You Can't Spell Advice without Free Will

I like giving people advice. Sometimes, that means sharing places I enjoy with others; promoting businesses or museums or restaurants I care about. Because I work in tourism, I get to give this kind of advice quite often. I tell people where to get the best cheesesteak in Philadelphia; how to spend their day affordably; what streets to walk down. Sometimes, giving advice means helping loved ones make decisions, both little and big ones, such as how to phrase a conversation with someone they are experiencing tension or simply what clothes to wear on a date. So, too, I like to seek and receive advice. I just as often am given suggestions for what to do in a visitor's hometown as I give for what to do in Philly. I gladly welcome my friends' and family's assistance in solving life dilemmas. Just recently, three of my sainted friends guided me through a far-too-laborious crafting of a text message. Sure, I could have solved it on my own, but isn't there something good about advice? Isn't there something good about involving others, drawing them into one's intimate spaces, affirming the human need to be needed?

However, amidst all this enjoyment of advice giving and receiving, I can grow weary of the cacophony of opinions. I'm planning a trip - departing today! - and everyone has their two cents to throw in on the topic, which I have found incredibly overwhelming. Everyone, of course, believes their advice to be the soundest because they have experienced truly wonderful results from the paths they have taken. I want to be able to take all of their advice - all the advice from each and every person - but unfortunately, I simply cannot. My time, my budget, my days of the week won't allow it. As a planner, I like to have all the information to make good choices, but as an independent introvert, I need to be given the space to make those choices for myself.

Yet, as I was ready to lash out at anyone who dared even ask about the trip nevermind suggest something for it, I realized I wasn't feeling overwhelmed and frustrated simply because of information overload, but because I hate to disappoint people. Their advice was so genuinely and excitedly given; I hate to make them think it wasn't good or worthy. I fear people thinking I didn't do my trip correctly; I fear not doing my trip correctly. I fear people saying, "but you should have done..." I fear judgment and I fear letting people down, which almost seems a paradox, right? That I should worry that people will simultaneously feel belittled by my not listening to them but also haughty by their notions of superior planning. But, there it is. And yes, maybe it's a humility issue for me, too. Their responses make me feel like I am doing something wrong, and I loathe to be wrong.

Yes, perhaps I should be more patient. Yes, perhaps I should be more humble. Yes, perhaps I should be more understanding. Yes, perhaps I should be less concerned with fear and more concerned with thankfulness. Thankful for their interest and well-meaning advice. Thankful that I have surrounded myself with friends and family who (I hope) are not actually sitting there, simultaneously judging me and ready to cry if I don't take one of their lunch suggestions. Thankful for my own free will and ability to choose and plan for myself. Thankful for my ability to solicit advice.

May I offer you a piece of advice? If yes, read on. If no, that's quite alright, thank you for reading thus far.

My advice for giving and receiving advice is this: Ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find. Ask to help. Ask to give suggestions. Ask for help. Ask for suggestions. Both the giver and receiver will receive the greater joy, knowing the advice was given and received by choice, by the exertion of each person's own free will and the free will of the other. We want others to need us, but not because we tell them to. We want to need others, but not because we are insecure in ourselves.

God set up the model. Let's follow it.