Finding the space to think, let alone reflect on that thinking, seems in short supply (at least for me). Some people meditate; others journal; I find my most reflective and thoughtful moments come while out running the tree-lined streets of my neighborhood. Whether at dawn, or in the blazing sun of a noon-time run, there is no shortage of sights and sounds, which differ each run, no matter how consistent my route. It might be a slow-moving vehicle that causes a momentary tinge of fear (having convinced myself there is a stalker following me in the wee hours of the morning), only to realize it is the paper delivery truck navigating trashcan-lined streets. Then there are the sublime mornings, where there isn’t a car in sight, just the sights and sounds of nature, with an occasional “other human” sighting.
One morning, I found myself crossing paths with a young man, on his way to school (but really, he could have just as easily been on his way to work. School just happened to be the story I was telling). In passing, I greeted him with a smile, a wave and a “good morning.” Nothing, not even a glance, returned. What was I expecting? I don’t know, maybe at least a wave or a hello. This exchange (or lack of) reminded me of a Boston day, when a visiting Midwestern friend and I braved the blustery winds as we ran around the Charles.
We got into our rhythm and found ourselves surrounded by runners passing by in both directions. With each runner passing runner, my friend belted out a hello and a wave, all accompanied by his big inviting smile. After awhile, he looked at me with surprise and wondered – “what is it with these Boston runners? They are the most unfriendly people I’ve ever seen. They can’t even be bothered to gesture hello.” He chalked this up to a “New England” thing, suggesting that New Englanders must just be mean and unkind, while Midwesterners were kind-hearted and friendly. You see, a typical run in our Midwest town included friendly water stops, smiles, waves, and cheers, whether you recognized oncoming runners or not. It must be true, right …
After reading Jennifer Garvey Berger’s latest book, Unlocking Leadership Mindtraps, I realized we were falling into the mind trap of “Simple Stories.” In Mindtraps, she illustrates the ways in which our natural patterns of thinking can become liabilities as we live and lead in a complex world, noting that these patterns tend to serve us well when things are simple. As she talks with Nicolai Tillisch, she describes the mindtrap in this way: “Our brains make simple stories that are easy to tell, with heroes (usually us) and villains (usually those who disagree with us), and then we look for evidence that supports our stories.” As we do this we get trapped in the simplicity and are blinded from the real story.
In our case, the simple story was that runners who don’t respond with a hello or wave are unkind – the villains (you can guess who are the heroes). In reality, alternative stories abound. What if they didn’t want to distract us? What if they were deaf? Or, what if they thought in the crowded city all runners were pretending to be in the country alone, and didn’t want to be disturbed? In the case of the young man, who knows if he even saw, or recognized, my wave; or heard my greeting (headphones are almost invisible these days).
So, how do we get ourselves out of this trap? One suggestion offered by Jennifer is for us to carry three different stories about what has happened – a pretty big ask, when we are so good at seeing (and believing) our one simple story. It takes practice and doesn’t come naturally, but I’ve found it pays dividends to experiment with generating multiple stories. The first step is to begin noticing when I’m jumping to the simple story – which is frequent as I’m running through the week’s affairs on my run (this is a great, low stakes place to notice and experiment). On one afternoon run I happened to catch myself in the act of a simple story.
I saw the bright face of a school-age girl pop out of a front door, on a school day, during school hours. My first reaction was … why isn’t she in school? My mind beautifully began collecting data to support the simple story I was crafting about what it must say about this girl and her parents to be ditching school. Instead of continuing on with my simple story, I invited myself to consider and write three new stories. Three completely plausible, realistic alternative stories that explain why this little girl was on her porch on a school day.
- She was home sick from school and began feeling better. It was a beautiful day and fresh air would do her good.
- She is a home school kid and was going outside to collect insects for a science lesson.
- She wasn’t school age at all – just a very tall three-year old who looks years older than her peers.
What additional stories can you see? I’ll never know what actually happened. But the experience of generating alternatives created space for me to see beyond the trap of my simple story. When I lose sight of this practice there is a noticeable difference in how I am able to engage with others, coach clients, and get things done. The next time you notice yourself caught in a simple story, take just a moment to imagine alternatives. In these alternatives you might just find your way into bright new solutions. In the case you don’t catch yourself in the moment – frequently the case for me – try to craft these stories as you reflect on a past instance where things didn’t go as well as you wanted. The after-the-fact series of stories might just prepare you for the next in the moment exchange. (And it might just help in the reverse, when you thought things went brilliantly and others may have seen it differently.)