People come at you with all sorts of advice. Many businesses and professional individuals exist solely on advice. Social media is bursting at the seams with advisors of every stripe: tarot card readers, relationship experts, home chefs, fitness coaches, music critics, book enthusiasts. Advice for your love life, advice for your well-being, advice on health, on happiness, on how to live better. It just goes on and on.
Don’t you just love it—when someone gives you unsolicited advice? When they confidently plop their “wisdom” into your lap, and you have to sit back, nod politely, and take in everything they’ve got to say on whatever subject it is they feel you must know about?
Look, I get it. Some people mean well. They might even think they’re doing you a favor. But if you haven’t asked for advice, chances are it’s unwelcome, no matter how noble the intentions behind it. Advice is personal, or at least it should be. What works for someone else may not work for you—and that’s the problem.
Advice these days is dished up in every imaginable form: infotainment, snappy videos, podcasts, memes with platitudes that barely make sense. And it’s amazing how often people send you links to “must-watch” advisors, as if you’ve been wandering the desert of life without guidance, just waiting for them to enlighten you.
The truth is, advice isn’t a modern phenomenon. Humans have been giving and receiving advice for thousands of years. Ancient texts from every corner of the world are filled with it. Think of Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, offering guidance on living in harmony with the Tao, or the wisdom of the Vedas and other Sanskrit scriptures, which delve into every aspect of life, from philosophy to health. The Bible is essentially a compilation of advice—spiritual, moral, and practical. Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations distilled the essence of Stoic philosophy into profound yet practical advice for life.
Even further afield, the Celtic tradition has left us with texts like the Triads of Ireland and the wisdom of druids, while Nordic culture gave us the Hávamál, a collection of Old Norse poems attributed to Odin, offering practical and moral advice. These works remind us that humans have always sought answers to life’s questions, often turning to elders, sages, or divine sources for guidance.
But if we look at the explosion of advice in the Western world, it seems to have gained momentum in the 20th century, particularly with the rise of psychology in the 1960s and 70s. This was when therapists, counselors, and self-help pioneers became the go-to advisors for individuals, families, and communities. Before that, advice came mainly from parents, teachers, friends, or elders—people with a personal stake in your life.
Some say if you want good advice, go to an expert. Others claim that if you want really good advice, talk to your closest friend—the one who knows you so well they’ll tell you what you don’t want to hear, but probably need to. And still, others believe that the best answers come from within yourself. Isn’t it interesting how often clarity comes in those quiet, unplanned moments? Driving a car, walking along the beach, or simply letting your mind wander while you’re absorbed in a favorite hobby.
For me, advice isn’t something to be tossed out like free samples. I don’t dish it out unless I’m explicitly asked for it—and even then, I’m hesitant. I’d rather ask questions, guide someone to their own conclusions, and let them uncover what they need for themselves. It’s an approach called Socratic questioning, where you ask thoughtful questions that encourage the person to analyze their situation and come to their own conclusions and answers.
Of course, I could list a dozen tips for giving advice without overstepping, but that would be advice too, wouldn’t it?
So here we are, surrounded by advice—wanted, unwanted, questionable, profound. But where does it leave us? For me, it leaves a question rather than an answer: In a world so full of advice, how often do we pause to truly listen to ourselves?
That’s a thought worth sitting with. No advice required.
