photo credit: Wolfgang Staudt
High thunderhead clouds were blowing in from the north as they often do in the New Mexico afternoon. As I set out for a hike, I could see lightning and rain in the distance, but hoped it would pass over before I got into the high country. Making my way up the second canyon I came across a father and two young sons who were white as ghosts and laying in a small arroyo. As we began to talk, it began to rain; we huddled under a piñon tree. It turned out they had been on top of the mesa when the storm hit. One bolt of lightning had struck so close to them that the force of the wind had knocked down the youngest boy. Needless to say, they got down off the mesa in a hurry. Now they were under a tree, petrified to move any further until the lightning and thunder stopped.

The father asked me to reassure his sons that they were safe now. Drawing on my experience in the wilderness and speaking in my most authoritative and calming voice, I told them it was so. They listened with rapt attention, but it still took twenty minutes before they truly believed it was OK to head back to their car. The storm passed and we each headed our separate ways. When I got back from the top of the mesa, I came across the father and sons who had since reconnected with the mother. The boys came running up to me, excited to ask about my hike. They recounted the story to their mother again about what they had been through and how I had helped get them down the mountain.

As I puzzled at their level of admiration for my simple Good Samaritan gesture, the father told me the rest of the story. When I had come across them, the father had been trying to reassure his sons, but he had been unsuccessful. Not feeling safe yet, the boys had asked their dad if they could pray for God to save them. They weren’t much of a religious family, but he told them it certainly couldn’t hurt. So they had prayed out loud to God for a guardian angel to come and rescue them.

Serendipitously, I had come around the corner about thirty seconds after they had said “amen”. To me, I was just out on a walk. To his boys, I was an angel sent directly from God in answer to their pleas for help.

As Seth Godin pointed out, every one of your interactions can become an anecdote that lives on for years. We often look for the perfect story or the perfect opportunity, yet many of our most significant moments in coaching come when we least expect them. Even if I had not met up with the family again, their story about the angel on the mesa would have lived on in them for years to come.

What anecdotes are you cultivating today as you interact with your clients, your peers, your family or even that homeless man you passed on the street?

As the United States approaches the election of a new President later this year, it is clear that there are no easy solutions to our ill-conceived and ill-fated intervention in Iraq. I use this picture in my narrative coaching workshops to explore with people the power of symbols, the cognitive and narrative patterns that shape our reactions, and the role of power in being able to tell our stories.

I learned a key lesson about power in the early days of my training business. I was doing a two-day program on leadership and coaching for 100 new managers in a federal social services program. 98 of the participants were women, the majority of them were non-Caucasian, and many of them had started out as low-income parents in the program. While I intellectually recognized the disparities as a upper-middle class Caucasian male, I didn’t fully grasp what that meant until part way through the first day when I realized that the program was not working well. I stopped the session and explored with the group where they were experiencing the disconnection.

In the end, I came to realize that many of the leadership theories, models and admonitions about leadership were written by and for people like me—and implicitly assumed a sufficient privilege and access to power. As a result, I dropped the rest of the design for the workshop and asked these women to talk about who had power in their communities, what enabled them to have this power, and how they used their power. We used these stories to develop some new models about what effective leadership and coaching would look like in their programs.

Much of the work in narrative coaching is to help people discern and transform the often unexamined boundaries of their narration. I work with coaches to get clear on the ethics and implications of narrative work. I am reminded of the work in this area by my colleague Paul Costello. I close here with a quote from Salman Rushdie as a reminder of the role of power in being able to tell one’s story.

Those who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, the power to retell it, to rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times change, truly are powerless, because they cannot think new thoughts.

I am curious about the gaps between our intentions and our actions that are present at times in our lives. It is as if we are trying to wear high heels to cross the Alps. I recall a saying from Don Americo Yabar, a shamanic teacher with whom I studied in Peru in 2004, “Intent is. Intention tries. Intent is a pure, light energy having a distilled, laser-like quality.” I was also reminded of blogger Steve Pavlina’s distinction between “being” and “doing”. He wrote, “When your identity is out of sync with your goal, action is very difficult — it is doing. When your identify comes into sync with your goal, action is inspired and effortless — it is being.”

If we want people to adopt new behaviors and attain new results through coaching, we must help them build an identity from which to do so. It is about helping them to align the stories they tell about themselves (intent) with the stories they live with their lives (intention). When there is alignment, clients are more powerful and more successful. When there is alignment, goals are more likely to be fulfilled because the results are a natural byproduct of a new way of being rather than remaining dependent on continuous efforts at doing.

For example, a client who ran a large intergovernmental project was frustrated in her inability to move her leadership team in some new directions. Through our work, she uncovered both autobiographical stories and cognitive narrative patterns that reinforced a sense of herself as one who was destined to battle difficult odds to make things happen. It would be slow going if we were to attempt to make changes in her leadership approach from this starting point. Instead, our work revolved around helping her to imagine herself as one who could be at the center as opposed to the margins and as one who was worthy of ease and grace. Once she was made this shift, she moved rather quickly to change the structure of her leadership team and the project in order to optimize her leadership preferences and achieve better results.

Clients find greater power when they come from a place of grounded and authentic intent rather than crafting intentions in their mind about how things should or could be. So, if you are feeling stuck in some aspect of your work or life, look for the places where this a disconnect, a lack of alignment, between the stories you tell yourself and the results you want. It is in this fertile ground that the seeds of one’s true intent are born.

I began this blog to bring together two communities doing great work in the world: narrative practitioners and coaches. I am writing from Melbourne, Australia where I presented a workshop on narrative coaching at the International Coach Federation Australasia Conference. It has been an excellent event focused on how the coaching community can step up more fully to engage the extraordinary challenges and opportunities facing the world in this tumultuous time. We were provoked by many inconvenient truths and inspired by stories of leaders who are “giving it a go,” as they would say here, in terms of creating a world that works for all.

A big takeaway for me was the importance of the choices we make in each moment, the stories we create about another person or situation — and to reflect in the moment whether my choices add to a greater consciousness and contribution — and to choose accordingly. As Rollo May once said, “real human freedom is our willingness to pause between the events in our lives and the response we choose.” It is the disciplined art of not being swept up in the habitual stories we are told and tell ourselves, but developing the capacity to continually reframe and reconnect to a larger view. Individually and collectively, we become the stories we tell.

I will use this space to share my reflections and foster connections to help professionals and organizations work with their stories and their place in the larger narratives in which we live in order to grow into the changes that have already happened. Thanks, Christopher, for that last insight.

If you’d like to know more about our introductory or advanced narrative coaching workshops for 2008, sign up for our list under Narrative Workshops. You can be assured that your information will not be given out to others. You can also use the RSS button at the top right to add the feed from this blog.

Welcome.

David