Fighting the urge to be useful

THE RUB

As newlyweds, Gina and I went camping at the Indiana Dunes. We thought we were being smart and laid a tarp on the ground under the tent to keep the wet and rough from coming through.

That night it poured.

Here's what we hadn't fully considered: if the tarp sticks out past the edge of the tent, the rain hits it and runs under the tent instead of off the side. The tarp doesn't protect you. It builds a pool. Some time after midnight, Gina and I woke up swimming.

I've been a zealot about tucked-in footprints ever since. This past weekend, when I saw a young couple at the campsite making the exact same mistake we'd made (tarps hanging out a good six inches all the way around), something in me stood up.

I wanted to walk over there and share my hard-earned wisdom. I knew something that could make their lives better. I had lived the raw experience.

But the forecast was clear. They were laughing and having fun. I held my tongue and walked away.

THE FRAMEWORK

I have two strong memories of unsolicited advice. They've stuck with me for opposite reasons.

The first came when Gina was pregnant with our first son. A vendor partner of mine said, "Congratulations. Every parent you meet is about to give you unsolicited advice. Here's mine."

Then he told me when the baby starts crying, look at your watch. Because you'll hit a moment where it feels like the crying will never end. If you noted the time, you'll realize that what felt like seven days was actually eleven minutes. Not the end of the world.

I've used that trick on far more than crying babies. Hard conversations, long meetings, bad miles. He handed me something I still carry, and an easy way to take it or leave it. I was glad he said it, and I wouldn’t have known to ask for it.

The second came in the back half of a 50K. I hadn't stayed on top of my nutrition, and I was crashing hard. I was sitting in an aid station with a wet rag on my neck, choking down electrolytes and calories, trying to claw my way back.

A running friend came through, took one look, and said, "Yeah, Todd, what I do is just drink Ensure. Covers all your calories and electrolytes." Then he turned and walked out of the aid station.

I have run a lot more ultras than this man. I did not take it well. I turned to my pacer and said, "Let's go catch him and beat him, because he’s not winning this race.”

The advice didn't sting because it was wrong — calories are calories, the guy wasn't incorrect. It stung because of everything around it.

It assumed I didn't already know what I'd done. It came from someone with less standing than me. It arrived in the middle of my worst moment. And then he left.

Look at the shape of the two. The vendor handed me a tool and an exit ramp. The runner handed me a verdict and a goodbye. One of them was thinking about me. The other was thinking about himself, and how good it felt to know the thing.

That's the whole difference. Not who was right, but who it was for.

THE PRACTICE

Most unsolicited advice is for the giver, not the receiver.

And being right doesn't get you off the hook. I was right about the tarp. The Ensure guy was sort of right about the calories. Right was never the variable.

If you're going to offer advice, consider asking, “Would you be open to some unsolicited advice?" It costs nothing and turns your motives toward the other person.

It checks whether they're crashing or cruising. It hands them the exit ramp. It's the vendor's approach in a single sentence.

Or maybe even just sit with the urge and let it pass. I walked back to my campsite chewing on that urge to speak up. It didn’t taste like wisdom. It tasted more bitter, like righteousness. The urge was never really about their tent.