Other people's problems get boring fast.

It's just a given that if you're human, you're going to hear about other people's problems. And other people are going to hear about yours. It's the inevitable give and take of our existences.


Life is almost never what we want it to be, and it's only natural to complain about it. We're unhappy about this or that, and we need advice or at least sympathy. Or maybe just to vent.


Your brother-in-law is having problems with your sister. She doesn't understand his need to do whatever he wants to do, whether it's hang-gliding or bowling or just drinking with his friends. She's thinking about calling an old boyfriend and wants your advice.


Or your best friend is having problems with her current squeeze: he won't commit and she's running out of time.


Or your mother isn't getting along with your step-dad and is also having kidney problems.


Or your son or daughter wants more money, even though you don't approve of his or her lifestyle and/or mate.


Or your neighbor says your dog is crapping on his lawn and wants you to do something about it.

When you get calls like these, do you pick up or (assuming you having Caller I.D.) not? Do you sometimes avoid conversations with certain people because you know they're going to say
the same old blah blah blah?

Don't feel guilty. We all have enough problems of our own -- which, if we're smart, we don't advertise too freely-- that the addition of another person's problem to ours is often more than we can handle right now, especially if it's a problem we've heard about before.

We do love our family and friends, but we hope they'll deal with most of their problems on their own without including us in the mix. As we used to say in the South, "God love 'em," meaning that we understand but can't help -- or don't want to -- and we hope God will help them because we have neither the will nor the time nor the ability to do so.

Sometimes a problem is one we haven't heard before, maybe from someone who usually doesn't call us, and we pay special attention. But if we then spend an hour on the phone empathizing and offering guidance, and if that same someone calls again a week later with the same problem, having obviously ignored everything we said the first time, an alert goes off in our brains, or should: same call, same caller, same complaint. Delete.

Complaints come in daily like low-flying aircraft, right in our faces or under the radar, surprising us or not. We have to deal with them, one by one, while still maintaining our own jobs and families and houses and dealing with our own problems. Zing zing and zing, splat splat and splat! They fly by us all the time and sometimes hit us, like bugs on the windshield that need to be cleared away so we can see the road ahead clearly. But like those bugs, most are just irritants we can usually sweep away with our wipers or our internal filters. Yes, this one has to be dealt with, and soon, that one later, another one never.


Other people's problems may initially be a real concern, since the callers sound so distraught, and we offer advice if asked to (and sometimes anyway) or more often just lend a sympathetic ear. But if the calls persist, and if the complaints are always the same, our sympathy wanes. If our advice always falls on deaf ears, we stop giving it. If the coversation is always the same, and always one-sided, we tune out. Eventually we stop picking up the phone.

Are we obligated, just by being human, to listen to other people's problems? Over and over?

If they are our friends or family members, probably yes, but only up to a point. If they are just acquaintances, probably not. In either case, there comes a time when we are allowed, I think, to start ignoring the calls and pleas. Cold, yes, but, in the end, merciful: sorry, but I can't help you. (Don't call again -- please.)

The reason other people's problems get boring so quickly is that they don't meet the following criteria: (1) they involve us, (2) they involve people we care about, (3) they come from people who truly want our advice, and (4) they're particularly interesting.

Most complaints we hear are like those of characters in the afternoon soap operas, and they deserve the same attention we'd pay to those characters in those shows. In short, my life is a mess, and do you mind if I spill it all out onto your lap? Most complainers aren't looking to you for advice; they just want someone, anyone -- you! -- to pay attention to them and their own personal miseries. They have no intention of acting on your suggestions for how they might improve their lives. You're a big fat easy ear, nothing more.

So the next time someone calls you with a personal problem, ask this: Are you going to listen to my advice? Are you ready to make a change? Or are you just unloading on me?

I suspect the complainer will (1) be incensed or (2) be made more thoughtful or (3) hang up.

There's your answer, no?

Time is a precious commodity. So is sympathy. Don't waste either one.