Nobody wants advice. At least, nobody wants mine. They’re all too busy telling me what to do, instead.
Like the time I tried to talk to my cousin about her hair color. It’s that shade of brown you only get when you’ve tried to bleach it yourself.
“This color?” she said. “You’re kidding! It’s scientifically chosen to complement my skin tones. Your color, though, could use some work. You need something darker to cover that gray.”
Then I tried to talk my brother into getting some therapy. His kids had been fighting and driving him crazy all summer, so one day I called. “Have you heard about anger workshops?” I asked him. “I hear they’re very good for sibling rivalry.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” he replied. “It could help you a lot.”
Parents are always good for advice… like it or not. After a certain point, my conversations with my parents consisted almost exclusively of them giving me advice, and me trying not to take it… as if it were some kind of cosmic dodge-ball game:
“Have you changed the wall-paper in your living-room yet?”
“Actually, I’ve decided I like that pattern.”
“Are you still dry cleaning your blouses? It’s such a waste of money!”
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw what happens when I launder them, instead.”
“Have you tried looking at used cars for a change?”
“We’ve decided we’d really rather buy a new car and depreciate it ourselves.”
But above all, if you want advice, just tell people you’re looking for a job. It brings out the Big Advisor in everyone — and they don’t take time off for holidays or weekends. Suddenly, everyone in your life is an expert:
“Have you tried something a little closer to home?”
“Maybe you’re looking too close; you should be more willing to travel.”
“Have you been checking the job search websites? You shouldn’t neglect them.”
“Oh, don’t bother with those websites; they’re useless.”
“What you need to do is: Network.”
“Maybe there’s a self-help group in your community; have you tried to find one?”
Hmm. Self-help sounded good – much better, in fact, than being the butt of everyone else’s advice. So I looked and found one that specialized in helping folks who were looking for jobs.
At our first meeting, we went around in a circle. It was obvious to me what everyone else needed. “Have you kept up with your friends and colleagues?” I asked one person.
“No, I want to change fields completely.”
“Have you updated your resumé?” I asked another.
“I don’t believe in resumés; it’s much better to get a job without one.”
One woman didn’t have a car, and complained about the scarcity of office jobs in the suburb where she lived. “What about looking in the city?” I asked her.
“I hate public transportation,” she answered.
“Well, what’s nearby to you?”
“Doctors’ offices.”
“They need office staff, don’t they?”
“I hate doctors.”
I gave up. Everybody had a reason not to take my advice.
Eventually, the circle worked its way around to me. “So, what about you, Judy? How’s your job search going?”
“I haven’t had any interviews in a while.”
“Why not?”
“There’s nothing in my field.”
“Well, I know several of your colleagues, and right now I think they’re on a hiring spree. May I give them your resumé?”
“It hasn’t been updated.”
“That won’t matter, I’m sure it’s good enough.”
“I don’t think it really reflects my skills.”
This wasn’t what I had come for at all! I didn’t want advice. I wanted someone to listen! To be sympathetic! And — most important — to take advice from ME!
That’s when I realized the truth about advice. It’s a lot like a holiday fruitcake. People see nothing wrong with giving it out, but when they see it coming their way, they flinch. They duck. Then, quick as they can, they turn around and try to give it to someone else.
So, the next time you have advice to give someone, DON’T. That’s my advice.
