photo credit: stopjessica

In reading a speech by Bill Moyers the other day, I was reminded of a old story from the Native American tradition.

There was a tribal elder who was telling his grandson about the battle the old man was waging inside himself. He said, “It is between two wolves, my son. One is an evil wolf: Anger, envy, sorrow, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is the good wolf: Joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.” The boy thought this over for a minute, and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee replied simply: “The one I feed.”

While there is certainly something to be said for learning how to tell stories for the purpose of inspiring and leading others, most of our behavior each day is driven by the stories we tell ourselves in the moment. These narrative patterns are built up over time and reinforced with the stories we verbalize to others, but they are open to change over time. This is a large part of what narrative coaching is about.

The first task is to notice which story seems present in the moment. In this pause, and the space that opens up, new stories become possible. For example, I can ask myself in a difficult moment whether I am being guided by fear or by love. I can ask myself whether a given reaction brings me closer to or farther away from being more enlightened. In doing so, I often notice where I am attached to a story that does not serve me (or others).

Which wolf are you feeding today?

photo credit: woodleywonderworks
It all started with a simple question to Tom* , “How did you come to be a lawyer?”

He responded with several stories about Bruce*, a lawyer who had been a mentor for him and the other kids in his neighborhood. As a result of Bruce’s influence, Tom carried into adulthood a strong value for justice and fairness and eventually chose a career in law himself. As he and I moved from these stories to the present day, and stories of Tom’s work in coaching other lawyers and developing new modes of mediation, there emerged a moment when it seemed important for the two sets of stories to meet. I said to Tom, “I bet Bruce would be really proud of you right now.” In the profound pause that ensued, Tom was able to recognize for the first time a central narrative thread that ran through his life, share this recognition with someone else as a witness in the present, and connect Bruce’s gift with his current work and vision for the future.

I began a recent book chapter with this story because it illustrates so well a key practice in narrative coaching. It is the art of putting forth a key element from two different stories and inviting the client to see what is discovered when the two are held in the same space. Up until the moment of meeting with Tom, both stories had existed in parallel with one another and been told without reference to the other. Yet, when they were brought together in the same time/space in the conversation, he had a powerful and insightful experience. And in only 5-10 minutes and only using Tom’s own stories.

The more I teach and coach, the more I recognize that one of the biggest dangers as a coach is to make things too complicated. So many of the needs our clients have—even when wrapped in complex dynamics—come down to unmet basic human needs. Part of the value of the narrative approach to coaching is a refined attention to these needs as seen in people’s own stories.

How can you listen differently in your next coaching conversation?

photo credit: JasonRogers
It is the call the parent of a teenager dreads. The policeman phoned at 2:30 in the morning to tell a single mother that her daughter was at the police station. She had been picked up in the wake of a wild party. Relieved that her daughter was not hurt, the mother’s attention quickly turned to her disappointment and anger. The two of them had been fighting for weeks and now the daughter had broken both the agreement with her mom and the curfew of the town.

The mother hurriedly gathered her things, stormed out of the house, cursing her daughter for the embarrassment this would cause the family when the news appeared in their small-town paper the next day. As she drove to the station, silently praying that none of her neighbors would see her, she vented loudly about what she planned to tell her daughter for “screwing up yet again.”

And then . . . she remembered a phrase from a coaching workshop series she was attending as a leader at work: Breakdowns can lead to breakthroughs… She stopped ranting long enough to pause. And hear herself talk . . . and wonder what had gone wrong. And pull over to the side of the road for a minute to settle her breathing. And shed tears as she recognized in that moment the pain she felt in her sense of separation from her daughter. And vow to herself to find a path to a breakthrough starting that night.

And so . . . after she signed the papers at the police station, she began the “long” drive home — with her daughter sitting sullenly in the back seat refusing to engage. In the awkward silence that ensued, the mother finally opened her mouth to speak. The daughter instantly geared up to protest, anticipating yet another big fight, but was stunned to hear her mother say, “It must be hard to be 16 these days. I would like to hear what it is like for you when you’re ready.” And from that pause, the deep listening began . . .

The mother went on to be one of the best coaches in our program for her federal agency, sparked in large part by her own experience that night. She learned that listening is not half of a transaction but rather the whole of an incubation. Rather than perpetuating the same old story with her daughter, she paused long enough to create the space for a different story to become possible. Somewhere within any breakdown are the seeds of a breakthrough waiting to be born. Is that not what coaching is all about?

It’s a contest!
As we launch this new site, we’d love to get your feedback. Therefore, we are running a CONTEST between now and March 31st. One person’s comments will be chosen at random and that person will receive an autographed copy of the new book I edited with Diane Brennan and Kim Gørtz, “The Philosophy and Practice of Coaching” (www.practiceofcoaching.com).

SEND US YOUR COMMENTS by replying to this post. We are particularly interested in two questions (though we will welcome them all):

1. What are your first impressions of the site (feel, tone, message, impact, etc.)? What would make it better in terms of its design (usability, visual appeal, readability, navigation)?
2. What else would you like to know about narrative coaching and/or about our work?

When the contest is completed, I will share the top comments—and the changes we made as a result—as well as announce the winner.
Let me close with a story about the importance of aligning our actions with our intentions. It is also a great example of the power of the shadow to crop up in unexpected places. It seemed fitting for this query about the alignment of our goals for this site with how it is experienced by you.

The young couple, committed to justice work and a simple lifestyle, were walking up the dusty trail to Chimney Rock. Her thoughts included an uncertainty on what shadow work meant for her in her life as a mother, spouse and activist; his thoughts included a disdain for people’s preoccupation with status and symbols. Part way up the trail their thoughts intersected in an unintended fashion.

He was wearing a pair of sneakers that had been given to him. Even though they bore a famous brand name, he had begrudgingly kept them because they were a gift. As she walked along behind him on the trail, she looked down to see that he was stamping the word “Reebok” in the dust with every step he took. The irony was not lost on her—he had become a walking advertisement for a value he did not consciously hold. Like a Zen student who suddenly awakens to the meaning of a koan, she knew at that moment what the shadow was all about.

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?