At all points of life, I have asked for advice.
I ask my girlfriends what socks last longest (NZ wool), my father what currency I should be paid in (American) and my landlord on the best patch of grass to plant herbs (by the fence, next to the washing line).
Sometimes the advice I ask is weightier - should I stay with this man, should I move overseas, should I change my job, up-skill or go back to university?
While friends and family are forthcoming with help on trivial matters, they are reluctant to proffer wisdom on the big questions.
These decisions I have learnt to make alone.
If I had followed all the advice I was offered as a teenager, I would be working in a Central Otago vineyard, married to the head boy of my high school, and wearing the ''bubble-gum'' colours that my mother said suited my complexion.
I prefer the life I'm living now.
I have learnt to be circumspect with dispensing advice.
Unless explicitly asked for, it is usually not appreciated, because advice implies instruction, that there is a better decision than the one you are currently making.
My best friend and I give each other advice all the time, and it regularly backfires, one or other of us taking offence.
But we continue with the stream of instruction because it is comforting not to make every decision alone.
My brother also regularly phones and texts me advice, and I regularly ignore everything he says.
He wants my life to look like his, to function by his rules, but though we grew up together, our values and passions and motivations have diverged sharply, and I have learnt that his way is not mine, his way is not better.
I enjoy giving advice on the very slim wedge of knowledge I know.
What book will hold your attention over a wet weekend.
What few quotes are most arresting in a long interview.
And the right way to brew a pot of tea.
But I don't have an opinion on the big questions - they are too personal, too unique to the individual.
When I started catching the bus a month ago, I required daily advice from my colleagues before I got the hang of it.
They were experts in the art of Dunedin bus travel (get a Go card!) and I eagerly sought their opinion, morning after morning, on how to perfect my daily commute.
I have no shame in asking for guidance, because it helps build a life based on collective knowledge, and takes away the stress of making hundreds of small decisions everyday.
I don't know which car is the most cost effective to drive, but my mechanic sure does.
I am not sure which brand of ghee is the tastiest, but the grocer at my local Indian store says it's the one in the green tin.
You might say I could google these things, or do some research, but how tedious is that?
I have always been enamoured by people with experience, be it on cars or spices or leather goods - I want their opinion.
It is popular to be a generalist now, to have a suite of skills and competencies, and I understand the motivations behind this.
But I also resist the trend strongly.
A depth of knowledge is far more interesting to tease out than a broad but shallow sprinkling.
Every day I walk past the Citizens Advice Bureau and wonder what is permissible to ask them.
Is it too trivial to ask if I am sorting my recycling correctly, and too burdensome to ask what is the right time to have kids?
I've never been in there, but I plan too.
When I figure out exactly what advice I most need.
Eleanor Ainge Roy is a Dunedin writer.
