After many years, I have finally learned my lesson, I hope. These days whenever someone asks me for advice, I usually decline the request. If pressed, I qualify any counsel I might offer by saying that having had to live with the results my own advice, I don’t trust it, and I don’t think anyone else should either. I have come to realize, however, that unlike me, many people are not at all reluctant about giving advice, whether asked for or not. They seem to think that their own experience in living has qualified them to tell others how to live.
We all experience being the object of those who want to give us advice, whether we seek or not, usually not—from relatives, friends, acquaintances, and sometimes strangers. It often comes in forms like, “You should….” Or sometimes it is phrased “Well, why don’t you just….” Then there is the classic “If I were you….” I know that people mean well when they do that and are just trying to be helpful, but I am sure I know more about my own life than they do. Further, their opinions often feel intrusive and put me on guard about what to share with them.
While giving advice is a temptation for us all, it does a disservice to the recipient. Those who offer their opinions only know about the situation at hand from what the other person has told them—information that is always limited and never completely true. Everyone wears a mask of some sort that presents to the world what the wearer wants to show, a mask that may hide doubts, fears, and all sorts of sensitive things. So, those offering advice have little or no knowledge of how their suggestions might affect other aspects of that person’s life.
There is an old joke that touches on this. A guy hires onto a construction crew, and on his first day of work, he and the other workers sit down for their mid-day meal. Another worker, named Mike, opens his lunch box, takes out his sandwich, looks at it and says, “Tuna fish. I hate tuna fish.” Then he throws it into the trash. This goes on all week until one day when Mike goes through the ritual that ends when he discards his sandwich, the new guy says, “Mike, if you don’t like tuna fish, why don’t you ask your wife to make something else?” to which Mike replies, “You leave my wife out of this. I make my own lunch.”
Moreover, the givers do not have to live with the consequences of their recommendations. In essence, they become scriptwriter and director for a scene in the life of the other person. If the person follows their advice, the givers have front row seats in the theater to see how it plays out. In that role they are not mere spectators in a fictional play but voyeurs looking in on someone’s life. They are like the guy in another old joke who says to a friend, “Let’s you and me go into this bar so I can watch you fight those people.”
Even responding to a specific request for advice is risky. At the risk of offering advice myself, I think that any recommendation should be introduced with something like, “I’m not sure, but….” or “One possibility is…” or “You might consider.…” or “Have you thought about.…” A better approach might be something like, “I don’t know. What do you think?”
One also might suggest that someone seeking advice follow Emerson’s encouragement to “trust thyself” because sometimes people do not know what to do mainly because they are not ready to act.
Note: The joke about the tuna fish sandwich is not just a humorous story but also a parable that has a more universal meaning in the sense that we all make our own lunch, that is, we are responsible for the consequences of our actions. Many people, however, unlike Mike, deny that and push the responsibility off on others.