbinary (and taken their new name). Now he's out fully as a trans man, and I'm happy for him. I wondered how he would address his corpus of older songs written and narrated as a self-identified woman. He did so charmingly at this point, and added one relevant word to the end of the song. He also mentioned that the T is making it harder for him to sing. Which, yes, I can tell, but I don't mind at all. I've always been here for the Doubleclicks' introspection, their defiant spirit, their humor, and of course their nerdiness.

Aubrey, meanwhile, used to be reserved. She seems much more comfortable and vocal now (even if her mic was low in the sound mix). So I'm also glad for her.

Near the end, they did a song I didn't remember. It addresses the dichotomy of being sensitive to criticism and also being a badass. There's some good insight, and I want all of my friends to hear it. There's not something wrong with you, just because some stranger can make you feel bad with a mean comment.

The concert video was a very pleasant way to spend an hour practicing knitting (a skill I've just picked up recently). I discovered that it's hard to remember to breathe when focusing on a pattern and paying attention to a concert. That will clearly take more practice.

[Content notes: Self harm. Likely drug use and/or mental illness. Medical treatment.]

Friday featured an unusual encounter.

After walking in a preserve with one of the people I support, we came upon a man sitting in the weeds by the parking area.

He called out as we passed, "I'm sitting in poison ivy!" His voice was soft, gentle, and giddy.

I stopped. His shoes were off. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm messed up." He grinned. "So I'm sitting in poison ivy."

"That's not poison ivy. That's garlic mustard."

"No shit? This is mustard?"

"No, garlic mustard. It's different. But it's edible."

He looked at the weeds in wonder. "You can eat this?"

"Well, you wouldn't make a meal of it, but you could put the leaves in your salad."

"Well, how about that."

"So... What's wrong?"

"Aah, I can't tell you. You'll understand later."

I looked around more closely. "Oh wait, there is poison ivy here." I pointed.

"This?" He grabbed the vine with his bare hands. With a peaceful, contented smile, he mashed it around on his forehead.

My eyebrows shot up, but I did nothing. Maybe because it was too late to stop him. Maybe because even if he was messed up, he understood his situation better than I did. Or maybe because I was just too confused to act. I'm pretty sure a deadpan "Seriously?" went through my head, but did not pass my lips.

He told me, "I need to go to the hospital. But I'm afraid they'll kill me."

"They'll kill you?"

"Yeah. The doctors might try to kill me. I'm afraid of the needles."

"Well... I don't know whether you'll get good quality medical care or not. But I'm pretty sure they won't try to kill you."

"Huh." He paused in thought. "Okay, you've convinced me. I wasn't gonna go to the hospital, but now I'll go."

I couldn't give him a ride while I had my companion with me. "Can you get yourself there?" The hospital was a ten minute walk away.

"Yeah, I can." He smiled. "Hey, thanks, buddy. Everyone else just walks right by me. You're the first person who's stopped, and the first person who's been kind to me."

"Any time. You're sure you can get there?"

"Yeah. No problem."

"Okay, good luck." We parted ways.

---

The person I supported buckled in and commented, "Hopefully that guy will be okay."

I said, "I hope so. Later on, I'll swing by and see if he's still there. Just to check on him."

"I wonder what's wrong with him."

"I don't know. He mentioned he's messed up, which could mean that he's on drugs, but it could mean that he's mentally ill."

"Yeah."

"He just took some poison ivy and rubbed it on himself, which I think means that he wants to develop a rash and get treated at the hospital. Maybe so that he can get some painkillers. That's a common thing that happens, where people go to the hospital for painkillers because they're addicted to them." I had only read about it happening here in the context of public funding: In retrospect, I'm not sure how justified the word "common" really was. Perhaps he needed the hospital for some other purpose, and the poison ivy felt like a foot in the door. Perhaps the two were unrelated, and the poison ivy was just for self harm. I suspect I'll never know.

We drove in silence for a while before I continued. "If it were safe, I would have been happy to call 911 for him. The thing is, if you call 911, they might send the police. And the police are not safe for a Black guy who's acting weird, and possibly on drugs."

"Yeah."

"The police are run by the KKK, basically. They might kill him. So I can't call the police to come check him out. That's why I decided I could come back and check on him. 'Cause while I have you here, I can't give him a ride."

"No."

"But if I drop you off later and go check on him, and he's still there, I could drive him over to the hospital."

A minute later, my companion added, "Like they say, Black Lives Matter."

Little hearts popped up in my eyes. "Yes! Exactly! That's what I'm talking about."

---

Once we had admired the tulips in the park, I suggested that we head back to the preserve, to check on the guy. My companion agreed. I'd imagined the poor guy being wrong about getting himself to the hospital. I came up with a plan to allow me to bring him there without compromising my duties, though the urushiol would need cleaning up later. What if he were unconscious or dead? I tried to remember what I could of my NARCAN training. It almost certainly wasn't needed, but I would have hated to be unprepared. I also had a number for the mobile crisis unit somewhere in my laptop. I cursed my slowness for not thinking of all of this earlier.

When we arrived, the only trace of our encounter was the crushed patch of garlic mustard. His shoes were gone, so I reasoned that he had probably left under his own power. My companion needed a convenience store, so we picked one that would take us along the route to the hospital. We had been gone more than long enough for that walk, and he wasn't to be seen. I was left reflecting on "next time," because that was all that was left to do.

Imagine if the medical community regarded broken arms the way they regard autism.

---

DSM-V: "Yelping syndrome is a condition characterized by yelping in inappropriate situations. People with yelping syndrome are antisocial. They avoid shaking hands, even when the handshake is offered in good faith. People with yelping syndrome never play baseball."

---

At the therapist:

"Doctor, I've been reading about the experiences of people with yelping syndrome, and I can relate to most of it. I think I might be on the yelping spectrum."

"You can't be. You shake hands easily. People with yelping syndrome don't shake hands."

"Shaking hands didn't come naturally to me like it does to most people. But I learned how to get by using only one hand, so I can do it just fine. So can some other yelpers."

"So you're the expert now?"

---

Parents: "My son won't do dishes. Whenever I bear hug him, he yelps. My life is so hard! I'm thinking of sending him to behavioral therapy to get him to stop yelping. #YelpingAwareness!"

---

The yelping spectrum community: "Yelping isn't a symptom; it's a trauma response. What it feels like for us is that our arm really hurts when people subject us to certain sensations, or demand certain actions of us. We're working really hard to accommodate you. Could you please stop making our lives harder, or at least meet us halfway?"

Society: "LOL, nope."

---

(It is really frickin' sad how little was changed to write this.)

In 2014, I wrote a post explaining why it is problematic to silence the people who complain about police murdering Black people. A random commenter took great offense at my defense of "criminals".

We all know what this is code for, but let me say it out loud: If you learned of the killing of Eric Garner and decided that you have a problem with someone selling cigarettes outside of the packs, but not with someone committing murder, then you don't have a problem with criminals. You have a problem with Black people.

My lefty friends: I love you. And when you have a problem with the Israeli government's war crimes but not with Hamas' war crimes, do you know what that sounds like you do and do not have a problem with? Yeah, that.

It's tiring. But in this case, I know it's not your fault. What's happening here is an engineered Dunning–Kruger effect.

Hear me out. I'm not pretending to be an expert. I merely know enough to be aware of how much I don't know, because I've at least had the privilege of listening to experts, and I'm awfully good at recognizing patterns. (Just like nobody but a Black American is an expert on the experience of being Black in America, and nobody who isn't Autistic is an expert on autism, nobody who hasn't lived in the Middle East is an expert on the situation there.)

The biggest thing that you're missing is that you're hearing less than half of the story. This article explains it:

https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2014/11/how-the-media-makes-the-israel-story/383262/

In short, international reporters in the area, and their editors, are aware that they are in danger of being murdered by Hamas. So they can print anti-Israel stories with impunity, but they have to leave Hamas alone. "Hamas fighters would burst into the AP’s Gaza bureau and threaten the staff — and the AP wouldn’t report it." "Cameramen waiting outside Shifa Hospital in Gaza City would film the arrival of civilian casualties and then, at a signal from an official, turn off their cameras when wounded and dead fighters came in, helping Hamas maintain the illusion that only civilians were dying."

There is much more that I could quote, but my purpose isn't to turn you against Hamas or the reporters. I merely want to let you know *that* you aren't seeing the whole picture, and *why* you aren't seeing it. You're good folks, and most of you are willing to open your mind to the idea that you have been systematically lied to.

We're used to that. From the whitewashing of American history to the erasure of women in STEM, we keep learning that we have been indoctrinated since childhood with unnecessary prejudices. We do what we can to counter and unlearn those. A friend created a video (no longer available) detailing various antisemitic tropes, and I was stunned by how many of these I had internalized as harmless. I still enjoy the loving self-mockery of 2 Live Jews, "As Kosher As They Wanna Be," but it's good for me to be aware of how the tropes they use for humor can also be problematic. Just as Black people here are raised with internalized systemic racism, I (named Levy) was raised with some amount of internalized antisemitism.

I'm glad I know more about that now, and am no longer perpetuating those stereotypes, to the extent possible. I'm glad I know more about Israel and Gaza now, and have stopped accidentally emboldening anti-Semites by being complicit in the telling of a one-sided narrative: A narrative which decries brutality by the IDF against Palestinians while ignoring systemic brutality by Hamas against not only Israelis but also their own citizens.

And... If I'm being honest, my complicity was not just caused by ignorance and perhaps unconscious antisemitism. It was caused by Islamophobia, too. I figured that I could write to people who share my culture, who look and talk like I do, and ask them to curb their violence. These Jews might be reasonable, and I could appeal to their empathy. What good would it do to ask Arabs to not be violent?

Yeah. It's shameful. I don't think I ever consciously thought those words, but the sentiment was there, in the background. If asked, I would have cited the lack of common language and common culture. Why would they listen to me, an outsider? Indeed, there is little reason. Having since read many empathic, caring, and very human essays in fluent English from Gazans, I now know that there were only two reasons that my pleas couldn't have moved the citizens of Gaza — and they were the same reasons that my essays of the time never moved any citizens of Israel. First, I had fundamentally misunderstood their situation. Second, most of them already desperately wanted peace, but those were not the people in power.

As an American, I cried when Bush Jr. invaded Iraq. All of us who were paying attention knew that it was a going to be a humanitarian disaster, accomplishing nothing but to enrich Halliburton and Saudi oil barons. Our protesting had been powerless to prevent it. How much more powerless must the people of Gaza feel, watching Hamas fire rockets from their schools at Israeli schools? How terrified and traumatized, when the IDF fires back?

I'm glad now that I hadn't tried to beseech them for peace. Imagine how insulting that would have been: How utterly invalidating of their lived experiences, and of their basic humanity.

And how insulting — how utterly, ignorantly blind — is it now, to write of the terrified, traumatized people of Israel, who have been fleeing at sirens and feeling the blasts from the bomb shelters built into their homes, and to condemn them for violence? They don't want war! Nobody good wants war. Are there Israelis who do want war? Sure. There were also Americans with "Freedom isn't free" bumper stickers when Bush invaded Iraq, but you wouldn't paint us all with the "fascist" brush, so why do it to the citizens of Israel? When you pretend that killing is their aim, you are calling them evil. And then yes, whether or not it is your intention, you are engaging in antisemitism.

Learn. Do better. You're lefties; that's what you do. You got this.

---

p.s. I've noticed an issue with the word "Zionist". It tends to be associated with the militant, xenophobic right wing. But Israelis will also defend against criticism of the word, explaining that it simply refers to the belief that Israel has a right to exist, or to the belief that Jews have a right to live where they will not suffer systemic oppression and murder. What's a person to think of Zionists, then? Consider that we have a word that enjoys a similar double use here in the U.S.: "Patriot". If someone here describes themselves first and foremost as a "patriot," I'll conclude with 98% certainty that they are a cowardly, treasonous Nazi with homicidal fantasies and a subservience to power that would make Stanley Milgram facepalm. Those of us who care to protect and uplift our fellow Americans? We are patriots. We don't crow about it, because being decent toward each other is not something to be proud of: It's simply the bare minimum, that we should all be doing anyway, and we don't expect a cookie just for not being a douchebag. Of course I'm a patriot: No big deal. If someone calls themselves a "Zionist," you may have to read their meaning from context.

p.p.s. If someone explains the causes of the Middle East conflict and doesn't mention British imperialism, they're not informing you. They're just trying to sway you. Also, racial problems there are very different from racial problems here. Comparison of Israeli/Palestinian relations and violence to BLM is a fantasy. If you've followed me for any time, you know I fully support the Black Lives Matter movement. The organization of the same name, like many of my beloved American progressives, espouses a mistaken official line regarding race in Israel.

p.p.p.s. Again, I'm not an expert. If you are one, feel free to correct or clarify anything here. I'm always ready to learn and do better.

Some months ago, Karen was in a public restroom where a cis woman looked like she was about to say something harsh to a trans woman. Karen spoke up first: "I like your skirt!" They exchanged pleasantries, and the other woman stifled herself.

I assist someone who had previously been told by store staff that they had to use the other changing room. When I learned this, I explained the meaning of my "#IllGoWithYou" pin. Recently, I had the opportunity to stand outside the women's changing room in that store, telling them things like, "Wow, the red really goes well with your skin tone! On the hangers, I liked the black dress more, but the red one really works well on you!" Staff and customers were right there, and nobody so much as looked askance at us.

#IllGoWithYou doesn't just mean, "I'll back you up if someone harasses you," but also, "I'll set an example, and make sure everyone else knows that you belong here." (Also, "I will use my cis privilege to keep other people from abusing theirs.")

(Aside: Karen doesn't remember her part of this. If I've misremembered, and given her credit for your story, please let me know.)

The Rainbow Staircase

L'esprit d'escalier is killing me. I'll get to that.

Capital Pride was easily the best festival that I've been to. Sleep deprivation and the distraction of a busy, anxious mind had not kept me from enjoying it. The people were happy, energetic, and friendly, recognizing each other as supportive and empowering allies. Parade watchers and participants alike stopped to pet my friends' reptiles: Three Argentine black and white tegus and one yellow rat snake. (Chameleons are too antisocial for parades, so they stayed home.) Organizations concerned with social justice, such as In Our Own Voices and the Satanists, alternated with shows of rainbow capitalism. Employees marched with pride flags and TD Bank shirts, so that the bank could pretend to care about people even while it stays invested in the Dakota Access Pipeline. I could tell the difference in the cheers, though the show of support was still loudly welcomed. I ran up to one of the women with a "Free Mom Hugs" sign, and got a mom hug.

The police cruiser, halfway through the parade, did not draw cheers, nor did it intend to. They did not so much as fly a rainbow ribbon. Pride started when New York City police raided the Stonewall Inn, a haven where same-sex couples could dance together. Two transgender women of color, Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, instigated the crowds inside and out to fight back. The Stonewall Riot, and subsequent Pride events, have encouraged LGBT+ folks to band together, to protest police brutality, and to protect each other from hate crimes. The police cruiser in the parade was a show of force, brazenly defiant of civil rights. Any officers who were genuine allies could have lent support by attending out of uniform. Indeed, a lone protester marched behind the cruiser with a sign reading, "Take Off Your Uniforms". I nearly blew out my lungs shouting my approval of her sign.

My wife and I walked toward the festival in the park to meet a couple: One trans woman and her nonbinary wife. They had together learned new ideas about gender and sexuality when the latter's husband had become their wife.

Off to the side, away from the main crowd, was the second or third topless woman we had seen that day. She was the only one who had not painted over her nipples, and was also the only person we had seen who was standing and talking with a police officer. I glanced away, not wanting to subject anyone to the Male Gaze on this day of all days. But then I looked back. Did she need help? Was the officer harassing her? This had happened to a friend of mine, even though toplessness has been legal in New York State since 1992. The tone of the conversation seemed reasonable, though I couldn't make out the words. She didn't seem to need help. She looked at me, and watched me watching her. Nobody is a mind reader, and I wouldn't want to be thought leering, so I looked away and kept up with my wife as we entered the park.

Near the fountain, we met some men clad in fetish gear. Somehow, the leather made me think, “bikers,” even though there was nothing even slightly protective about these garments. My wife made decent conversation. All I contributed was, “You know you’re getting sunburned, right?” Sometimes people don’t notice until it’s too late, but yes, he knew.

We found our friends, who were too hot for hugs. Another friend tackle-hugged me from the Mothers Demand Action table. Still another, whom I hadn't seen in years, found me and caught up for a few minutes. I marveled at the luck of seeing her there, before remembering that she had married her girlfriend a few years back, and of course she would be at Pride.

One of our friends told me that the "Free Mom Hugs" had been sadly reminiscent of their estranged, bigoted mother. I said, "We're your family now." I realized belatedly that the mom hugs had been meant to comfort people who had been rejected by their parents. The food truck lines were too long, so we walked until we found good, cheap food on Lark Street.

I posted later on social media, to briefly say that my first Pride event had been wonderful in all ways.

By morning, sleep had freshened my mind. I remembered the topless woman talking to the police officer. There was no way in hell that she had attended the Pride parade and festival to talk to the police. If she had been engrossed in conversation, she wouldn't have been looking at me. She had likely been stuck, seeking an out, and looking to me for help, since I had noticed. My overstimulated, overwrought, and sleep deprived brain had failed to process the situation correctly. It had followed a too-simple rule, "Don't stare," down the path to bystander apathy.

In the shower, I started thinking about what I could have done. That's where you replay every conversation the way it should have gone, right? The first thought was unwise: "Do you need help? Well, the officer who harassed my friend for being topless caused a protest and a huge embarrassment for the Troy police department a couple of years ago. I'm sure you don't want that, officer. We'll all be on our way now."

The next thought was more consistent with what I've read about stopping harassment. "Hon, wait, she needs help. Pretend to know her. Don't engage with the cop. Hey! It's great to see you here! How've you been? Brian and Steph are waiting for us at the food trucks. Do you want to come with us? They'd love to see you!" This became the scenario that I wanted to enact, after going back in time one day.

The French call it "l'esprit d'escalier". I call it the "spirit of the staircase," because my wife was horrified the one time I attempted to pronounce it. It's when you think of the perfect response too late, when you're already on the stairway out.

I so desperately want to fix my screwup, to be the person I know I could have been if I'd been thinking faster and more clearly, or if I'd had any practice at all. But we don't start out good at things. Any skill worth learning is built on a mountain of failures. Each time I kick myself for it can be a reminder, so that I can recognize the situation and act in time. Next time.

My dentist's receptionist searched the computer. "Your last name again?" Yes, she had spelled it correctly. Neither I nor my appointment, for which I had taken half the day off, was in the system. I calmly explained what little I could of the circumstances of the previous time that this had happened to me, at the same practice. She asked me to wait.

I read for fifteen minutes, while she and her colleagues investigated and checked in other patients.

She summoned me back. It appeared that there was a note in the system about my having switched practices. There was nothing attached to it to indicate that I had switched back. That note was popping its head up, eight years after the fact, to tell the practice that I was no longer a patient and that they should cancel my appointments. I was glad to know what had caused the problem.

"We'll have to reschedule you. Thank you for being so happy about this, and not... You know... Shouting at me."

I gave a sympatheic smile. "You don't deserve to be shouted at for this."

"Thank you."

I thought about her job for a moment. "In fact, you don't deserve to be shouted at for anything that people shout at you for."

She melted. "Awwww! I guess you're right. Most of the time..."

I shook my head. "No. Everybody screws up sometimes. Nobody deserves to be abused for it."

"Wow. You're really nice. I'm going to get you an appointment for tomorrow, because I like you, and I want to see you again."

---

Reflections:

I appreciated the offer, though I couldn't request that time off with so little notice.

A recurring theme in life is that people often do not recognize verbal and emotional abuse as abuse. My referring to shouting as "abuse" may help her to recognize it as such, when reflecting on past and future encounters with the inconsiderate, entitled pricks who have caused her to expect such behavior.

I wonder how much of her appreciation comes from having a black woman's experiences of unjust treatment predicted and validated -- and the treatment repudiated -- by a white man. (I'll spell out what some of my readers already know: Abuse of strangers correlates with privilege. A white man is the least likely person to offer sympathy and validation. Conversely, when that sympathy does happen, it is very powerful. People listen more to white males, so any support that we provide, especially in public, carries a lot of weight. White males are literally the only people who can criticize other white males and be heard by most people.) Not that I want, with a discussion of race and sex, to derail a charming little anecdote about how I got to look nice thanks to other people setting the bar so low, but I would be remiss to not take the opportunity.

[Note: "Liberals" and "conservatives" refer here to the American left and right wings respectively. Other countries use these terms differently.]

The distinction between liberals and conservatives is at once simpler and more complex than people like to acknowledge. This is hugely important, because if liberals are to make long-lasting, significant gains, we have to understand why conservatives act the way they do. I don't just mean, "Stop vilifying them and try to reach across the divide," because that won't work: They're not offering handshakes to reach for, and they are happily supporting widespread oppression and murder while we hand-wring about getting them to like us. (However, I will make a point or two about reaching out, near the end.) We need to understand them so that we are better equipped to talk to them, to oppose them, and to more efficiently save the human lives that they threaten. (Thanks to their confirmation bias, I am not worried about similarly enabling conservatives to understand liberals, even though all the information they would need is right here.)

I promised simple and complex. The simple part is: Conservatives want to be on the side of the biggest bully. ( The rest is behind this cut. )

I just read this insightful essay about nurturing culture, which (among many other things) explains that men who learn nurturing skills do so haphazardly and in isolation: I can certainly relate to that. It describes the need for men to teach nurturing skills to men. I think that the age of social media is doing wonderful things for people's access to information about how to be a better person in general, and wish that I had had such access when growing up. But at least I can do my part for the future. Here are some haphazard things related to human relations that I pieced together from my and other's experiences. Hopefully, you won't have to.

(As I write these bits of advice, I notice that I do not consistently follow them. Hopefully, putting them them down explicitly in writing will help me to fix that.)

Additionally, I hereby offer to converse with you on topics related to nurturing, and generally treating people better. Whether it's something you want to know, or it's something you have to offer that I should know, I'm open. It can be by email, phone, in person, or in the comments. You might also check my blog posts tagged respect.

---

Someone is upset.

When a baby cries, there's an instinctive need to do something to make it stop. The usual solution is to identify and fix the problem: Feed it, change the diaper, etc. Sometimes just some soothing makes it stop. (This doesn't mean the baby was crying for no reason: The need for attention is a real need.)

Some folks mistakenly apply this paradigm to an upset adult: Determine why they're crying, and tell them what to do about it. Problem solved! Or worse, tell them to stop crying and be happy instead. As soon as you realize that happiness is a choice, you won't ever have to be unhappy!

I'd love to think that I don't have to point out how ludicrous this is, but people do it all the time. I got into a bit of an argument on Reddit with some dude who (I am not making this up) thought that he was being helpful and compassionate by telling unhappy people to smile. (Like many folks, his fragile ego prevented him from listening to evidence that he might have done something wrong. More on that below, eventually.)

The simple fact is that most adults are not idiots. If they're crying over something, it's not something that can be fixed by your seemingly obvious solution. (Maybe they can't quit their abusive job, because they need the health insurance. Maybe they already know that a naturopath cannot fix health problems.) If they could decide not to be unhappy, they already would have done it. (And by telling them that they can be happy despite their problems, you are invalidating their understanding of, and reaction to, their problems. This makes them feel worse, and lets them know that they cannot trust you.)

The root of the issues is that "Make them stop crying" is a solution to your problem (that someone is making you uncomfortable by crying), not a solution to their problem. Often, what the upset person needs from you is sympathy and validation, not advice. Listen to their complaints and react sympathetically: "That's awful." "I'm sorry you're going through that." "You deserve better." And so on. If you're sure that you have a novel insight into their situation, you can (after giving sympathy and validation) add it if it sounds purely like information, not advice. (e.g., "I've known other people who behaved the way your ex is behaving, and they didn't actually believe their own verbal attacks; the attacks were just being used to distract attention from their own transgressions. It's possible that your ex doesn't actually mean those lies, but is lashing out defensively.")

If you have an invaluable piece of advice to give, ask permission first, in a non-pushy, non-loaded way, and respect the decision. It's okay to say, "I can offer you sympathy and/or advice. What would you like?" Make this offer only after giving some initial sympathy. ("Non-loaded" means you don't phrase it like, "I have some advice I'd like to give you. May I?" That disinvites a "no" answer.) It should go without saying that you need to respect "no". Soothe your eagerness with the knowledge that, if they managed to resist both the allure of useful advice and their curiosity about what was on your mind, then they mean business with that "no": They really do not want to hear it. Don't push it.

If appropriate, you may offer "sympathy, hugs, and/or advice". If they accept hugs, make it clear that the hug duration is up to them. Don't release first. That way, they can get a long hug if they need it. Do release as soon as they do: Don't be creepy by switching from giver to taker.

Speaking of which...

---

Hugs.

There are times to assume that hugs are okay, and times not to assume. The latter are more common than we know. Any time there is reason to doubt, you can ask, "Are hugs okay?" So, when might you doubt that hugs are okay?

• When you've just met someone, had a bonding conversation/experience, and are parting. Hugs are often great right then, but assuming can be disastrous. The person may not trust you yet. They may react badly to hugs. They may have a bad back. You don't know. "Are hugs okay?" is a fantastic last question: It shows that you respect them and their boundaries, and provides a segue to the final hug unless they actually don't want it. (Do not ask, "Can I have a hug?" or "May I hug you?" because that's a request, which is awkward to turn down and centers around your preference rather than theirs. Also, don't ask, "Are you huggable?" or "Are you a huggy person?" because that gets uncomfortable if they are, but they don't want you to hug them.)
  
• When you are male who is a "huggy person". A male who self-identifies as "huggy" and hugs everybody without asking is letting their wishes override other people's wishes. Power imbalance between genders makes this extra creepy, because women face dismissal ("That's just the way he is.") and backlash ("He just wanted a hug! Why would you hurt his feelings?") if they complain about nonconsensual hugs from men. (In case it isn't blindingly clear: Don't ever silence complaints of sexual harassment; call out dismissal or backlash if you see it happen; support the complainant.) Note that I'm not saying that you can't be a male huggy person. I'm just saying that if you are, that invokes enough doubt to prevent the assumption that hugs are okay. With people who aren't already close, you always have to ask first.
  
• When your close acquaintance, whom you hug at every meeting, is having a particularly craptastic time. It is possible that they need to maintain some space now. You can ask them, "Are you feeling huggable?"

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Seeking romance.

I have written here on the subject. It is advice for shy people who are relatively (or completely) inexperienced with romance. (i.e., things I wish I could have told my younger self.) tl;dr: "Nice guys" suffer from characteristic misunderstandings that make them scared to act upon their desires, so let's debunk those misunderstandings and then give advice on how to respectfully make a move.

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Owning your mistakes.

This is important enough to be its own post. I will link to it here when I write it.

Edit: I forgot about it for five years, but it seems I had something to say on the subject in this post.