From bedtime to TED time, stories engage, enchant, and educate. But the stories that have the biggest impact on our lives are the ones we silently tell to ourselves.
Internal storytelling is potentially the most powerful thing we do as leaders and humans. It enables us–in mere seconds–to turn hope into hopelessness, fear into failure, and contentedness into contempt. It shapes our actions, our decisions, and our feelings. When used strategically, stories can turn woe into wonder, frustration into freedom, and concern into courage.
Storytelling is a frequent topic in coaching, so it’s something I think and talk about a lot. That’s probably why after a recent once-in-a-lifetime vacation of extreme highs and lows, I continued to think about how important my internal storytelling was to how I experienced and conveyed what happened. It’s a good reminder of how even in the best of circumstances, we may have to work to tell a story that serves us well. (And it’s set in Morocco!)
In one version of the story, I orchestrate a romantic trip to Morocco for my partner’s milestone birthday. We board our departing flight on New Year’s Eve, kissing at midnight through our face masks. The next day we toast his birthday with real champagne from our bulkhead seats while flying over the Atlantic.
We sip café au laits in Charles de Gaul airport before boarding our concluding flight. The beautiful script of Arabic welcomes us to Casablanca and directs us to the passport control line where we immediately engage with a delightful Moroccan-born UCLA researcher who is visiting home. She generously insists on escorting us downtown, invaluably advising us on the way. We finish the night in a softly lit lounge, entering through velvet drapes just as the Moroccan jazz band starts to play.
On our train to Fez the next day, we befriend Aziz–relying on Google translate, a pen, and a scrap of paper to communicate. He invites us to his house for lunch (“My wife makes the best couscous in the world” he flashes us from his phone). He presents lemon rose oil to rub on our wrists, and gifts me a vial of lavender (my favorite). We spend the next few days winding our way through the ancient medina of Fez. I soak up the steamy warmth of an ornate hammam, the kaleidoscopic colors of the omnipresent souks, and the distorted broadcasts of the ethereal calls to prayer.
One morning, before moonlight has yielded to sunlight, a driver named Ahmed spirits us away to the desert. While driving, he shares historical highlights, expands our Arabic vocabulary, and educates us on local culture. As we climb and dip through the Atlas mountains, I obsessively marvel at the juxtaposition of palm trees in front of snowy peaks, of classic casbahs along modern highways, of sparkling rivers bisecting dry golden land. In a fairytale-like experience, we ride camels through sand dunes at sunset; spend a star-filled night in a Berber tent at the edge of the Sahara Desert; and then ride out at sunrise.
In preparation for our return home, Ahmed delivers us safely to our selected hotel back in Casablanca. There is time for one more glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, another sweet-and-savory chicken pastilla, and a final fresh mint tea. I slip into slumber as car horns honk throughout Casablanca, celebrating the victory of Morocco in the Africa Football Cup.
We make it home safely, with our belongings–healthy and nearly on time.
Another equally true story about this trip starts the same way, heading to Morocco on New Year’s Eve. In this version, our excitement about ringing in the New Year while between continents turns to frustration as multiple flight delays cause us to miss our international flight. We spend the first few hours of the new year persistently trying to secure vouchers and accommodations, and the next 20 hours in the frigid suburbs of Detroit. The airline keeps our luggage, so we have minimal essentials and no winterwear. In the morning, we (he with a cold and I with bronchitis) reluctantly trudge through the snow to buy some essentials.
When we finally leave Detroit, we are again delayed, causing us to miss our final connecting flight. Our rebooked (for the third time) flight is also delayed. When we arrive in Casablanca, my suitcase does not. Instead of the special night I had planned to celebrate my partner’s milestone birthday, we spend the few hours that are left eating dinner and arguing with airline representatives. I begrudgingly wash my pants in the bathroom sink before going to bed so I can wear them again the next day.
Throughout the remainder of our trip we check in with the airline only to receive contradicting information, unfulfilled assurances, busy signals and long hold times. We make no progress. Each time one of us calls or messages customer “service” our anger permeates the space. Without my packed belongings, our planned strolls through the crowded medina become earnest searches for practical wearables. “Vacation” is feeling like a chore. My bronchitis is flaring. His cold is lingering.
When we leave the city, toward the mountains, it’s cold. Our planned route is blocked by snow. The detour is long. Three of the next four days are filled with driving. The modest SUV we’re riding in has a hole in the back that funnels cold air and exhaust. It gives me a recurring headache and a constant chill. Sleeping in a desert tent, surrounded by an assortment of Berber rugs, I’m too cold to get comfortable. On the eighth day I cry. For the lack of support from the airline. For the lack of my wool socks and cozy tunics. For my dwindling resilience.
On the morning of our return, we skip breakfast to get to the airport early. After several security checks and communication challenges–and with no airline assistance–I find my suitcase at the airport, where it has been sitting for nine days. I change in a bathroom stall before boarding our return flight, where we seem to be surrounded by babies.
Experiences are shaped by stories. As meaning-making machines, we interpret and narrate everything that happens around us. Whether your adventures are more dream or disaster depends not just on the events outside of your control but on how you respond to them with your thoughts, actions, and feelings. Whether navigating daily deliverables, interpersonal dynamics, strategic growth, or international travel, mastering your storytelling in the following ways can improve your performance and wellbeing.
Own the storyline. When we’re immersed in the midst of something unpleasant, it’s easy to feel helpless. By reminding yourself that you’re the narrator, you can decide where you want the story to go. Rather than obsessing over a problem, taking a step back (literally or figuratively) can offer a valuable perspective that makes it possible to isolate what’s beyond your influence and what isn’t. We empower ourselves by focusing on what’s within our control. That’s where your attention serves you well.
Make yourself the main character. Similar to crafting your storyline, you have the ability to tend to yourself in the way that is best for you. You get to decide how you want to show up. When you’re struggling, try to check with yourself to notice and then tend to your needs. Guided by your values, talents, and goals, you are well equipped to be the protagonist you imagine.
Embrace plot twists. Adventure is a word we use a lot in my family. It’s a good way to remember that many plans unfold differently than imagined. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Expecting imperfection and embracing undesired change can help you resist catastrophic tales or simplistic generalizations that overshadow fruitful opportunities. Things can feel difficult and delightful at the same time.
Be mindful, not fictional. Focusing on the objective truth of a moment keeps us from spinning out of control. Taking a mindful approach entails bringing your awareness to the present moment, tuning in to your senses and acknowledging facts without interpreting them. By resisting the draw of drama, you become more present, open, and appreciative. Your brain chemistry changes, improving your cognitive function, your mood, and your resilience.
We all have stories to tell. Why not write them in ways that make us more successful leaders and happier humans?
