“That’s my Story, and I’m sticking to it!”
—Colin Raye, Country and Western Singer
This month I wrote about the stories we have told ourselves over centuries based on things we did not, and at the time could not, understand. Before we understood the moon and sun’s transit across our skies, and the fact that we travel around them instead of the other way around, a dragon swallowing the sun was as good a story as any for an unexpected and unexplainable solar eclipse.
Although today many of the superstitions and beliefs humans held are clearly explained by science, we still have a remarkable capacity to insist on a story that we prefer to the ones that data suggests are true. We humans can be stubborn in our desire to remain right, and righteous about our views even in the face of enormous and even incontrovertible proof to the contrary. In short, we have our stories about circumstances—and we like to stick to those stories.
Nowhere is this common human capability more powerfully on display than in US politics. While I would naturally want to point the examples to the opposite side of the aisle from my own beliefs, there is plenty of “that’s my story” thinking to go around. So, how do we wade into this territory to understand the impact of sticking to a story (positive or challenging) and determine what to do about it? Here are a few coaching constructs I have found useful.
Assessment or Assertion?
This distinction comes from communications theory—but has very practical applications for wading into our stories—and those of others. First, we need the clear definitions:
An Assessment is a statement that cannot be proved or disproven empirically. It cannot be measured to be found accurate or false because there is no way to measure.
An Assertion may or may not be true, but it can be measured to be shown as accurate or not.
I know that this distinction might seem trivial, but in practical and daily communications, understanding the difference is huge. So, a practical example will help us to understand why this distinction matters.
I if say “It is hot in here!”—that is an assessment. We cannot prove it to be true or false. It may well be hot, but there is not a clear standard that would apply.
If I say “It must be 90 degrees in here!” – that is an assertion. It may or may not be accurate, but we can measure it and determine if it is true or not.
A disagreement over office temperature may not seem important- but here are some other common meeting room debates that could benefit from being clear about whether I am treating my assessment as an assertion:
Note that the versions on the left are opinions, spoken as fact. While this might seem trivial, an expression of opinion, especially one that is not shared by all concerned, literally gets processed by the emotional centers of the brain, evoking responses that are often defensive or aggressive. The assertions (on the right) are no more or less critical to success, but they are more likely to be processed primarily in the rational parts of our brain. If nothing else, they are measurable and can be proven true or not. Whereas, the ones on the left are opinions expressed as fact. This small but important verbal distinction is at the root of many (if not most) office breakdowns.
What is the big takeaway here? Actually there are a few, along with strategies to manage and mitigate the breakdowns that go with them:
We can easily create stories that support our view and desired outcome—even if it is only to be right. “That’s my story and I am sticking to it” thinking limits possibilities and often seeds dissent from those who did not have the opportunity to be heard in the planning and design process.
And yet, we more often than not treat our opinions as fact. In short, our stories get in the way of being clear about problems and challenges both at work and at home. Or as Colin Raye so elegantly sang it “That’s my Story and I am Sticking To It!”.
Conflicts are often the result of one person treating their Assessment as an Assertion—or in less formal language, treating their opinion as fact—even though it impacts others who may or may not share that point of view.
There was a time in human history when an eclipse was unpredictable, unexplainable, frightening, and unsettling to our psyche. Without science and provable facts, we needed a story to fill in the gap. “The gods are angry!” or “A dragon is eating the sun!” or other superstition-based answers were common and convenient. We needed the story. We needed an explanation for what was unexplainable. In short, we made up a story based on whatever we believed in order to feel better about what was happening that we could not control, expect, or explain.
We still fill in the spaces of what we do not know with our story about it—usually the story we prefer. I do not mean this in a pejorative way. I am not talking about overt lying or purposeful fraud; but about the subtle ways that we can create a story that mitigates the impact of a situation—especially when the circumstance is a problem of our own making or a risky opportunity that we covet.
Recently, one of my manufacturing clients surfaced a new opportunity for contract work. They knew that their capacity was spoken for at solid margins—and moreover that much of the manufacturing line was already overdue for planned maintenance. Of course, no business wants to decline an initial order from a new, potentially long-term, profitable client. Yet they knew going in that there was significant risk to delivery or to their capital equipment by taking the contract. The story they told themselves was that it was a reasonable risk and that they would sort a solution to both maintain their equipment and acquire a new major customer. As of this writing, both are at serious risk.
This is different from outright fraud. There are bad actors out there who are happy to rob, cheat and steal, but this loss stems from our willingness to let ego and desire interfere with clear decision making. We tell ourselves a story and put existing business at risk on the altar of a new opportunity. Of course, any business wants to pursue a new opportunity—but if our strategy is to justify a story that suits our desires, rather than figure out a strategy that will accommodate them—trouble is often on the horizon.
Here are some ideas I have from clients whose businesses deal with this issue on a regular basis:
Do the planning with everyone at the table—and make it safe to bring the bad news. Come with data rather than just the concern. Then have the group discuss possibilities.
Start with understanding the real and full impact of the decision. Keep in mind that naysayers are not the enemy, but the protectors of the business base that could be threatened.
Plan from a blank slate. If you did not already have the business that would be impacted, what else would you need to know?
Do not assume it is a closed system. What would have to change to have a both/ and answer—without trying to cheat physics or economic realities.
Note—none of these responses is a translation of “Damn the torpedos! Full speed ahead!”
Our psyches are designed for stories. We build and edit them internally, often ignoring limiting conditions or competing priorities. That is what makes our capacity for invention and innovation so remarkable. And, in the absence of an ‘anchor to leeward’ asking the hard questions about capacity and resource, we can easily “buy the story” that could bring down the business.