A man bought a car he had wanted for a long time. It was not the most expensive, perhaps not even the best in its class, but it was exactly what he was looking for. He had spent months looking, comparing and working out how much he could afford, and finally made a decision he was happy with.
One day, he met a friend and showed him what he had bought with a smile. He expected them to look at the car together, perhaps take it for a drive or simply exchange a few words about something that made him happy. Instead, his friend looked at the car and almost immediately said, “For that money, you could have bought a much better one.”
Then he began explaining which engine was more reliable, which model used less fuel, how much money he could have saved and everything he should have checked before buying it. He had arguments, information and enough confidence to explain why the decision might not have been the best one.
And the man who had been happy just a few minutes earlier now found himself having to justify his own purchase.
And it is not about the car. It is about the fact that he had not come to ask for an opinion. He had come to share his joy.
I increasingly notice how quick we have become to judge other people's decisions, and how slow we are to recognise why someone is telling us something. Almost automatically, we offer advice, compare options and explain what we would have done, without stopping to ask ourselves whether the person even asked us.
Someone tells us they have a new job, and we immediately begin analysing the salary, conditions and prospects for promotion. Someone shows us the apartment they have bought, and we explain why they should have chosen a different location. Someone tells us they have decided to travel somewhere they have always wanted to go, and we already know a better destination, cheaper accommodation and a more suitable time to travel. And so a conversation that began with someone's happiness ends with our assessment of their decision.
I do not think people always do this with bad intentions. On the contrary, I believe many sincerely want to help. Sometimes they really do have more experience, know better options or see something the other person has missed. But there is a difference between help someone has asked for and an opinion we have decided to impose on them. Even more important is the difference between someone who is still considering a decision and someone who has already made it, is happy with it and wants to share that happiness with us.
Our advice may be invaluable to the first person. For the second, we may simply be spoiling a moment they wanted to remember.
Of course, there are circumstances in which we should warn someone about a serious problem, even when they have not asked us. But not every different decision is a mistake we need to correct. Nor is what we would choose automatically better for someone with different needs, means and wishes.
Perhaps the man knew there was a better car. Perhaps he could have bought a larger apartment or accepted a better-paid job. Perhaps he had already considered all those options and consciously chosen something else. Or perhaps he simply had not told us all the reasons behind his decision.
And why should we need to know them in order to be happy for him?
Sometimes I feel we have become so used to showing how much we know that we have begun to forget the value of listening to someone without needing to correct something. Not every conversation has to end with our conclusion. We do not have to find a flaw in every decision someone else makes, or prove that, had we been in their place, we would certainly have acted differently.
Perhaps we would have. But we were not in their place.
And what looks like the wrong choice to us may represent the fulfilment of a wish someone else has spent years working towards.
There is something else about all this that concerns me. People remember how we reacted when they told us about things that mattered to them. They remember whether we listened, whether we recognised their happiness and whether, for even a moment, we could set our own opinion aside.
After a few conversations like that, they may no longer feel the need to explain their decisions to us. They will not stop buying cars, changing jobs, travelling or putting their plans into practice. They will simply find someone else to talk to about them.
And one day, we may wonder why they no longer tell us anything. Why we are the last to hear about their successes, plans and important moments. Perhaps we will think we have grown apart, that they have changed or that they no longer have time for us.
Or perhaps, too many times, we simply greeted them with an opinion when they wanted us to greet them with a smile.
So I would like us, the next time someone happily shows us something they have bought, made or achieved, not to rush to explain what they could have done better. Perhaps it is enough to ask whether they are happy. To congratulate them if they are. To let them enjoy, for at least a few minutes, something that clearly matters to them, without having to defend their decision to the person with whom they wanted to share their joy.
Because not every conversation is an invitation to show how much we know, nor is every decision someone else makes an opportunity to explain how we would have done better.
Sometimes a person simply wanted someone they trust to be happy with them.
And perhaps the saddest thing is that, after enough conversations like that, people do not stop making decisions.
They simply stop telling us about them.
Comments