The Wisdom of Silence: Transforming Advice Giving
As I sat in my living room, watching my son navigate the complexities of his mid-college life, a moment of clarity struck me. For years, I had been the go-to guy for advice, at least in my mind, whether solicited or not.
In some cases, my direct and personal encouragements had been welcomed and later positively acknowledged, as in the case when I encouraged a colleague to quit his job to start his own business. But these years of writing self-help articles on WordPress all went out into the ether without much (if any) feedback.
So, in that stark moment seeing my son’s frustration, I realized how little my well-intentioned words had truly helped this most important person in my life. I had given him so much heartfelt advice across the years that, for whatever reason, wasn’t making him either happy or clearer on his path.
This epiphany marked the beginning of a journey from being a compulsive advice-giver to beginning a journey toward becoming a more mindful listener. And while this journey is profound to me, I must admit that, especially in the publishing arena, there is no shortage of advice that just keeps on coming. And as well-intentioned and sincere as it may be, much of it is either stating the obvious or some not-so-thinly veiled self-promotion.
So maybe the lesson I’m getting might have broader application. In a society that seems to value quick opinions and assertive voices, the wisdom of silence and learning to simply listen without responding can easily be overlooked. The best advice is most taken when it comes from deep within. And letting people sit discerning their own thoughts is the best “advice,” gaining confidence in their decision-making.
In other words, the best advice is no advice.
The Wake-Up Call: A Father’s Crisis
The crisis that sparked this transformation involved our son. A bright kid with great grades and a partial athletic scholarship to a regionally prestigious school, he seemed set for success. But two significant problems arose, thwarting a slam dunk.
First, the COVID-19 pandemic turned what should have been a magical college experience into a series of lockdowns and online classes. Instead of mingling with peers out on the quad, he was isolated in his dorm, attending virtual lectures. The few times he was interacting with fellow students, there was social distancing and masks in force. To put it mildly, his college experience and many others from that first COVID wave was a dumpster fire.
Second, I had forgotten about the many details of my own college experience, creating an overly rosy (and imaginary) ideal that I expected him to follow. I had encouraged him to choose a major that would guarantee a good job, suggesting Computer Science because he enjoyed video games. A perfect match, I thought.
A key ingredient was missing in that counsel: what about my real-life experience? How had my Philosophy degree synced with my career in sales? How have my peers’ careers unfolded? Were they well-executed plans or a mix of opportunity and serendipity?
And, what about me and my job? Was I happy? How was my everyday attitude and how I carried myself at home? Was I to be trusted with this advice?
The truth was, I was missing most if not all of these critical facts. I was in full-fledged career and life denial.
Armed with this not pressure-tested advice, as the pandemic wore on, our son struggled. Computer Science bored him, his recruiting athletic coach left the school, and he wanted out.
My initial reaction? More unsolicited advice. “Hang in there,” I said. “We’re paying a lot for this experience.” Sounding a bit like my father, I think I threw in a, “I wish I had attended a private college like you are!” Seriously, how is that type of comment helpful?
Making matters worse, I chose this occasion to lecture him about playing too many video games, not acknowledging his being effectively locked in his dorm room all day, every day. What else was he supposed to do? Clearly, I was failing to offer the compassion and understanding he desperately needed.
Self-Reflection: Unpacking the Compulsion to Advise
The Emotional Roots
This crisis forced me to reconsider my habit of giving unsolicited advice not just to him but to anyone with ears. Through therapy and self-reflection driven by my own battles with the new reality of the work-from-home domain in the COVID workplace, I began to understand the emotional roots of this compulsion suggesting I had answers.
Giving advice wasn’t about helping others despite its rationalized appearance as such. When clear facts are overlooked or ignored, how good can that advice be anyway? When seen in the bright, unflattering light, giving advice is about validating myself and maybe even giving credit to oneself for being a bit smarter than the raw facts would objectively indicate.
Filling the Silence
Plus, when the blackness of silence on a Zoom call gave the appearance of being weak or uncertain, I reactively filled silence with my opinions. Good and bad. Articulate and inarticulate. I realized with some stark profundity that I had been doing this for a long time. And, in the workplace, I noticed I wasn’t the only one.
Realizing this, rather than being critical of colleagues and coworkers, I paid more attention to my behavior, noticing how rarely people asked for my advice, to begin with. But, even seeing this, I continued to offer it, even on topics I was hardly qualified to discuss. It was a compulsion of some sort. This realization was humbling and, frankly, embarrassing.
The small consolation was that I wasn’t alone. I noticed this advice-giving behavior everywhere — people eager to offer their two cents, not out of genuine concern or deep experience in the topic, but quite possibly out of a need to appear smart or important. Or, do we actually have amazing answers on everything? Not likely.
I found myself so busy thinking up clever things to say that I forgot to simply listen? Plus, people weren’t mesmerized by my answers. The time was right for me to simmer down and simply listen.
The Journey to Change
Admitting I had no answers for my son was the first step in this journey. Again, through therapy, I learned to surrender my need to control and instead focus on offering unconditional love and support. Isn’t that what a good parent does? Create a safe space for their loved ones to think out loud without judgment?
This was unfamiliar territory for me. I had grown up in a different environment where many reactive and thoughtless behaviors were passed along. Maybe this treatment was why I was miserable in my career? Was I unconsciously passing along the bad behavior rather than providing the sunshine of love and support for whatever our son’s journey was to become on his own terms? That, not nervous unchecked advice, was exactly what my son needed.
I learned and began practicing active listening, not just with my son, but in all my interactions. I learned to sit with uncertainty and vulnerability, resisting the urge to fill every silence with my opinions. I paid closer attention to noticing body language and vocal tone. I saw how some (including me) talk over others and how rude and visible it is to everyone in the discussion. Except, of course, to the person steamrolling the other talkers.
I also learned to listen and not think of what I was to say. Instead, if I came across something I didn’t understand, if there was an opening, I learned to comment, “I’m not sure I fully understood that. Can you elaborate on that a bit?” Or, “Let me repeat that back to you, and let me know if my understanding is correct.” I think this might be the difference between hearing and understanding.
Lessons Learned
This journey taught me several valuable lessons:
The power of unconditional support, especially in parenting. Our children don’t always need our advice; sometimes, they just need to know we believe in them. This approach has broader applications. In my own life, when it came to making decisions, I always had a finger in the air trying to see where the wind was blowing, which turned out not to be important. What mattered was knowing if the decision was “to thine own self true.” That only comes when the person sitting across from you believes in you.
The value of sharing experiences rather than dictating solutions. By being open about our own struggles and uncertainties, we create space for genuine dialogue and connection. Plus, we have a better chance of being grounded with facts rather than thoughts. Early in my adult life, I was given advice on NOT finishing my college degree with a quarter to go. The reasoning was that returning to college after a layoff would be unnecessarily disruptive to my life. Another friend said, “Ask your friend what his experience was with going back to school?” I then learned this advice was coming from someone who hadn’t finished college himself. I decided to finish, and it was the best thing I ever did.
There is freedom to be found in letting go of the need to impress others. Constantly trying to prove our intelligence or worth is exhausting and ultimately unfulfilling. Wise but difficult advice: Be Yourself! The only person to impress is yourself, only now with possession of mad listening skills.
Putting Lessons into Practice
Thoughtful Communication
These realizations are changing how I communicate. I now pause before offering advice, asking myself if it’s truly needed or asked for. By focusing on listening and understanding the emotions behind the chatter, I find it more useful than exiting the conversation to begin formulating responses.
Recently, my son, who has understandably taken a break from attending “The University of Zoom” as he calls it, shared that he thinks he’d like to finish his degree locally attending one of the state schools. Internally, I was ecstatic and ready to give advice and encouragement but instead opted to follow up with, “I’m curious why you’d like to do this?” His answer thrilled me to no end: “Because I think it will feel good inside to finish it!” Had I chimed in with the normal third degree of logistics questions, I would’ve missed that important and lovely thoughtful answer. Clearly, he’s working things out not on our terms with referents going back decades, but on his own tied to his own experiences.
I’ve been told this shift has been noticed, improving my other relationships. By stepping back and offering implied compassionate support demonstrated through focused listening instead of interrupting with unsolicited advice, I’ve watched friends flourish as they figure things out for themselves, often in front of me! No input or advice required.
Authentic Writing
Even my approach to writing has changed. I’m learning to share genuinely and authentically, rather than trying to impress readers with clever insights and attention-getting verbiage whose goal is to accumulate likes and subscriptions.
I’ve also noticed a tendency in my writing to convince myself of the ideas I think sound good but have no direct experience with. Could this be because salient original ideas based upon facts and experience are hard to come by? What often happens when the thought is presented without deep rumination is that I end up merely stating the obvious, which is, well, obvious.
As a writer, I’m striving primarily to be authentic and, if possible, original, holding true to my experience. Unfortunately, that hasn’t always been the case. I think writers seeking subscribers through self-imposed deadlines to generate articles that generate income are on a one-way ticket to banality. This is why I’m out on paid subscriptions.
Conclusion
Personal growth is an ongoing journey, and I’m still learning to curb my advice-giving tendencies. Each day brings new opportunities to practice listening more deeply and sharing rather than telling when asked. Before offering an experience that might be relevant to the discussion, perhaps I should put effort toward confirming I understand what is being said.
In my professional life, I’ve seen the transformative power of mindful listening and authentic communication. However, this doesn’t come naturally and, in my experience, requires extraordinary leaders taking risks to get there. A few years ago, I was part of a team that was smart, successful, and cohesive, despite being quite varied in terms of experience.
Suddenly, news came that our company was being acquired, putting the whole team on edge with worry about what would happen to their jobs. In this moment of uncertainty, our manager called a meeting to bring the team together, not to discuss work, but simply to be present with each other and share concerns. He openly acknowledged the anxiety in the room and stated his commitment to ensuring everyone found new roles in the new company.
That evening, we came together for a night of dinner and fun activities, engaging in candid conversations about our hopes and fears. The manager followed up with question and answer sessions where everyone felt safe to voice their concerns. Through these open dialogues, the anxiety level within the team diminished, and a sense of trust and solidarity emerged.
True to his word, our manager worked tirelessly to find new positions for every team member within the new company. While not all of these new roles worked out in the long run, the manager’s commitment to his team’s well-being during the transition was a testament to the power of authentic leadership.
This experience taught me that when leaders create a safe space for authentic communication and mindful listening, even in the face of uncertainty, they build resilience and loyalty within their teams. By fostering an environment of trust and open dialogue, leaders can help their teams navigate even the most challenging circumstances with grace and unity.
If you too want to be a better listener, I encourage you to examine your own communication patterns. There might be something to learn that will surprise you. Are you truly listening to others, or are you just waiting for your turn to speak? Are you offering advice that will help and be useful, or are you trying to sound smart and clever?
In a world that often rewards quick and broad judgments and decisive bombastic opinions, learning to embrace silence and listen deeply can be a radical act. Maybe even smart. Listening well is an act that has the power to transform our relationships, our workplaces, and our communities. By creating space for genuine understanding and connection between us, we open the door to collective wisdom and growth.
In the end, I’ve found that there’s profound wisdom in silence — in the space we create when we stop filling every moment with our opinions. It’s in this space that true understanding and connection can grow while creating the fertile soil where new ideas can develop.
I have also become focused on two very personal questions to ask myself whenever I’m engaged in communication. First, “What are we doing here?” And second, “Do I know what I am talking about?” Failure to address these questions with brutal honesty is a formula for a world where integrity and reason aren’t virtuous. What we have is, what we sort of have now, a world where it’s hard to distinguish between real objectively presented information and subjective data with a payoff of some type to the presenter. In other words, what we have is chaos.
A wise friend once told me, “Sometimes the best I can do is not add to the chaos.” Thinking twice before chiming in is a good way to thwart that. I think we can all agree that the world can benefit from less chaos.
And if you’ve read this far, you might realize the irony of me sharing all this advice about not giving advice. But hey, I never claimed to be perfect. I am just a work in progress, learning to listen more and speak less. If you try it, you may find like I have it’s not easy. I invite you to join me on this journey
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