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James’s expertise was so
unique, so prized, that Larry, the
CEO of a Fortune 500 company,
personally recruited him. James came
on board as a star. Less than two
years later, Larry had lost almost
all confidence in James.
“Every time he talks,” Larry said to
me, “he stammers and hems and haws
to the point where I’m not sure he
knows anything at all any more. He’s
either got to start showing up like
the executive we’re paying him to be
or get out of the way so someone
else can do the job.”
At our first coaching session, James
admitted that talking with Larry
made him so nervous he became
paralyzed and incomprehensible. He’d
felt intimidated by superiors most
of his life, he told me, but Larry
was really tripping his circuits.
When I asked why, he said, “When I
talk to him, he’s completely
stone-faced. He looks like he hates
me.”
“Do you think he does hate you?” I
asked.
“At first I didn’t but now I’m not
so sure.”
So we analyzed all the data James
had about Larry. In short order we
discovered that other than Larry’s
stone-face, there was nothing to
support James’s fear. So I asked
James if I could change the subject
on him. He said sure.
Knowing he presented at industry
events, I said, “I’d like you to
imagine you’re doing one of your
presentations at a conference. Big
screen behind you. Lots of
PowerPoint slides. A couple hundred
people in the room. You know this
picture?”
He smiled. This was familiar
territory to him. “Okay,” I said,
“imagine you’re ten minutes into
your presentation. Things are going
great. Suddenly a woman right in
front stands up, makes a big show of
searching for her purse, finally
swings it up over her shoulder and
turns and walks right up the middle
of the room and out the doors at the
back. What do you tell yourself
about her?”
Without taking a breath, he
answered, “She hates my
presentation.”
This imaginary scenario is a
wonderful Rorschach test. I use it
often because it tests the stories
people tell themselves. For a
moment, imagine you are that
presenter and that woman is walking
out on you. What do you tell
yourself about her? Is your answer
like James’s? Does she hate your
presentation? Or do you make up a
story that isn’t about you at
all—for example, that she had to go
to the ladies room?
No matter what you imagine, you’ve
made up a story about the facts. In
reality, you have no idea why that
woman left the room; you only know
that she did. So any motive you
ascribe to her is a story you’ve
made up. And the story you make up
can be a great indicator of how you
interpret situations.
I wasn’t surprised that James
imagined that woman’s exit was aimed
at him personally. After all, he’d
interpreted Larry’s passive,
non-expressive behavior as being
about him, too. James’s story was
predictable. And whatever story you
made up was probably predictable,
too.
Follow this thinking: James’s
logical mind knew Larry wanted him
in the company. James’s intellect
told him Larry had no reason to hate
him. But when James didn’t get the
nods and encouragement he wanted
from Larry, he made up a story that
was negative and diminishing and
painful. That story didn’t come from
the logical part of James’s brain;
it sprang spontaneously out of his
beliefs about his relationships with
superiors. And, because his story
aligned with his beliefs, he
accepted that story as truth.
The point here is not to try to stop
our stories from happening. They
happen so fast, so automatically,
that stopping them is virtually
impossible. And, besides, our
stories actually serve a purpose:
they help us make sense of the world
around us.
Rather, the point is to be aware
that a story is happening. Then, if
the story isn’t helpful, swap it for
one that is.
James’s story about Larry’s
impenetrable gaze wasn’t helpful at
all. So we worked to swap it for one
that was: that Larry listened to
everyone that way, even his wife and
children. James wasn’t sure that was
actually true, but he was willing to
believe that story and, as he
repeated it over and over, it calmed
him down. So he chose to make it his
story about Larry’s stone-face.
“Truth” wasn’t the point;
self-management and better
performance was.
Stories about yourself, your work,
your co-workers, your boss, are
firing in your head all the time.
They’re automatic. And your stories
are inextricably interwoven with
your belief system. So your stories
feel like truth. But before you act
on that chosen “truth,” remember:
it’s probably just a story you’ve
told yourself. Choosing whether to
accept that story as truth—and then
choosing whether you want to take
action based on that story—is the
sign of a healthy leader who can
regulate him or her self.
Read a related Tip:
Repairing
Damaged Relationships |
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