Who Has the Right to Give Advice?

Asked whether it’s “uncomfortable” to give advice, a writer on the front lines ponders: Are we born or made? Why so many do it and so few listen? What to beware and what to NEVER forget.

In 2014, I initiate a lunch with fellow journalist Pamela Druckerman, hoping to interest her in covering the ideas in my recently-published book, Family Whispering. Also, she lives in Paris, where I am spending increasingly large chunks of time.

As we settle in to make sense of the stranger across the table, we find common ground — our work. We are authors of best-sellers about baby care. Hers chronicles the “wisdom” of French child-rearing and mine offers advice from a British nanny. Both books are critical of American hyper-parenting.

Pamela, my daughter’s age, is impressive and accomplished. Her writing, especially her essays for the New York Times, resonate with me. She is a bit coy when I ask about her next book; some writers are.

I begin to share my own exciting news, Huffington Post asked me to write “Dear Family Whisperer,” an advice column based on my book. I’m a few minutes in, when my new acquaintance interrupts and asks:

Don’t you feel uncomfortable giving advice?”

Whoa! Didn’t see that coming. The lead-in, Don’t you… seems to suggest that I should feel uncomfortable.

“No,” I answer. “I don’t.”

Today I can’t dredge up the exact words I said next. I knew what the question implied: You don’t have “Ph.D.” after your name.

I should have answered…

You don’t need an advanced degree to dispense common sense.

Just ask your great-grandmother.

The Making of an Advice-Giver: Nature and Nurture

I didn’t grow up imagining myself at a desk, poring over notes and dashing off ideas to help people live better, be happier, and make the most out of life. However, nature and nurture conspired.

I come from a long line of strong and opinionated people who put themselves in charge. The men in the family made money in retail. My mother was a teacher and my sister, a guidance counselor. Both were good at managing other people’s lives.

While some components of advice-giving are undoubtedly baked into our genes, environment plays a role, too. I learned by eavesdropping. My parents and much-older siblings, all “elders” in my eyes, were far beyond me on the path. Their arguments and struggles taught me to pay attention to the dances we do to be loved and heard.

From watching and listening and, later, studying — books and people — I eventually begin writing “service” pieces — articles that tell you what to do.

Service journalism, of course, is a new term for an old idea: giving readers good, practical advice — what to buy, where to go, how to do a certain thing — to make their lives easier.

I cobble together this piece on how to get out of a job rut, that one on homeschooling. I tell readers what to do about chronic pain or toxic parents, how to get rid of mice or dabble in S & M, how to stop drinking or stop a good kid from going bad, how save your marriage, and if it’s too late, how to have a good divorce and manage your new stepfamily.

My gerbil brain loves the randomness of it all: Dive in to a body of knowledge, excavate nuggets readers might find helpful, and watch the story go to press. Then, on to the next idea.

I eventually accumulate a wealth of information and learn a lot, as I say, “in shallow.” That’s the opposite of in depth — but a solid foundation for advice-giving.

Advice-Peddlers, One and All

In the mid-90s, when I meet Jill, a writer and editor, we instantly know we are kindred spirits. We love talking shop and spouting cursory knowledge about virtually everything! We even joke about developing our very own advice franchise, The Best Advice Ever.

In part, we are making fun of our own dueling “know-it-all” personalities, as well as the growing public appetite for bullet points. But we are a little serious, too. Why not us? We could reap millions with a sassy, spiritual, success-oriented Whole Earth Catalog for the new millennium. We never wrote it; we become dear friends instead.

Fast forward fifteen years to 2009. The “listicle” is in ascendance and print ad revenue is plummeting. Twitter is new. We are living our lives IRL (in real life) and online. The publicist paid to promote Consequential Strangers tempers my expectations about book sales by warning, “It’s hard to be heard in noisy world.”

It’s even noisier now. A multitude of self-proclaimed sages — writers and scholars, influencers and thought leaders, gurus and gadabouts, shamans and spiritual figures, therapists and theorists — are all shouting into the abyss at once…

“Listen to me. I know better. I promise to show you The Way!”

To be sure, there’s bad counsel, too. The irresponsible among us spread misinformation and lies. They make up stuff and pretend it’s science. But the good guys — the levelheaded and well-informed (like Jill and me and a few hundred thousand others)—dig in and at least try to make life better, clearer, more hopeful.

Oh, you say you want to join the fray? After all, you taught your neighbor a better way of mulching her flower beds. At your suggestion, a friend found the perfect dress for her son’s wedding. And thanks to you, your sister-in-law is finally dealing with her glaucoma.

Seller beware! You have the same pipe dream Jill and I shared decades ago. Setting aside your own stellar track record, do you know what you’re getting into?

The Painful Truth

“People don’t listen to advice,” my late centenarian friend Marge said matter-of-factly to her 25-years-younger friend — this journalist who dispenses advice for a living.

She clarifies, not so much to shield my feelings, but to state the facts, “They might pay attention if you are someone they want to imitate or if you have something they want.”

After dusting off my ego, I had to admit, Marge is right. No one changes until they are ready and want to take steps in a new direction. Mere words can’t force them.

Let’s not forget: Following advice is hard work. It means you have to change, and who wants that?

My dog park friends, for example, tell me that my French will improve if I sign up for Duo Lingo, work with a tutor, join a conversation group, put on French TV or radio to accustom my ears to the language. I do none of the above.

Apparently, I’m not alone, as this excerpt from “Why People Don’t Listen to Advice,” a post on Lingholic, confirms:

The feeling I get is that most people who ask for advice from others have already resolved to act as it pleases them. Of course, not everyone is like that, but I think that this characterizes more or less the majority of people out there. Why?

Everyone’s why is different. For me, with French, it comes down to a choice: hard work versus humiliation. I’ve been in Paris on and off for 14 years, the last two pretty much full time, and I still sound like a toddler. Embarrassing, but I suck it up. Otherwise, I’d have to study and practice every day.

I’d much rather spend my time telling others what to do!

Advice, be damned. I can’t quit you!

I can’t help it; it’s who I am. Except for a brief stint on my condo board, I’ve been throwing my two-cents into the deep well of Information since the mid-60s.

My ideas mingle with whatever else is down there, more and more of it every year. The books, the blogs, the clips, the segments of shows highlighting Today’s Hot Expert. I don’t let the competition cow me, but I also don’t count on going viral.

Indeed, in an era where writers are judged by the time it takes to read them, I’m lucky if someone actually does. Luckier still when I receive feedback.

Still, I have no plans to quit. A few good readers are enough to keep me going.

You’re among them, because you’ve made it this far in a seven-minute piece. So allow me to reward you with these important bottom-line reminders about advice:

• Anyone with common sense can dispense it.
• Never offer help unless you’re asked.
• Advice is best offered with no expectations.
• Give credit to the wise people on whose shoulders you stand. None of us has all the answers, or even most of them.
• Look inward. Why am I offering this? Is something in it for me?
• Be discriminating: What works for you or your Aunt Sadie might be counterproductive for Uncle Sal.
• Don’t be insulted when they don’t heed your words of wisdom. It’s their life to live.

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