Adam Grant’s early days as a professor weren’t what you’d call promising.
His teaching evaluations read more like roast sessions.
One student bluntly wrote, “You’re so nervous you’re making us physically shake in our seats.”
Another compared him to a Muppet but didn’t bother to specify which one, leaving the insult open to interpretation.
Standing in front of a classroom, Adam felt like he was failing at something that mattered deeply to him.
He wanted to inspire, to teach, to make an impact—but he was falling short.
It wasn’t just humiliating; it was discouraging.
Yet, instead of letting the harsh feedback define him, Adam decided to treat teaching as a skill he could master.
He didn’t expect it to come naturally. He knew he needed help.
Adam sought out mentors, studied master educators, and analyzed his own performances with the rigor of a scientist.
He didn’t just want to survive the classroom; he wanted to thrive in it.
So he took an unconventional route: he volunteered to give guest lectures for friends’ classes.
It wasn’t easy, but it was a start.
After each lecture, he handed out feedback forms, eager to learn and improve.
But what he got back left him more confused than inspired.
Some students wrote glowing reviews, praising his passion and energy.
Others focused on his flaws, pointing out every stumble and misstep.
He was caught between cheerleaders who celebrated his best self and critics who seemed to magnify his worst.
Neither group gave him what he needed.
Adam felt stuck.
The feedback was too scattered, too focused on the past to help him move forward.
Then, over time, he realized the problem wasn’t the audience—it was the question he was asking.
Instead of asking for feedback, he needed to ask for advice.
So, he changed his approach.
After each lecture, he began to ask a simple question:
“What’s one thing I can do better next time?”
The responses were immediate and illuminating.
Students shifted their focus from critiquing his past to envisioning his future.
They offered clear, actionable suggestions—small adjustments he could make to improve his teaching.
Speak a little slower here.
Use more real-world examples there.
The results transformed not just Adam’s lectures but his confidence.
He wasn’t drowning in a sea of conflicting opinions anymore.
He was navigating a clear path forward.
This shift wasn’t just a personal breakthrough; research would later confirm the wisdom of his approach.
When people ask for feedback, they invite reflection on what went wrong or right in the past.
It’s backward-looking.
But when they ask for advice, they encourage others to think ahead, offering practical steps for improvement.
For Adam, this wasn’t just about becoming a better teacher—it was a lesson in humility and growth.
Asking for advice wasn’t about proving he was perfect; it was about embracing imperfection as a necessary part of learning.
And by doing so, he unlocked a clearer, more hopeful way forward.
It’s a lesson we could all carry:
Sometimes, the most powerful question isn’t “What did I do wrong?” but “How can I do better next time?”
This post was inspired by Adam Grant's video The Power of Asking for Advice.
