photo credit: Andreas Øverland

What does this simple photo evoke in you?

Among other things, it reminds me of how much of our daily life is a screen onto which we project our narrative frames. Does the photo stir excitement in imagining what you might find if you climbed the stairs? Does it stir a sense of foreboding as you imagine what might come down the stairs? Or something else altogether? I’ve been vividly reminded in recent weeks of the impact of our choices in how we construct our views of people, places and events. Even though we know that this story-making is central to how our individual and collective minds work, it is not always an easy task.

I’ve come to believe, however, that the art and discipline of noticing our stories as they emerge in the moment is at the core of narrative coaching and of being more fully human. This is particularly important when we feel ensnared in events that are challenging for us. With a tip of the hat to Irving Yalom and Byron Katie, in these times I ask myself questions like, “What is the ‘story’ I am telling myself? How is that ‘story’ serving me? What do I need to release so that I can see the situation with a bigger heart and a bigger mind? What would I gain if I did so?

Waking up in a New Year

As I look out across a new year, I am reminded of a quote from the famous photographer, the late Henri Cartier-Bresson. While in Vienna recently for some holiday and lining up two projects there for later this year, I had the unexpected pleasure of seeing a major exhibit of his work as well as another of my favorites, René Magritte. Each of these artists was gifted in helping us to question how we see the world. As Cartier-Bresson wrote in 1994, “My passion has never been for photography in itself, but for the possibility—through forgetting myself—of recording in a fraction of a second the emotion of the subject and the beauty of the form, the geometry awakened by what is offered.” He describes it as a ‘decisive moment’ when the head, heart and eye are aligned along the same line of sight.

Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. As you make your way into a new year, spend five minutes right now reflecting on a story you’ve recently told yourself (and perhaps others) that now feels limiting to you.

1. Where is there an opening to release your ‘narrative grip’ to make room for new possibilities?
2. What part of the story needs to be released, like a drop back into the ocean?
3. What other part of the story wants to be told?
4. What space would open up in your heart, mind and life if you shifted your frame?

Resolutions in the new year are less about grand promises and more about the daily practices of increasing our awareness and our courage in the stories we choose to tell. Every moment can be a decisive one. Peace to each of us on our journey…

photo credit: xoque

Do you ever get to the place in your work where you feel like there is too much to do, to remember, to track? I used to pride myself in being able to hold a lot at once — in my mind, for my clients, and about my work. As the complexity of our world increases almost geometrically and I find myself affected by the simple arithmetic progression of aging, I find that harder and harder to do.

I thought about this the other day in the context of launching a narrative coaching center with a team in Toronto and the first narrative design lab in Sydney. Add that to my full-time practice, research and writing projects, and a personal life — and it started to feel a bit much.  I had the chance to talk with my  friend and colleague Andrea J. Lee about my plans. In the course of doing so, she suggested that I might need to release my need to understand it all — and just do the next thing that needs doing. It was a wonderful insight that really hit home for me.

Enjoy the vista, but watch your feet

As I put this approach into practice the next day on a planning call with Toronto, there was a much greater sense of ease and grace in our conversation. What had become long lists of tasks quickly distilled into some immediate actions to take. It felt liberating. This is not about ticking lots of ‘to do’ boxes like a mouse running in a wheel; it’s about building toward something meaningful one step at a time. The era of seeing the whole picture, knowing everything about something, and planning the entire journey is over. Now, it is about doing what needs to be done next — and from there seeing what the world looks like and acting accordingly.

It’s like a good story. The magic is in the suspense of wondering what will happen next, and long arc of the plot often only becomes apparent in the end. I think our work is more and more like that. How about you? We take the steps we need to take in order to respond to and create what is emerging . . . and soon marvel at how far we have come and where we have arrived! Like stories, understanding is in retrospect, not a requirement for getting started.

If you feel stuck or daunted by all that needs to be done, ask yourself right now, “What’s the next thing that needs doing?”

photo credit: sbblackley

The title for today’s post honors the recent death of Richard Wright, founding member of the legendary rock band Pink Floyd. In my work with clients, we often focus on creating the ‘container’ in which they can feel safe enough to openly and honestly engage in the stories they’ve long told themselves. It is from this place that they can be courageous enough to explore what else is possible. It is as if they are asked to make new choices about whether they want to add the next ‘brick’ (a story about an experience) to an existing wall or to a new path (the larger narratives we tell and live).

Are you a security guard or a seeker?

One is about security and one is about seeking. While both are important at the right time in coaching and in life, the former is often informed by our fears while the latter is generally informed by our hopes. As Ira Chernus recently wrote, “Whenever people shelter behind walls for protection, they reinforce the fears that sent them behind those walls in the first place.” While the recent economic events in the U.S. have caused many people, myself included, to pay a new kind of attention to issues of real security, I can’t help but see a need to retain our commitment to seek new paths from this place we are in.

Which story are you going to reinforce?

Narrative coaches help their clients to increase their ability to notice the “brick” in their hand and be mindful and courageous about the chocies they make in the moment as to which story they are going to reinforce. This image fits well with what we know neurologically in terms of how habits are formed through the reinforcement of certain neural constellations.

There are certainly times when we all need a healthy and reassuring dose of stability and security, particularly in times of duress and change. However, there is a great need in these times of extraordinary flux to equip clients to fully step onto the pathes in front of them—even those that are not fully formed yet.

Where are you putting your “bricks” today as you think about your most significant experiences and contacts? Are you adding to the walls around yourself and/or others — or are you using them to extend the paths toward what is possible?

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