Since I started writing down my mindful meditations, I have tried to pay extra keen attention to things that affect me, things that change my mood or outlook, or simply things I’m grateful for. Keeping an eye out for these kinds of things has brought up memories of my father and some paradoxical advice he tried to impart.

My father died when he was 62. I was in my mid-twenties and going through a divorce. He was not around much when I was growing up as he worked very long hours, but his presence was oh so constant. We didn’t go to many ballgames together or to the park. He didn’t teach me how to drive or mentor me in some important life skills, but I knew he loved me very much.

Starting when I was about thirteen, he used to pull me under his arm and repeat an odd phrase. “Don’t worry about the little things. It’s the big things that are important.” Then he’d add, as if confiding something more profound to me, “Don’t worry about the big things. It’s the little things that are important.”

So, what was he trying to tell me? What was I supposed to be wary of, I wondered, the BIG things or the LITTLE things? Was he simply telling me, “Don’t worry”? What was I supposed to be getting out of this advice?

In a not atypical teenage way, I suppose, I’d dismiss his thought. Must be on drugs, I’d say to myself. This had become my catchall phrase whenever someone spoke or acted in ways I couldn’t understand.

Throughout my life, I’ve had an uncomfortable reaction to getting advice I didn’t know what to do with. My mother, for instance, who is now 88, likes to dispense recommendations automatically like a two a day standing order for Advil. Her directives often feel like criticisms and could range in topic from how I should style my hair to what route I should take driving her on errands. Generally, I remember that the unsolicited opinions or advice she gives are more about her than about me. But still, I’ll bristle when my mother, or a friend, or co-worker, or coach for that matter, feels compelled to give advice that has little to do with who I am and what I value.

Advice can often seem contradictory, hard to follow, or not true for me and my life.

Then I remember to look beyond the words and focus on the vibration of someone’s counsel. I think about my father’s love floating on top of his paradox, and I’m okay with whatever sentiment is expressed.

Accepting the gift of someone’s advice without feeling compelled to take it is no small thing.