The truth, the whole truth, and the stories we tell ourselves

My friend Kyle called me up the other day. He was feeling adrift, and was hoping I could provide some “life coaching” advice.

After graduating from college in May of 2008, Kyle took a job working for the Obama campaign. For three straight months, he knocked on doors, made phone calls, planned and organized events and rallies, and generally ran himself into the ground to get Obama elected.

Like just about anybody who works on a campaign, he was toast by Election Day, and he took the rest of November and December to recover.

By January, he was ready to find his next adventure, but he ran into two hurdles: one, he wanted something that would challenge him and give him the same energy and sense of purpose that he found working on the campaign; and two, he was a recent college graduate with limited experience looking for a job in the worst economic climate since the Great Depression.

The good news is, he found work: over the spring and summer, he worked for the minor league baseball team in town, and in the fall, he got a job waiting tables at a local restaurant. The bad news is, neither job fit the first qualification he was looking for, and he was even starting to wonder about that, too — he’d had an interview with an upcoming U.S. Senate campaign, and was beginning to question how he felt about diving back into that environment, this time for 10 months instead of three.

Worse, he was beating himself up about all of this. Waiting tables wasn’t challenging him, and most days it sucked the life out of him.

He wanted to go back to campus to visit, because like most recent grads, he missed just about everything about college, but his last visit had been filled with an endless stream of “So what are you up to now?” conversations. Kyle had been a highly-involved student leader — the kind who knew everybody, who knew the ins and outs of the institution, and who got invited into the university President’s box at Homecoming — so everyone back on campus expected he would find similar success after graduation. The idea of telling those people he was waiting tables filled him with dread.

“So don’t tell them you’re waiting tables,” I said. “And don’t tell yourself that, either.”

Kyle was a bit confused, so I explained.

As I saw it, he was telling himself a failure story: here he was, this promising college graduate, but a year and a half after graduating, he was waiting tables, living in his sister and brother-in-law’s basement, and worse, he had no exciting prospects, and no direction.

Is that story the truth? Certainly. The whole truth? Not necessarily. Is it a good conversation starter? Definitely not.

Who wouldn’t feel some angst about telling other people that story? You start telling someone that story, and they start looking for the next person they can talk to.

I proposed he frame his story a little differently. The next time he got the question, “So what are you up to now?”, I suggested he reply:

“I’m working on getting over my hangover from getting Obama elected.”

Is that story the truth? Certainly. The whole truth? Not necessarily. Is it a good conversation starter? Definitely.

With that opening, he’ll probably get at least a laugh. He’ll then likely get asked what he did for the campaign, at which point he can regale the listener with good stories about some of his adventures on the campaign trail in support of a historic candidate. He may never even have to mention the restaurant.

If he gets asked what he means by “hangover,” or gets a laugh and then a, “But really, what are you doing now?” he can explain that working on the campaign was such a powerful experience that he wants to take his time and find something that will be equally challenging and inspiring, and in which he can make a difference. In the meantime, he’s waiting tables to pay the bills while he explores his options.

That story opens up possibilities. Maybe it leads to a conversation about the kind of things that interest him, and the person he’s talking to has some ideas he should consider, or some people he should network with. Maybe that person makes an introduction on Kyle’s behalf, or thinks of him the next time an interesting position opens up, or offers to write a recommendation for his LinkedIn profile, or even has an opportunity that might be a good fit for him.

Worst-case scenario, Kyle walks away from the conversation feeling good about himself, and the person he’s talking to walks away thinking that Kyle is a thoughtful, mature, motivated kid who’s going places — as opposed to the worst-case scenario with Kyle’s original story, where Kyle walks away feeling sorry for himself, and the person he’s talking to wonders what ever happened to that kid who showed so much promise as an undergrad.

The stories we tell ourselves matter — often, much more than the truth.

:: Posted by Eric Ratinoff ::