“There is an inverse relationship between the value of advice given and what people are usually willing to spend for it.” – Michael Masterson

Why It’s a Bad Idea to Ask a Someone You Don’t Know for Advice… and How to Do It Anyway 

Time: Forty years ago

Place: Queens College campus, CUNY

Main Characters: Harriet Zinnes, college professor and accomplished poet, and me

Background: I had taken several classes from her. She was a great teacher. And a really good poet. I adored her, and she seemed to have adopted me as a favorite student.

Action: I’m walking with her, from the class I’d just taken back to her office, basking in the glow of being sort-of friends with a real poet. She is telling me about her new collection, to be published by New Directions Press.

Cut To: Her office

Action: We sit down. She opens a small stack of mail. One piece is a thick manilla envelope. She opens it and withdraws a typewritten manuscript. I can see that it is poetry. She flips through it, then unfolds the cover letter and reads that. She frowns.

“Bad news?” I ask.

“No.” Shaking her head, she puts the manuscript and cover letter back in the envelope and tosses it into a box that is almost full of similar looking packages. “It’s just amazing.”

I lift my eyebrows.

“I mean. What do these people think? I don’t know them. They don’t know me. But they assume that I should be honored to read their poetry in my spare time.”

She looks at me.

“Listen, Mark. I’m happy to read the poetry of my students. That’s my job. But I need every minute of my spare time to work on my own poetry. I get these requests all the time. I’d have to spend hours every week trying to keep up with them. Don’t they realize they are imposing on me?”

That conversation stuck with me. On the one hand, I was thrilled that this person I adulated would condescend to confide in me. On the other hand, her comments seemed mean-spirited.

Years later, I came to understand why Professor Zinnes felt the way she did. It wasn’t that she was uncharitable. Nor did she think her status as a poet put her above amateurs. And I believe she understood as well as I did that such requests were a kind of compliment. I’d bet that after her first collection was published and the first few requests dribbled in, she was happy and excited to respond to them.

But as she gained notoriety and those early few requests became a steady stream, it was impossible to respond to them all. And what was once a great ego boost turned into a source of frustration.

That’s pretty much what happened to me when I was writing Early to Rise (ETR) 20 years ago. At the beginning, I would occasionally get letters from subscribers asking for my views on this or that or my advice for their specific situations. I was so flattered to be asked. I answered every one – some at great length.

As ETR grew, I could answer only some of the letters that came in. To the rest I sent short notes saying that I would get back to them later. When that became impossible, I had my assistant send personalized messages saying that I’d try to answer by way of an upcoming essay in ETR. (Which I was usually able to do.) Eventually, when the circulation reached nearly a million subscribers, my publisher had to take over with a form letter.

But I can still remember the early days of frustration, when each new request put me on edge. Not because I wasn’t still grateful to have earned the trust of a subscriber, but because I was irrationally angry about the fact that the demands on my time had become so great.

These days, my essays are published in syndication, so I am rarely overwhelmed with personal letters. But often, I get one that I’m not really sure how to respond to.

This happened recently when I received an email from someone named – well, let’s call him David Smith.

David writes:

Dear Mr. Ford:

I hope this email finds you well. My partner and I would like to meet you for an hour or two when you are in town next. We have problems with our business (a contsruction company). I know you have the experience we need, so we are asking for your advise.

If you may, let me know your decision about this via email as soon as possible.

Thank you, and it is a pleasure to salute you.

David Smith

* My first thought: Who is David Smith? Did I once meet him? Or does he know me by reputation? In any case, why does he assume I recognize his name? Why doesn’t he tell me who he is?

* My second thought: Alas, here’s someone else that believes that asking a stranger for an hour or two of his time is like asking for a light. How can he think that way?

* Third question: It’s not that hard to spell-check an email. Does he not know how to do it? And if he does, why didn’t he take the time?

* Fourth question: Does he think the preemptory “thank you” is fair compensation for the work he is asking me to do?

* Fifth question: Did some networking guru encourage him to “build his contact list” this way?

What to do?

Should I write and explain to David that when it comes to giving personal advice, I normally charge for it? Should I let him know that my base fee starts at a million dollars? (No. That would be mean.)

I’m always happy to share my opinions when I’ve had a few drinks. Should I suggest that he should root me out at a conference cocktail hour? (But if I did that, I’d have to also warn him that free advice is almost always worth exactly what you pay for it.)

Should I write a short note, explaining that I’m on vacation and don’t have the time? (But that’s not the real reason.)

Or should I write a brief essay that perhaps he’ll read, explaining why it’s a bad idea to ask a stranger for favors?

A Simple Strategy That Has a Fair Chance of Working 

If you have a question about just about anything, start with Google. You’ll get dozens of answers from all sorts of interesting perspectives that you can consider.

If that doesn’t appeal to you – if you want the answer to come from a particular person that you’ve read or read about (e.g., a published writer, business leader, or public figure) – recognize that your motivation is not to get your question answered but to form a connection that will be valuable to you.

If you are able to do that, you should be able to take the next mental step: Recognize that the relationship you are seeking is an unbalanced one. It’s beneficial for you, but it’s a cost for the other person.

Picture this: The person with whom you want to connect has just finished making a speech to 600 people. He/she has left the auditorium and is now standing in the lobby, surrounded by 20 or 30 people, all of whom are asking questions. Is that a good time to ask yours? And if you asked a question, do you think that could possibly be the beginning of the connection you are going for?

You can see the problem. Yes?

But there is a question you could ask that might actually accomplish your mission.

I’ve been in the speaker’s position many times. And I always take the time to answer questions. But of the hundreds of questions I’ve answered, there is only one I can remember that made me think: “Who is this person? I’d like to know more about him/her.”

The question was: “Can I get you a glass of water or a cup of coffee?”

In an upcoming essay, I’ll talk about the next step in forming a relationship with someone you admire.

This essay and others are available for syndication.
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