One.
One moment – a pause, one task, one initiative, one conversation, one breath.
I do this exercise at the end of every year: listening deeply to what will emerge to guide me in the year ahead. This year, ONE was a resounding, in-
your-face obvious choice.
There’s so much going on in our world today, so much in upheaval that feels unsettling, destructive, and uncaring. Yet it’s not just outside. I discovered it’s within me too.
What brought this awareness home was the loss of my dear friend this past holiday season. That’s what cracked me open. And for that, I’m grateful, despite having to feel the pain of it all.
What I realized is that I’d been caught up in my story about how to do life.
My story involved hyper-focus, overanalyzing, doing too many things at once. I found I was grasping for a bit of certainty that I know actually isn’t possible. All in hopes to avoid facing the pain and reality of life.
To be fair, my work and goals are important to me. But I could not see how they were keeping me from the fullness of just allowing my life to unfold. Even as I sensed loss coming, I busied myself.
The kicker? I didn’t think I was avoiding, but I was.
That awareness is the key.
The Stories We Live In
With the paroxysms of change upon us (in families, communities, institutions, policies), our emotions are activated. We feel the tumult in our own somas, we notice the mood, we hear the stories.
Amidst the uproar, we hear commentary about “controlling the narrative,” which leads me to an important point: our narratives live in our sensations and bodies, in our thinking minds and beliefs. We call it “common sense.”
I’ve been saying for a long time that we need, as humans, as leaders, to feel more, not less, to be able to work with ourselves and what the world’s asking of us.
We need to be alert, sensing, tuned in. But we can’t do that when we’re wrapped around the axle of a story.
Because here’s the paradox: stories are essential. Our stories biologically filter all incoming experiences. It’s in the telling of stories that we texture our lives with an understanding of the social context and learn about each other and ourselves. It’s in the language of metaphor, deeply embedded in our very sinews, that we find meaning, emotional valence, and deep engagement.
Our day-to-day stories literally reside in our bodies, “shaping” who we are by reflecting the real-time interaction between our biological systems and our larger environment.
Stories literally live in our tissues, interwoven in our lived, sensory experience, which makes them both ordinary and incredibly powerful.
A good story creates conditions to develop our point of view, to hone our character, to cultivate both empathy and outrage. Through stories we build trust and care in our communities and deepen our values, shaping our culture. Words and stories have power.
But we can spin stories around ourselves, layer upon layer, thread by thread as a protective cocoon. They start as protection, and over time they become thicker, puffier, and more insulating. The very stories that once helped us navigate the world begin to separate us from direct experience, from what’s actually happening right now.
Yet here’s the thing about cocoons: they’re necessary. They hold the goo of transformation.
But we have to know when to stop spinning them, when to allow ourselves to dissolve into that uncomfortable goo, when to emerge as something truer.
The Gift of Awareness
Awareness is the key. It’s what allows us to ‘see’ the cocoon we’ve been spinning.
For me, awareness came through cracking open with grief in losing my friend. I didn’t choose it. It chose me.
For you, it might come differently. That health scare that stops you in your tracks. A moment at work that violates something you hold sacred. A family disruption that reveals patterns you can no longer ignore.
These ruptures penetrate the cocoon, forcing us to see what we’ve been avoiding.
Here’s what I’m advocating for – we don’t have to wait for a crisis to cultivate awareness. We can practice it intentionally. We can choose, moment by moment, where we put our attention.
That’s the move. Where we direct our awareness (toward the sensations in our body, toward the gap between our triggered response and our values, toward the difference between the story and what’s actually true) is where transformation begins.
Awareness doesn’t mean we won’t spin stories. Of course we will, we’re human. We’ll keep spinning. But with awareness, we can catch ourselves mid-spin and ask: Is this story serving me or others? Is it true? What am I protecting?
Your Greatest Strength May Be Your Biggest Liability
Today, in this current climate, your greatest strength may be, surprise surprise, your biggest liability.
I’m not talking about any skills or traits. I’m talking about the story you’ve been telling yourself about who you need to be in times of stress and change.
“I’m the one who has all the answers.” I am your go to person.
“I never show my anxiety.” I am calm and collected.
“I keep everyone comfortable.” I keep people safe.
“I’m the fixer.” I create solutions.
These identities work brilliantly, until they don’t.
What I’ve learned working with many clients for more than 30 years is that the very patterns that got you to where you are today are often the very things keeping you stuck. Stuck in a story that doesn’t always address the realities and needs of the times, not to mention your life.
They’re not character flaws. They’re adaptive strategies learned early on to stay safe, earn belonging, or prove your worth. But our nervous systems don’t know the difference between a board meeting and a childhood dinner table. When pressure hits, we default to old winning strategies even when they don’t serve the particular moment at hand.
What Needs to Drop Away
New understanding always comes at the expense of old beliefs or assumptions, or stories. When we’re exposed to a new idea or perspective, we can’t integrate it until we dismantle the underlying assumptions it should replace.
New ideas can’t stick when layered on top of contradictory ones. That’s why it’s easy to fall back into our old patterns, the cocoon.
It’s difficult to move beyond old stories, especially stories we find solace or hope in. Dismantling a narrative that brings us hope can be physically painful because our stories live in our bodies. We resist and thrash and fight.
And the grief that comes with letting go of these stories? It’s rarely recognized for what it is. Grief of a way of showing up in our society and doing our lives. Grief for a future we imagined for ourselves, our loved ones, our society.
Yet it’s this very grief (this opportunity to turn toward and allow the suffering to come and go and dissipate) that provides space for the new to arise.
It’s a chance to tell a different story, create a new future built on everything we’ve learned after allowing the old story to fade away.
The Bridge Practice: Story vs. Reality
So how do we work with this? We start by noticing the difference between being IN a story versus TELLING a story.
When I’m IN the story (unconscious), my body is tense but I don’t notice. I’m reacting from past experience without realizing it. The story feels like the only reality, the truth.
When I’m TELLING the story (conscious), I can begin to notice the sensations first. I can start to recognize the narrative as one possibility among many. I have a choice.
TRY THIS: Think of a recent moment when you were off-track or reactive.
Pause for a breath and with curiosity, notice your body’s response to the story. What were you protecting in that moment – approval? control? being right?
Now place your hand on your heart and ask – “What would the leader I’m becoming do instead?”
That gap between your triggered response and your wisest self? That’s where the real work lives.
What’s True Now
My word for the year, ONE, helps me cut through my protective stories. One moment. One breath. One person sitting across from me.
The practice of coming back, again and again, to what’s actually here instead of the narrative I’m spinning. To stop adding layers to the cocoon and instead allow the transformation that wants to happen.
The stories you tell matter. Not because positive thinking changes reality, but because the stories we’re unconscious of run our lives.
What story is running your leadership right now? And what would happen if you dropped it long enough to feel what’s actually true?
If this is resonating and you’d like to explore what stories might be running your leadership, let’s talk. I’m diving deeper into this work in my upcoming The Leadership Pause Book of Practices launching this spring, designed for exactly this kind of inquiry.
For now, try on the Bridge Practice this week – I’d love to learn what you’re noticing. The awareness itself is the beginning of freedom. Reach me at drchris@q4-consulting.com.