The Moth - Advice: The Moth Radio Hour

Episode Date: November 11, 2025

If you've been moved by a story this year, text 'GIVE25' to 78679 to make a donation to The Moth today. In this hour, stories of wise counsel, listening to your gut, and learning to practice what you preach. Plus, guidance from advice columnist John Paul Brammer. This episode is hosted by Moth Director Chloe Salmon. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Storytellers: Stacy Nicholson fights her social anxiety by playing bridge. When he finds himself stranded, Mike Phalen's mom offers him some age-old wisdom. Jersey Garcia looks to telenovelas for guidance in love. John Paul Brammer finds himself in a secret situationship. Podcast # 947 To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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As an older sister, I love giving advice. My brothers might say I love telling them what to do, but I object, Your Honor. I say there's a lot of value in having someone pull up a chair, look you in your eyes, and give you their honest and objective take on whatever ails you. Now, acting on that advice? Another thing entirely. And I think that's okay.

If we always did the sensible thing, I expect there would be far fewer good stories in the world. And who wants that? So in this episode, stories of advice, given, taken, and not so taken. and a chance to ponder your own wisdom-giving chops when I sit down with one of our storytellers, who's also an advice columnist, who brought in some juicy questions to share with us. Let's get going. First step is Stacey Nicholson. She told this story at a main stage in Fargo, North Dakota, where we partnered with Prairie Public Broadcasting.

Here's Stacy Live at the Maw. I don't have a single memory of ever having lunch in the lunchroom during my entire four years of high school. I must have, but if I did, I likely ate my lunch as quickly as possible and then spent the rest of the lunch period roaming the hallways, because I do have a lot of memories of roaming the hallways. In my mind, the tables in the lunchroom were reserved for the cool kids. the big groups of friends who sat around laughing and making plans for the weekend ahead and I was definitely not one of the cool kids.

I was a shy, weird, introvert, but I wished I could be the kind of person who could sit around a table laughing and making plans with friends. Then in my 20s, I developed an almost crippling social anxiety to the point where I might make myself physically ill if I had to go anywhere, especially if somewhere where I might not know

anybody because I had decided that the world was divided into two groups of people. The people who thought I was weird and the people who knew I was weird. And since I wasn't going to be welcome at any of the cool tables and I didn't want to spend my time roaming the halls, it was easier to just stay home. But eventually I realized that if I was ever going to have the life I wanted to have, I was going to have to make myself leave the house, which is how to be. I found myself being introduced to my now-husband Skip at Ralph's Corner Bar. Skip played bridge, and despite its reputation for being a difficult card game, I thought it might be something fun that we could do together.

So I signed up for beginning bridge class, three times. Because bridge is hard, but I was determined to learn. The last bridge class I took was held in one of the meeting rooms of the bowler. There were four or five tables with four bridge players per table and we would sit around practicing with whoever had ended up at our table

raising our hands frequently to ask the teacher questions about how to bid or score or play a hand. I was 26 and everyone else was at least 60. It was mostly women, mostly widowed or divorced, and mostly retired. And I liked these women, but I was intimidated by them. So I would usually sit quietly and listen while they told stories between the hands, and these women told great stories.

Like when one was explaining how her husband had left him after his high school reunion for his high school sweetheart, and another one piped up, You're kidding. The exact same thing happened to me. And I was finally feeling like I was getting the hang of Bridge, and I probably could play socially, but the people in the class and Skip were the only people I knew who played Bridge, and he worked nights, and I worked days. So I was sad when the class was ending, and I wasn't going to have anyone to play with anymore. But I completely shocked myself when at the end of that last class, I looked around and blurred, it out, does anyone want to come to my house next week and just play bridge? And before I could

even think to myself, what have I just done? Seven of the ladies said they'd be happy to come to my house the next week and play bridge. And that's when the real terror set in. I was going to have to go home and tell my roommate, who was even younger than I was, that I had invited seven senior citizens over for for a bridge party the following monday night eight people means two tables a bridge and all I had was my dining room table in four chairs I had never thrown an adult party before and I was going to be entertaining women who had been entertaining for longer than I had been alive. So I was worried I was going to make a fool of myself.

But I borrowed a beat-up old card table and four folding chairs from my parents. I knew food was an important part of the success of any party, so I loaded up on everything I could think of, chips, nuts, candy, meat, cheese, crackers, veggies, fruit, coffee, soda, tea, dessert. I got the requirement. I got the required four decks of bridge cards, tallys, and score sheets, and I waited.

And on Monday night, I was a nervous wreck and nauseous, and I wanted to call the whole thing off. But in my panic, following my surprise invitation, I didn't get any of their phone numbers, so I was stuck waiting and worrying and hoping for the best. And they all showed up, all together, right on time, etc. There was Marge, a self-assured, take-charge lady, Sally, a barely five-foot-tall sweetheart, Greta, Sheila, Gail, Helen, and Janet, whose husband had left her after his high school reunion.

I invited them in, and we all had to squeeze around the card table in the middle of my little living room in my little apartment. I showed them around. I invited them to help themselves to the refreshments. We divided between the two tables, and we started to play bridge and get to know each other. We played 24 hands a bridge, six hands with one partner, then rotate to another. We weren't very confident, and we weren't very good. We went back and forth between the tables, showing each other our hands and saying,

what should I do with this hand? How should I bid this? And we gave each other a lot of questionable advice. But we laughed, and we had fun, and they were eating my friends. snacks. So I couldn't believe I had pulled it off. And at the end of the night, Sally stood up and said, does anyone want to come to my house next week and play Bridge? And we did. So the next week we played at Sally's, same routine, 24 hands at Bridge, lots of questions, lots of questionable advice, and lots of laughs. And at the end of that night, somebody else asked if we wanted to come to their house the next week. So we played the week after that and the week after that and

the week after that, was someone volunteering at the end of each night to host the following week. Sometimes someone would have to miss, so our group expanded to include regulars and subs. I lived in constant fear that they would replace me as a regular, so anytime I had to miss a week, I made sure to volunteer to host the next week, so they couldn't exclude me. And at the end of every night, we had dessert. Sometimes we had dessert at 10, 30, or 11 o'clock at night, but we always had dessert. And depending on where we were, we might be having dessert at two tables of four or one big table of eight, but I finally had a big group of friends sitting around a table laughing and making plans.

Maybe we weren't making plans about boys or parties. but we were at least making plans for next Monday night. And at some point, I don't know how or when, I looked around and realized I wasn't at the cool table. I was the cool table. Anytime anybody knew came into our group, I was introduced as, this is Stacy, the young oneer. This is Stacy.

She keeps us young. These women weren't sitting with me because they had to or because there was no room at another table. These women were sitting with me because they wanted to. Somehow I had become the life of the party and I loved it. We played bridge on Monday nights for 21 years. My ticket to the cool table has been a bridge tally. But even more important than that, I've learned there's a third group of people out there.

Besides the people who think I'm weird and the people who know I'm weird, there are the people who know I'm weird and love my weird, and that has been the true gift of bridge. Thank you. That was Stacey Nicholson. She spent 17 years as a legal assistant, turning other people's lives into affidavits for the court. Stacey ventured into live storytelling, hoping to build the courage and skill to share stories at funerals and overcome her fear of public speaking. Most of the practical advice she got from her newfound friends was bridge-related. How to play, bid, bridge etiquette, and so on.

Helpful. Even more helpful was the unspoken advice. In her bridge ladies, Stacey found a blueprint for how to get older without getting old. Keep learning, have fun, and laugh a lot. In a moment, a stranded teenager gets some words of wisdom from his mom. When the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Chloe Salmon. In this episode, stories of advice, both given and taken.

Our next storyteller gets some guidance from that bottomless well of wisdom. Moms. Honestly, if I had started listening to my mom's advice 15 years ago, I might be president now. Mike Phelan told this at a story slam in Burlington, Vermont, where we partner with Vermont Public. There's Mike. So this was a junior year of high school. I had just been dumped for the first time. And I decided I was like, oh, you know what, I'll give myself a little vacation. So I went down to Florida to visit my grandparents.

And it was like February. Weather was great. I had a good time. And I'm coming back and I fly from like Florida to like Atlanta to LaGuardia and then Burlington. I get to LaGuardia at like, I think like 7.30 or something and I mean I didn't know it at the time

but we were in the middle of the winter's biggest snowstorm that year. And so I'm So I'm in the airport and it's snowing and flight from LaGuardia to Burlington is delayed like two hours or something. It's like 9.30 now and it gets delayed again. I'm like, okay, it's getting a little late. Call my mom and I was like, hey, like the flight's been delayed a little bit.

It's snowing pretty hard and she panics. And so she's like trying to find all these ways to get me home and she's like, you know what, like just go get a hotel somewhere in New York. I'm like, just like, go talk to the front desk. Like, go get you something. I go up to the front desk and I'm like, hey, you know, I can't get home, I'm 16. And they were like, no, I can't do anything.

It's weather related, we can't get you a hotel. We wait some more and it's like 1130, 1145 and they just canceled the flight completely. And so I'm like, Mom, like, I don't know what to do. I can just sleep on the floor, not even sleep, just like hang out here. And she's like, okay, maybe like, when's the next flight, go up again? I think it was a Monday. And they say, next flight to Burlington's on Wednesday.

And so I was like, okay, I can't do this, Mom. I'll just get an hotel room, like, I'll figure it out. I had like $300 maybe to my bank in my bank. count like any other 16-year-old. But I'm on the phone with my mom and she says, she pauses and she's like, because she's run out of option. She's like, go find a mom. And I was like, I was like, what do you mean? She's like, just look around, find a mom. Like in your gate. And I was like, okay. So I walk around and I'm like, like, sort of looking at all these people and I see this, like, I see this kind of young couple, maybe like 30 some, 40,

um, um, um, with their two young boys. And, and so I was like, mom, like, I think I found another mom. Uh, and so, so I go up and, um, you know, this lady's like on the floor with her two little kids and, uh, and I go up, I'm like, hey, like, uh, my mom told me to find you. And she's like, okay. And I hear my, I have my mom on the phone. And I'm like, here, and I give her the phone. And she's talking to this. And she's like, yep, yep. And I'm just like, sitting there. Like, I see the dad. I was like, how's it going? And so she's like, yeah, yeah, okay. And gives the phone back. And I talked to my mom. And she's like, all right, this lady's going to give you a ride home. They're from Vergenz. I live in Underhill. I was like, okay.

It's now like midnight, and they rent a car, and I get in the car with this family, as my mom instructed me to do. And I drive five hours back. I remember distinctly, like, I tried to, she put her two young kids in the back and I'm like climbing in the back. She's like, oh, you can go up front. I was like, that makes sense. That's fair. And so I sit up front and I'm talking to this guy who's like, older, obviously. And to put things into perspective, he seemed like the kind of guy who was into country

music where I was listening to a lot of Nirvana at the time. And so we weren't really relating much, we were just like, oh, like crazy storm, huh? And so it was a really awkward drive. Five hours, it's a long time. We get home, or we get to Virgin's at like 5 a.m. My mom meets us at this gas station. And it's like, oh, thank you so much, blah, blah. Drive me back.

I get home at like 6 a.m. or something. Fall asleep. But all I can say is that Lady Luck must be a mother. Mike Phelan is a 25-year-old special educator from Vermont who spends his non-working time rock climbing, traveling, and exploring nature. Find a mom is honestly some all-time advice. The second best advice he's ever been given, never mop yourself into a corner.

This, from his boss at his first pizza joint job, after Mike cleaned the floor in the wrong direction at closing. applicable in mopping and in life. Our next storyteller finds her love advice in the world of telenovelas, for better and for worse. Jersey Garcia told this story at a grand slam in Miami, where we partner with public radio station WLRN. Here's Jersey, live at the moth. Hello. So, I am Dominican.

My parents raised me in New York City. I'm from the Heights, Washington Heights. What that means is also that I was taught from an early age that you should never fall in love. And if you have the unfortunate event, or that unfortunate event happens to you, you should never let anybody know about it. especially the person you fell in love with. How I learned this was because my mom told me and my cousins, and also because I used to watch the telenovelas with her. And there I was sitting next to her,

and she's seeing Susanna and Joaquin, and Susanna, Joaquin just cheated on her. I don't know what he did, but she was there crying and pleading with him, don't leave me, I love you so much, and my mom is sitting there, Pendeja, this girl is just like, I can't, don't you ever, don't you ever? And I'm there seven years old with my little, you know, moniitos happening and just trying to

learn from my mom and from the telenovelas what not to do. And also, you also learn from the telenovelas that if something happened, you had to make an exit, you had to cry out in this fashion. Oh my God, I almost dying. Come and follow me. because the idea is that you had to play hard to get, and they had to come and get you. So when I first fell in love,

I was in my sophomore year in high school, and I fell in love with Adrian Greaves after dating him for a week. Number, day seven, he called me and broke up with me. So I went to my room and started crying, and my mom stands on the door of the room, and she's like, Francisco, come and see. Come and see this debacle. She's crying for a boy.

The disgust in her voice. But I did not tell Adrian, although I was looking for him in the hallways of the school, looking for him to just get a glimpse of him because I spent two years afterwards really hurting and because I was in love with this kid. But I will never show him that I was in love or that I even missed him. The second time I fell in love, I was in college, and I went to visit this young man who I was dating already for like a year or something. And I don't know what happened, I found a letter, it became a blur.

I tried to remember what the telenovelas told me to do. And that was to run out of the room in desperation, hoping that he will follow me and come and get me. No, don't leave, Jersey, don't leave, don't leave me, I love you so much. I went outside, he never came out to get me. I was, it was cold, it was very cold. I came back to the room and he was sleeping. But that's fine, that's fine, and I did what you're supposed to do,

which is give back everything that he gave you and leave the room and don't talk to him anymore and never tell him that you were really in love and yet your heart was broken. So the third time that I fell in love, was recently after as an adult and dating after divorce I met a man who I fell in love with and after like 11 months of dating he came up to me and he said something about having cold feet and some some some some some so I'm like okay here let's see what is the telenovela script

that I'm going to do on this one I got accedano's back took all his items that he had left in my house, put them in the Sedano's bag, handed to him, gave him a coupon for the special on socks they had in Walmart, because God, uh-uh. And I gave him also the Christmas card that he gave me. And he will never see in me that I was suffering and that I was in love with him and that my heart was broken. The irony of my behavior is that I am a licensed marriage and family therapist. So, what do I tell my clients that come to me in are heartbroken or in this type of situation? No, you need to go back out there and tell that person how you feel.

You best believe you've got to go out. It's about vulnerability. It's about opening your heart. It's about sharing. Not this girl right here. No way. I won't do that. And it's funny because that summer that this gentleman had broken up with me, I had like, it was like the summer of heartbreaks. And everybody that was coming in my office was experiencing heartbreak. But the interesting thing, too, is that this gentleman that broke up with me a year and so ago, he will always keep texting me just to check in and say hello. And every time he checked in my and said, hello, hi, Jersey, how you doing? My heart just broke a little bit more, and I just got so sad.

I will just, you know, respond with the, I'm totally fine. Everything is fine. Kids are fine. Life is fine. Yes. But recently, actually, a couple of weeks ago, he text and he asked that question, Hey Jersey, how you're doing? And I responded.

I said, I haven't forgotten you. I think about you every day since the day we broke up. Every time you text me, my heart breaks just a little bit. And one thing that I regret not telling you when we were together was that I love you. That was Jersey Garcia. She's a divorced mother of two who facilitates therapeutic healing for couples and individuals. She obsesses over astrology and the meaning of life while loving up on John, who she considers to finally be the one.

Yes. Something I love about Jersey's story is her total honesty and the difference between giving advice as a therapist and actually taking said advice. Thank you for admitting that it's hard. In that spirit, Jersey says she's found that what sometimes works best with clients isn't regurgitating academic knowledge, but sharing some of the ups and downs of her own experiences.

In a moment, a young man reckons with his love life on a hike in the Oklahoma wilderness. And I sit down with that storyteller, who's also an advice call. columnist to hear some tricks of the trade and give some advice of our own. When the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Truth or Dare, how about both? This fall, the moth is challenging what it means to be daring. We're not just talking about jumping out of airplanes or quitting your job, we're talking

about the quiet carriage to be vulnerable, the bold decisions to reveal the secret that changed everything. This fall, the Moth Main Stage season brings our most powerful stories to live audiences in 16 cities across the globe. Every one of those evenings will explore the singular theme of daring, but the stories and their tellers will never be the same. So here's our dare to you. Experience the moth mainstage live.

Find a city near you at the moth.org slash daring. Come on, we dare you. This is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Chloe Salmon, and in this episode, we're hearing stories on the theme of advice. Our final story is told by John Paul Bramer. who shared it at a main stage at the Hanover Theater in Worcester, Massachusetts. Here's John Paul.

People tend to pair up pretty early in cash, the small town in Oklahoma where I'm from. My parents, for example, met as sophomores in high school, and I was around that age when I first met Corey. Blonde hair, blue eyes, big muscles. Christian fundamentalist. Completely out of my league. Nevertheless, Corey took an interest in me,

the shy, quiet kid. In Oklahoma, those are synonyms for homosexual. But I was deeply in the closet. Being gay in my neck of the weds really wasn't an option. I remember one kid got bullied for a solid week because he wore a Hollister logo shirt to school. This other kid was like, he's got a bird on his shirt, like a girl.

Still, when Corey sat down next to me in first period chemistry class, my heart fluttered. I'll never forget his first words to me. Yo. So, uh, what's your relationship with Christ like? I knew that Corey was part of a weird Christian youth group, one of those hip non-denominations. churches that's down with skateboarding and skinny jeans, but not women's suffrage.

I, meanwhile, was very busy pursuing becoming a devout Catholic, because it was something to do. I was actually in the expedited confirmation classes for the elderly and the dying. for reasons they never revealed to me. But all this is to say that Corey and I, we were star-crossed from the jump, and I was way too into my Catholic sacraments to deal with his Protestant nonsense. But he was so cute, and I was so desperate for male attention of any kind that I was willing to engage in theological debates to get it. So I compromised.

I wouldn't go to his weird church, but I would meet Cole. for lunch. And then we met for lunch again, and again, and again. We spent many a lunch hour in his parked car, fighting over the existence of God and debating the concept of sin and exploring each other's bodies. Third thing really threw me for a loop, but I wasn't going to complain. And other than that, it was practically a Bible study. Within the span of six months, I was confirmed John Paul St. Juan Diego, Hernandez Bramer. Corey left his weird youth group, and I had fallen deeply in love. I got to know Corey like the back of my hand.

I knew that he was deaf in his left ear from a fist fight he got into as a kid, so I always had to speak into his right. I knew that his dad was an out-of-work flooring guy who'd been hit hard by the recession and that his mom, a secretary at the Smok Meads Company in town, was the breadwinner of the family. He got used to being at my place. I got used to being at his. We'd play call of duty, roam the aisles of Walmart, commit light theft, go on hikes in the Wichita Wildlife Refuge. And when we were certain we were alone and that we wouldn't get caught, we would fool around. And this was actually a perfect system for me, a person with no intention of ever coming out,

but who still kind of wanted to do hand stuff. But Corey, for his part, made it abundantly clear that he wanted to be normal. We could fool around, but only when he wanted to. We should do our best not to be seen together too often in public, and we should definitely never, ever acknowledge that there was anything gay going on between us. These were good old-fashioned heterosexual hand jobs

between best bros. Those are Corey's rules. And you know what? I abided by them. Reluctantly at first, but then without even really questioning them. Before I knew it, Corey was completely in the driver's seat. Literally, even when we were in my car, he didn't let me drive. And I got used to it. I truly believed in my heart of hearts.

was as good as a closet country kid was ever going to get, and I shouldn't do anything to mess it up. I mean, this is someone who wanted to spend time with me, someone who talked to me, someone who even touched me sometimes. That was more than I was used to, and I guess that's all I thought I deserved. I mean, where else was I going to find a relationship like this without having to come out? And yeah, I was pretty sure that my family wouldn't care if I came out as gay, but this was still rural Oklahoma. And to be honest with you, I kind of thought I had enough stuff going on as it was. I was Mexican-American. I was left-handed. Two things. I was and continued to be incredibly embarrassed to be alive, and I'm really just trying to make it to death without

making too much of a fuss. And that's definitely how I approached my relationship to Corey. I never wanted to ask for too much. So my grand plan for us both was we would continue being best buds until one of us died. We would move to the city where we would both get jobs and wives, of course, and we could be neighbors, and I could survive off the scraps of affection that he sometimes offered me behind closed doors. And now that, to me, was dreaming big. A miserable year like this went by. Then came the summer after we graduated high school. I was going to about an hour and a half away, and Corey was going to the community college in town. I didn't know how to tell him how terrified I was at the idea of being apart from him. I mean, I didn't

know what daily life looked like without this guy. I'd memorized all four of his orders at all four of the restaurants in town. We knew each other's deepest secrets. We were each other's deepest secret. But we didn't have the language to talk about that. So we didn't. We just kept doing what we always did. We kept hanging out, we kept fooling around, and we kept going on hikes. One of these hikes was Elk Mountain, a two-and-a-half mile trail that we'd done probably dozens of times before. But that day, when we did it, we ran into something out of the ordinary, something really cute. First came the big wet nose, then two bulbous eyes, then the fuzzy reddish hair, a precious baby bison. And now this, to be clear, was a death sentence. Here's some

oaky wisdom for you, where there's a baby bison, there's a mama bison. Bro was the last thing I heard before that bison came charging at us through the brush. And so Corey and I, we throw ourselves off the untamed side of the mountain, rocks and branches, scratching and scraping us the whole way down. And before we know it, we're far from the trail that we were just on. So we get up, we dust ourselves off, try to laugh at the situation, and then we go looking for the trail. And we look, and we look, and we look. The thing about being lost in the woods is that it takes a good long while to accept. Your brain just kind of gloms on to this delusional belief that life as you know it is a couple steps that way. And

And you go a couple steps that way, it's not. But as we're carrying on like this and getting progressively more lost, it's dawning on me that people wouldn't even think to look for us until nighttime. The sky darkens, clouds gather, starts to rain, but isn't until I hear a rattle by my feet that I realize we're in real trouble. And a lot of things went through my head as I stared down at that rattlesnake. Some of them made sense, like, I wonder if my mom knows I love her. Others were kind of silly, like, wow, my sister and I weren't done with burn notice yet.

I back away slowly, and when I'm certain that I have somehow survived this close encounter with a rattlesnake, I say what I should have said hours ago. I say, Corey, we need to call the Rangers. My phone's dead because I'm myself, so he pulls his out, but then he hesitates. Can't do that man. And I'm like, why not? And he goes, bro, if we call the Rangers, they're going to send a helicopter. And if they send a helicopter, it's going to be on the news.

And I'm sitting there like, okay, and I just couldn't believe that this guy that I knew so well, this guy that I was in love with was acting like this right now. But it was because I knew him so well that actually I kind of knew exactly the way he was thinking. There were rumors in town about me and Corey. People wondered why we spent so much time together. And so as crazy as it might sound to you and me here today, I'm going to walk you through life according to Corey in that moment. We would call the Rangers.

The Rangers would send a helicopter. And the Rangers sending a helicopter would inevitably lead to a local news headline like two gays rescued from Brokeback Mountain with our pictures right underneath. It's exactly what he was thinking, but just because I could read his mind does not mean I liked what I saw. To be honest with you, my heart was broken. I didn't know that his shame of us and of me

went that deep, but maybe he'd literally rather die than be caught scene with me. That's why I decided to do something out of character. I snatched the phone right out of his hands, which for us is unprecedented, shocking. And we're staring each other for a little bit, bit and in the silence that sometimes falls between two people who know each other a little too

well, I think you knew exactly what I was saying. So I have the phone, and with it, I call the Rangers, and it rings, and it rings, and it rings. And I do wonder if my little moment of triumph is going to be squandered, and I am going to die on Situation Ship Mountain. But then the heavens part a voice on the other side a ranger are you lost a voice so tender

and so compassionate I just want to break down right then and there and say more than you know she really might as well have said oh baby you're gay

so she directs us towards a valley which will lead to a clearing which will then take us to parking lot, and as we're making our way down the valley, Corey is practically moping behind me about being saved, I think because he realizes what I realize, which is that we never would have found this way out on our own, and maybe he's a little embarrassed that I'm walking ahead of him. So we make it to the clearing, through the trees, I can see the parking lot,

and I've never in my whole life been so happy to see a 2009 Honda Civic. Make it to the car, I climb into the driver's seat, thank you very much. And I am wet, I am scratched, I'm itching, I am bleeding, but I'm also proud. The world seemed new and bigger now, like it had a little more room for me than I thought. Thank you. That was John Paul Bramer, an author and illicit. from Oklahoma who currently lives in New York. And surprise. In addition to being a stellar storyteller, John Paul is also an advice columnist. His column, Ola Pappy, has counseled hundreds of

loyal readers for eight years. In honor of this episode, I asked if he'd come and chat with me about what it's like to give advice professionally. And as a special treat, we'll also hear a couple of the questions his readers have sent and give them some advice. Hey, John Paul. It is so great to have you here today. Hey, Chloe. I'm so happy to be here. I'm so happy you're here. All right. You're a very funny person. It shows up in your story, but something else that I really love about your story is its vulnerability and its tenderness. So how do you find yourself striking that balance when you give advice to your readers?

Yeah. I mean, I'm very lucky in that Ola Poppy started at Grindr. And so I, you know, didn't take it as a very serious endeavor. Like, I don't have to be Dear Abby here. In fact, the whole project of Alloppy was me being like, what if I kind of made fun of Dear Abby or did a satire where, like, Dear Abby is a gay Latino man on Grindr. I thought that would be so funny. But then.

But then. So here's the thing about running an advice column on Grindr, where it gets pushed to the app. A lot of people on Grindr are in the Queer community. A lot of them are lonely because if you're on Grindr, you're looking for something, right? And they were like, I have a lot to get off my chest. And so a lot of these letters were very heartfelt. They were very poignant. They made me very emotional. So today, even still, the recipe for an olipopopi column still has that intention towards humor. It's baked into its DNA. But

it's also earnest. It's a little vulnerable. It's me sitting down at the bar with you being like, hey, I've been where you've been. But it does feel like I have this. Poppy persona. There's a room in my brain that's dedicated to Poppy, and he's like this kind of separate person. He has his own quirks. He has his own way of doing things, and I really like it that way, because I have people ask me, you know, do you feel like you're wise enough to give advice? Do you feel like you're the kind of person who can actually help someone? And I'm like, not me, but like this thing in my brain or like this character up here kind of can. And I really enjoy that because it lets me be as messy as I want and need to be. So I go out and I collect the

life experiences that Poppy needs to use to make advice. John Paul, you have very kindly brought in a couple of questions that have been sent to you. I will read the first one. Ola, Poppy. My friend and I have known each other for over 15 years, and I've always considered her one of my best friends, as well as one of my few friendships that's endured several moves, schools, and countries. My perception of our friendship was shaken last fall. She had gotten married in a small pandemic wedding and had always said she'd put on a bigger wedding to invite all her friends once it was feasible.

I heard from a mutual friend that the wedding was officially being planned but no date had been set yet. I didn't think anything of it until a couple months later when her sister messaged me and asked whether I was coming to the wedding. It was then I learned that not only had a date

already been set, but it was hardly a month away. The day of the wedding passed and she posted all over social media about it. I liked the post, hoping she'd see the notification and reach out with an explanation. It's been half a year already, and I haven't been able to stop obsessing over it. Even the funny posts we would send one another have dried up. How do I make peace with the fact that my longest friendship is over, and that for whatever reason that I may never know, she chose not to say anything about it?

Ooh, okay, layers, layers, layers, layers. My goodness. This is tough. Well, my favorite part of this letter is the part where she is like, I started liking the post. I know. You ever just like be on social media and do something that just makes you feel like an absolute creature? Yes. Yeah, I know.

And that's so tough, too, because you're so emotional. And friendship's ending, we don't talk enough about how devastating that can be. Like there's space to talk about a relationship ending, like a romantic relationship ending and how horrible that is. Also, you know, in our culture, it's the norm to bring a really formal end to. romantic relationships. We have a system where it's like, okay, we need to both sit down and really declare this thing over with. But we don't have that for friendships, which can just sort of drift away or can just wordlessly stop. And often in advice column world, I have to do a lot of work to dress up the same three pieces of advice over and over again, because most people are just

one frank conversation away from the conclusion to their issue. But luckily for us, they are now like half year out from this wedding. Okay. And I mean, my question for this person would be like, what is stopping you from just asking? No, absolutely. And those are the conversations that always feel, often feel impossible to have, you know, because then you have your answer. Not wanting to know is so relatable. Sometimes it's just the idea of knowing is so scary and final because my instinct says that, yeah,

your friendship probably has changed quite a bit over time if they didn't even think to invite you. and that's not something that's very pleasant to confront on a random afternoon. Okay, so the advice is. Reach out. Ask. Yeah. Ask. Hello, Poppy.

I hit my artistic peak in college when I was doing an art minor and consistently taking classes, learning new skills, and being challenged to get better. I don't paint as much anymore. I hastily sold my favorite college-era painting, a huge watercolor on paper depicting stormy waves right after graduation for way too cheap to an acquaintance when I was. was broke. I've always deeply regretted it, especially because I know I couldn't make another one like it now. A few years ago, I messaged him explaining my regret and asking if I could buy it back. He sheepishly admitted he'd given it to a friend as a wedding gift, and when I asked

if I could have the friend's name to reach out to him, he didn't respond. Fast forward to this month, the purchaser, who is also a musician, DM'd me asking permission to use my name in a song about said friend. The line is, I gave you my name's painting. Oof, okay. The idea of a song about friendship is nice and I don't mind from a privacy perspective, so I said yes. But what I really wanted to say was I want my painting back. I still think about it and get sad. I've considered doing some investigative work and reaching out to the friend now that I have his name. Should I? I don't know why I feel so much grief over this painting, but I really do. Oh, this is a bummer. It's so sad. Oh.

Yeah, it's like, to me, this is one of those rare questions where I have different answers to address the two different aspects of it. Okay. So in the beginning, you know, I also make visual art. I sell it, et cetera. And to me, like, once I have sold it, it's unfortunate, but it's theirs. Yeah. You know, like, I can't just be like, hey, I want that back. But then if my buddy didn't answer my query as to who bought it and then it's like, hey, I made art about the situation, I would be like, oh, so your art kind of matters. And so, yeah, like. First aspect of the whole thing to me is like, yeah, sucks. You sold it. It's theirs. Second aspect of it is just like this person needs to get some sass. Yeah.

I mean, see, this is why I can't be an advice call on this because I would write back and I would say, you know, I, like, let's collab on a strongly word letter. Let's show up at his house. Let's steal it. Let's do a heist. The first, Ola Poppy heist. Let's do a heist. Yeah. So I guess the question they're asking is if they should try and reach out to the person who now has the painting. I would still ask. I would just be like, hey, here's the situation.

Especially once this person made a song about it, I would be like, well, now I'm... Yeah, that's fair. That's fair. And if they say no, then that's it. We got to put it to bed. You got to move on. We got to put it to bad. Okay. All right. I think that that wraps us here. Thank you so much for coming in. John Paul. It's always a pleasure to talk to you. And I have loved being able to give advice. alongside you. Thank you for having me. Any time you want to join in on Ola Poppy, we can have Ola Chloe. You're going to regret saying that so soon. You're going to have to move. All right. Thank you so much for coming again. Thank you.

That was advice columnist and storyteller, John Paul Bramer. You can find him on substack and also clearly in my heart. We gabbed for much longer than I was able to include in this episode. So if you'd like to hear the full interview, including a bonus advice right in, head over to the moth.org. That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. If this week brings you some good advice, I hope you're inspired to take it. Thank you to our storytellers for sharing with us and to you for listening. We hope you'll join us next time. This episode of The Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, J. Allison, and Chloe Salmon, who also hosted the show and directed the stories.

Additional Grand Slam coaching by Larry Rosen. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, Associate producer, Emily Couch. The rest of The Moll. Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Sarah Austin Ginesse, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Marina Clucce, Suzanne Rust, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Patricia Urania. Moth stories are true as are remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift, other music in this hour from The Meeters, Tom McDermott and Evan Christopher, Gault McDermott, DeWallie and Filippe Budat, and Chicha Libre.

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including executive producer Leah Reese Dennis. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching as your own story, and to learn all about the moth, go to our website, the moth.org. Thank you.