Free Advice

Free Advice?

While I carry a special affection towards all my readers, there comes a time when Free Advice just doesn’t work.

Got my lesson handed back to me, the other day. Friend of a friend, and/or friend of a loyal client, depends on framing, wrote me a long email about love gone awry, romance manque, the usual stock of my trade. Twice, that next afternoon, I offered my professional advice, based on an astrology chart, about a similar topic.

Free Advice

The problem with the free advice? No one listens.

I’ve spent several years, more than two decades, doling out observations, and this is certainly not the first time. I recognize patterns. Patterns in the seemingly random array of planets, patterns that defy casual observation, but over time, patterns build up into causal, recognizable structures.

What bothered me the most, my problem with their problems? What bothered me the most was that I took time to analyze and parse the long communication. Then I responded. Maybe my message was curt, blunt, too short, or, what I suspect, not the desired answer.

I received a perfunctory, “Thank You,” then, maybe 12 hours later, a longer note, with the message being, “You don’t understand, my situation is different.”

Different from what was contained in the first communication?

Maybe it is. I’ll never know if it’s just useless Free Advice.

The free advice was offered up out or respect to the friend. Out of respect for the named party – and I remember, now, why I tend to shy away from these situations. There’s a distinct lack of gratitude for my efforts. Considering it tithing, as that’s what it amounts to, in my mind. Also a not-so-subtle reminder: don’t bother.

That second, perfunctory note, was hurtful, but then, the person sending it was in pain, maybe because I laid an obvious conclusion out in plain language, or maybe because it’s an ugly truth no one wants to see. I’d like to be noble and never cause pain, doing my utmost to relive suffering everywhere. Hasn’t worked out like that. Not that I don’t try, either.

It’s not just that note, it’s the reminder that free stuff winds up hurting me as much as it doesn’t solve any problems.

If you don’t want an answer? Don’t ask? Yes, that’s the best comeback.


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About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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