Smitty's Regrets.

Today’s Marketing Cookie is about learning and sometimes healing through the advice we share, inspired by personal missteps and regrets.

As the birthdays add up along the journey of life, we eventually find ourselves in the role of advisor. We offer insights, share wisdom, and guide others towards paths we believe hold the promise of success. Even if we haven’t had the exact the same situations they may be facing, the good advice we offer to people that we care about reflects our deepest intentions to see them thrive. The very best advice we can offer however, is usually drawn from our own experiences and the lessons we've learned along the way.

Advice based on experience is what I find most interesting. It is often based on having made the wrong decisions along the way. The truth is, success is a lousy teacher, but failure, missteps, or setbacks are the places where wisdom, fueled by hindsight, is perfected. This type of advice forged through the hot coals of failure often suggests a path to success that your mentor regretfully did not choose for themselves. 

I’m not talking about blatant hypocrisy here. We’ve all seen examples of someone preaching against a specific sin or criticizing the deeds of others, while secretly doing the thing they publically say not to do. On the other hand, giving good advice that you didn’t get when you were young, or encouraging a good decision that you failed to make yourself is not hypocritical. It is something completely different.

I am reminded of a crusty old man who lived in a tiny brown house in the little New England neighborhood where I grew up. He was known as Smitty and he chain-smoked these long, thin brown cigarettes. Smitty was a short, thin, gray-haired, bearded man who spoke with a gravelly voice. When he had something to say, his left eye blinked much more often than his right. 

One spring Saturday morning, Smitty saw me riding by on my bike and waved me over to his driveway. I pulled around to a wobbly stop near his hedges. With a crooked finger he pointed to the sloping hill behind his house, and asked, “Are you still working on that tree house up there in the woods?” 

I feared he was going to scold me, so I bowed my eyes to the ground and responded fearfully, “yes sir.”

Smitty lifted my chin, chuckled, blinked his left eye twice, and said, “Good boy.” He threw his cigarette to the ground, twisted the toe of his house slipper on the smoldering embers and said, “I have some spare pieces of wood behind my shed there. You can go ahead and take those if you need some more wood for your tree house. Okay?”

Excitedly I perked up, “Thank you sir!”

Smitty nodded and held his index finger in the air and blinked a few times signaling that there was something else he wanted to say. He pulled a new fresh cigarette from the chest pocket of his gray flannel shirt, lit a match and with five or six quick puffs, the air around him was filled with clouds of smoke. 

Then he scolded me, “Don’t you ever smoke sonny. Don’t ever do it. Do you understand?”

I nodded vigorously and said, “Oh yes sir. I won’t”

He turned toward his house, a trail of smoke wafting in his wake, as he mumbled, “good boy.”

Reflecting on that moment with Smitty, I realize now he was more than just a crusty old man; he was a silent mentor who wished he had someone urging him to make better decisions in his youth. His stern warning against smoking was like an expression of regret—a poignant wish that he had taken a different path and avoided the mistakes that had marked his life. 

Smitty demonstrated that sometimes the most powerful lessons come not from perfect models but from those who have faltered and wish to spare others the same fate. It's a reminder that in giving advice, we're not just guiding others; we may be healing a part of ourselves that wishes for a second chance to make the right choice. 

Sure, while quitting would have been the best choice for his life, and a way better example to set for me, his stern warning was the best action he could muster with me that morning. Either way, it worked. I didn’t try smoking throughout my childhood, and in a very strange way, today’s fortune rings true for Smitty as it says, “The best way to succeed in life is to act on the advice you give to others.”