Every Authentic Leadership Story is the Result of a Process
Down below, I’m going to give you a structure that you can follow in planning your own authentic leadership story. But before I do, I want to emphasize the most important insight you can get about leadership storytelling: it’s a process.
What does it mean to say that storytelling is a process? It means that there is no “right” way for any of us to tell our stories. Sure, there are certain tactics that can improve your delivery, and there are certain structural ideas that can heighten the emotional impact for the audience. But, as people, we all have very, very acute bullshit detectors. We can tell the difference between a real and truly authentic leadership story and a well-polished story. A well-polished story can be funny, well-delivered and engaging. But polish doesn’t necessarily lead to connection.
I touched on this at length in my article about Obama’s leadership storytelling. To reiterate here briefly: the most powerful tool in a storyteller’s toolbox is genuine emotional connection. As audiences, we want more than to just be told about an experience. We want to live it. We want to be part of it.
A good story can be thought of as a gift that the teller gives the audience. As storytellers, we need to take our own personal experiences and re-imagine them as an experience for the audience.
Here’s a great example from a TED talk:
Put aside the content and structure of Mark Bezos’ story for a moment. Focus instead on the tone of the story. When does the audience get drawn in? I’d argue the audience engagement truly starts when Mark says that line about Lex Luthor.
(Here’s the transcription in case you didn’t watch the video.)
Back in New York, I am the head of development for a non-profit called Robin Hood. When I’m not fighting poverty, I’m fighting fires as the assistant captain of a volunteer fire company. Now in our town, where the volunteers supplement a highly skilled career staff, you have to get to the fire scene pretty early to get in on any action.
I remember my first fire. I was the second volunteer on the scene, so there was a pretty good chance I was going to get in. But still it was a real footrace against the other volunteers to get to the captain in charge to find out what our assignments would be. When I found the captain, he was having a very engaging conversation with the homeowner, who was surely having one of the worst days of her life. Here it was, the middle of the night, she was standing outside in the pouring rain, under an umbrella, in her pyjamas, barefoot, while her house was in flames.
The other volunteer who had arrived just before me — let’s call him Lex Luther — got to the captain first and was asked to go inside and save the homeowner’s dog. The dog! I was stunned with jealousy. Here was some lawyer or money manager who, for the rest of his life, gets to tell people that he went into a burning building to save a living creature, just because he beat me by five seconds. Well, I was next. The captain waved me over. He said, “Bezos, I need you to go into the house. I need you to go upstairs, past the fire, and I need you to get this woman a pair of shoes.” I swear. So, not exactly what I was hoping for, but off I went — up the stairs, down the hall, past the ‘real’ firefighters, who were pretty much done putting out the fire at this point, into the master bedroom to get a pair of shoes.
Why does the audience laugh when Mark says Lex Luthor? Was the other volunteer actually Lex Luthor? No, of course not. But by portraying the other volunteer in this way, Mark is giving us an insight into his state of mind.
Ask yourself: what kind of person sees another volunteer fire fighter and thinks of Superman’s arch-villain? An immature one. That’s why the audience is laughing. When Mark admits his immaturity, he brings the audience closer and makes his story more relatable. Now the story isn’t about the fire anymore. It’s about Mark’s journey to maturity.
Here’s another example from one of the most viewed TED talks of all time — The Power of Vulnerability by Brene Brown:
Again, here’s the transcript from the first 75 seconds of this talk:
So, I’ll start with this: a couple years ago, an event planner called me because I was going to do a speaking event. And she called, and she said, “I’m really struggling with how to write about you on the little flyer.” And I thought, “Well, what’s the struggle?” And she said, “Well, I saw you speak, and I’m going to call you a researcher, I think, but I’m afraid if I call you a researcher, no one will come, because they’ll think you’re boring and irrelevant.”
And I was like, “Okay.” And she said, “But the thing I liked about your talk is you’re a storyteller. So I think what I’ll do is just call you a storyteller.” And of course, the academic, insecure part of me was like, “You’re going to call me a what?” And she said, “I’m going to call you a storyteller.” And I was like, “Why not ‘magic pixie’?”
I was like, “Let me think about this for a second.” I tried to call deep on my courage. And I thought, you know, I am a storyteller. I’m a qualitative researcher. I collect stories; that’s what I do. And maybe stories are just data with a soul. And maybe I’m just a storyteller. And so I said, “You know what? Why don’t you just say I’m a researcher-storyteller.” And she went, “Ha ha. There’s no such thing.”
See the bolded section? That’s the audience’s first laugh. That’s the hook. Why is the audience laughing? They’re laughing because Brene is describing how she reacted to a potential humiliation. Again, because the experience of humiliation is so universal, the audience is drawn in — because now we’re the ones who are going to learn how to overcome our humiliation, just like Brene.
In both cases, audience engagement begins when the storyteller reveals a personal vulnerability. Importantly, neither Mark and Brene are trauma-bombing us. They aren’t complaining about themselves. They are specifically introducing a vulnerability that they will overcome by the end of the story. That’s what makes their story authentic, engaging and truly transformational.
So, as authentic leadership storytellers, we need to see our own stories as a result of a process. A great leadership story isn’t a recounting of a history. You can’t just say, oh yeah, that’s when I fought off the lions. That’s when I overcame my fear. I’m the best. (Well, you can, but no one will think it’s authentic.) All authentic leadership stories involve a shift in the storytellers perspective of herself. In order to deliver that shift in perspective to the audience, you actually need to shift that perspective for yourself.
How do you shift your perspective to make an authentic leadership story?
This is the holy grail of good storytelling. There’s no paint-by-numbers formula. But there is a well-trodden path to follow. It involves a combination of psychological functions:
- Visioning: What kind of story are you trying to create? What emotional response do you want to engender in your audience?
- Creating: What are the many different ways you could tell that story? What people, settings and anecdotes could you focus on?
- Analyzing: Which parts of your story are most relevant and interesting to your audiences?
- Prototyping: What might your story look like in varying forms? Is it a video? An oral anecdote? A piece of writing? A photography series? An interpretive dance?
- Testing: How does your audience react to your prototype? What do they like? What don’t they like?
- Reflecting: What have you learned through this process? What can you improve next time?
The important idea here is that your story is not static. It’s not like you’re going to memorize a perfect script that you’re going to repeat every time you tell this story. If you want it create a sense of life and vitality in your audience, the story needs to feel alive and vital in you every time you tell it. It’s going to be a different story every time.
That’s a really hard concept for most leadership storytellers to wrap their head around. Many of my clients think they’re looking for The Story. You’re not looking for The Story. You’re looking for a process that you can use to continually adapt your story as you and your audience go through changes.
All of these above functions need to be part of your storytelling process. In more colloquial language, you might think of this as writing a series of drafts. You come up with the idea and write the first draft. You show it to someone and get feedback. You step back and reflect on what you’ve learned. You write the second draft. Repeat. Gradually, as the story becomes clearer to you, you’re going to find it easier to deliver it in a natural way. You’re also going to find it easier to adapt this story to different audiences — so you might tell it one way to a group or in a speech, and in another way to an individual.
The process is what’s important.
How might you start this process? I often recommend this exercise to my storytelling coaching clients:
- Set aside 20-30 minutes of uninterrupted time. No phones, no partners, no browser, no children. If you can stomach it, pen and paper.
- Pick a topic you want to write about. Set your timer for 20-30 minutes. Write continuously in a stream of consciousness style without stopping until the timer goes off. It doesn’t matter whether what you’ve written sounds like a story. You’re not at that stage yet.
- When the timer goes off, stop writing, no matter where you are.
- Put the writing aside for at least 24 hours. Then, come back to it and read what you’ve written. Repeat the same exercise. Set your timer for 20-30 minutes. Write continuously until it goes off. Stop writing no matter where you’re at.
- Repeat the same exercise between 3-5 times.
- Now you’ve got some source material to start to construct your story. You can follow a pattern like the one listed below.
- The most important part of the process is that you approach it as a process. You’re not trying to solve a problem. You’re trying to reflect on your own experiences and grow through reflection. The more you grow through your reflection, the more engaged the audience will be.
An Example Structure for Authentic Leadership Stories
Don’t start putting your authentic leadership story into a structure before you’ve done an exercise like the one above. Like I’ve explained above, your perspective on your story is much more interesting to audiences than what actually happened in the story.
Don’t believe me? Watch this TED talk from master rock climber Alex Honnold. Alex is telling a story about how he free-climbed El Capitan, an immense rock wall in Yosemite, without a rope. But rather than gloat about his accomplishments, he tells a story that is truly about integrity and practice.
Here’s the transcript from about 5:13:
I didn’t bother to explain, but that night in my climbing journal, I duly noted my free solo of Half Dome, but I included a frowny face and a comment, “Do better?”
I’d succeeded in the solo and it was celebrated as a big first in climbing. Some friends later made a film about it. But I was unsatisfied. I was disappointed in my performance, because I knew that I had gotten away with something. I didn’t want to be a lucky climber. I wanted to be a great climber. I actually took the next year or so off from free soloing, because I knew that I shouldn’t make a habit of relying on luck.
So here’s the world’s best rock climber — maybe the best rock climber who has ever lived. And he’s admitting something very human to us. Even if we’ve never done anything close to what he’s done, we can relate to that experience of “getting away with something.”
This is the line that gives the whole story its authenticity and soul. After that experience, Honnold makes a very relatable choice. He decides to practice. And through practice he is able to achieve his goals.
The story is no longer about climbing a rugged wall. It’s about dedication and practice. Again, a very human theme that can relate to all of us in any life situation. That’s what makes the story so good.
Say you want to tell a story like this about your own experiences. It doesn’t matter what the story is about, as long as you have some new perspective on yourself. The new perspective is what will engage your audience.
I want to repeat that again: It doesn’t matter what the story is about, as long as you have some new perspective on yourself. The new perspective is what will engage your audience. You could tell a story about the most trivial and commonplace event, like crossing the street or having a coffee. If you can connect that common experience into some insight into yourself, your audience will love it. I’ll give you an example of that below.
OK, so what’s that structure for an authentic leadership story? Here it is in a nutshell. Then I’ll explain in more detail.
- Opening Hook.
- Set Up the Plot
- Reveal the Character Flaw
- The Plot Crisis
- The Emotional Crisis
- A-Ha Moment
- The Moral or Message
1. Grab Our Attention with an “Opening Hook”
I’m going to use Alex Honnold’s story as an example. You can cross-reference the video above with the transcript snippets I’ll post here. And we’ll start with the opening. How does the story start?
Hello. I’d like to show you guys 30 seconds of the best day of my life.
So that was El Capitan in California’s Yosemite National Park, and in case you couldn’t tell, I was climbing by myself without a rope, a style of a climbing known as free soloing. That was the culmination of a nearly decade-long dream, and in the video I’m over 2,500 feet off the ground. Seems scary? Yeah, it is, which is why I spent so many years dreaming about soloing El Cap and not actually doing it. But on the day that that video was taken, it didn’t feel scary at all. It felt as comfortable and natural as a walk in the park, which is what most folks were doing in Yosemite that day.
Two things to note here. First, a great use of video footage. Right away, the audience is transported to a dangerous and exciting location. We’re there with him.
Second, look at that introductory paragraph. Ask yourself: what’s the emotional hook that Alex sets up? Did you find it? It’s here:
But on the day that that video was taken, it didn’t feel scary at all. It felt as comfortable and natural as a walk in the park, which is what most folks were doing in Yosemite that day.
Think about that for a second. Dude is 2,500 feet above the ground, without any ropes, and he feels like he is strolling in a park. That raises a clear question: how the &*!# can he be facing his biggest fears so confidently?
This is the essence of a good hook. Hooks function by asking a compelling question and “suspending” the answer. This is what creates engagement and suspense. In Alex’s case, this question about fear is what keeps us watching. This question is even more compelling than the spectacular footage. It’s what transforms the talk into a story.
Now is a great chance to go back to the two talks at the top of the article. What were each of their Opening Hooks?
2. Set Up the Plot by Telling Us How the Story Will End
Alex has asked a compelling question that got our attention. How does he deal with fear? We’re hooked. What comes next?
Today I’d like to talk about how I was able to feel so comfortable and how I overcame my fear. I’ll start with a very brief version of how I became a climber, and then tell the story of my two most significant free solos. They were both successful, which is why I’m here. But the first felt largely unsatisfying, whereas the second, El Cap, was by far the most fulfilling day of my life. Through these two climbs, you’ll see my process for managing fear.
Now Alex tells us the “plot” of his story. Did you find it?
I’ll start with a very brief version of how I became a climber, and then tell the story of my two most significant free solos…Through these two climbs, you’ll see my process for managing fear.
After we set up the hook, we need to reassure the audience that our story actually has an end. We’re not going to just ramble incoherently for a while. We want the audience to relax and let themselves be taken on the journey.
In storytelling, we call this the plot. That’s the beginning, middle and end. The plot is what gives structure to the story and holds it together. A character is heading out to do or become something. Normally, there is also something that is in the character’s way. We call that the obstacle or conflict.
What’s in Alex’s way? It’s literal fear of death. El Capitan is Lex Luthor. How about in the earlier two stories?
In Mark’s story, the obstacle is Lex Luthor. Look again at this intro:
Now in our town, where the volunteers supplement a highly skilled career staff, you have to get to the fire scene pretty early to get in on any action. I remember my first fire. I was the second volunteer on the scene, so there was a pretty good chance I was going to get in. But still it was a real footrace against the other volunteers to get to the captain in charge to find out what our assignments would be.
These lines set up the plot. Mark wants to get in on the action. He needs to race against the other volunteers to get a good assignment. We can use these two lines to deduce the rest of the story: it’s going to be about getting in on the action in some way. In the end, Mark’s going to get in on the action — or not.
How about Brene’s story?
A couple years ago, an event planner called me because I was going to do a speaking event. And she called, and she said, “I’m really struggling with how to write about you on the little flyer… I saw you speak, and I’m going to call you a researcher, I think, but I’m afraid if I call you a researcher, no one will come, because they’ll think you’re boring and irrelevant.”
How’s this short story going to end? The event planner is going to get an answer to how to write about Brene.
Just like the opening hook, the plot of the story should also pose a question. How did Alex accomplish two free solos? Is Mark going to get in on the action? What will Brene be called? This question is what starts the story in motion.
This is a foundational building block of all storytelling. Next time you watch a movie, ask yourself: what’s the question that sets the whole story in motion?
3. Reveal the Character Flaw
What separates an authentic leadership story from boasting? It’s what we call in storytelling a “character flaw”. Here’s where your process work described above really comes to light. You’re not just boasting about the biggest deal you ever won or the biggest fish that you’ve ever caught. You’re about to let the audience in on a secret about yourself.
I’ve already talked about Alex’s secret, but let’s reiterate. Here’s how he sets up his own character flaw:
I didn’t really know how to prepare for a potential free solo. So I decided to skip the preparations and just go up there and have an adventure. I figured I would rise to the occasion, which, unsurprisingly, was not the best strategy.
Imagine. He’s about to climb a 2,000 foot wall without a rope. And he decides to “skip the preparations and just go up there and have an adventure.” That’s crazy!
More particularly, this is an expression of his immaturity. Immaturity comes in many flavors and forms. Here’s the immaturity from the previous two stories:
Mark’s story:
The dog! I was stunned with jealousy. Here was some lawyer or money manager who, for the rest of his life, gets to tell people that he went into a burning building to save a living creature, just because he beat me by five seconds.
Imagine. The woman’s house is on fire, and all Mark can think about is what other people will think about him.
Brene’s story:
And she said, “But the thing I liked about your talk is you’re a storyteller. So I think what I’ll do is just call you a storyteller.” And of course, the academic, insecure part of me was like, “You’re going to call me a what?” And she said, “I’m going to call you a storyteller.” And I was like, “Why not ‘magic pixie’?”
Brene’s character flaw is similar to Mark’s. She’s concerned about what other people are going to think about her.
In all three cases, this choice is particular. All three storytellers are specifically making themselves vulnerable to bring their audiences on side. This is the moment when the story feels deeper to the audience. It’s no longer about the event planner or the fire or even the wall. It becomes more personal, more human. It’s truly a story about us, the audience.
4. The Plot Crisis is Triggered by an Unexpected Turn in the Action.
What’s the plot crisis in Alex’s story? It’s here:
I suddenly decided to skip the hard part and take the variation, even though I’d never climbed it before, but I immediately began to doubt myself. Imagine being by yourself in the dead center of a 2,000-foot face, wondering if you’re lost. Thankfully, it was pretty much the right way and I circled back to the route.
I was slightly rattled, I was pretty rattled, but I tried not to let it bother me too much because I knew that all the hardest climbing was up at the top. I needed to stay composed. It was a beautiful September morning, and as I climbed higher, I could hear the sounds of tourists chatting and laughing on the summit. They’d all hiked up the normal trail on the back, which I was planning on using for my descent.
But between me and the summit lay a blank slab of granite. There were no cracks or edges to hold on to, just small ripples of texture up a slightly less than vertical wall. I had to trust my life to the friction between my climbing shoes and the smooth granite.
I carefully balanced my way upward, shifting my weight back and forth between the small smears. But then I reached a foothold that I didn’t quite trust. Two days ago, I’d have just stepped right up on it, but that would have been with a rope on. Now it felt too small and too slippery. I doubted that my foot would stay on if I weighted it.
I considered a foot further to the side, which seemed worse. I switched my feet and tried a foot further out. It seemed even worse. I started to panic. I could hear people laughing on the summit just above me. I wanted to be anywhere but on that slab. My mind was racing in every direction. I knew what I had to do, but I was too afraid to do it. I just had to stand up on my right foot. And so after what felt like an eternity,
I accepted what I had to do and I stood up on the right foot, and it didn’t slip, and so I didn’t die, and that move marked the end of the hardest climbing. And so I charged from there towards the summit.
This is just beautiful storytelling. Make sure to watch this section of his talk a few times. It’s gripping. Why is it gripping? Again, there’s a question: is Alex about to die? Even though we know he makes it — he already told us, after all — when we listen to the story, we’re captivated by what’s about to happen. There’s a crisis — a huge obstacle in the way of Alex’s goal.
Notice also how Alex sprinkles in details here that draw out the tension. See how he is giving us the experience?
What’s the plot crisis in Mark’s story? It’s here:
The captain waved me over. He said, “Bezos, I need you to go into the house. I need you to go upstairs, past the fire, and I need you to get this woman a pair of shoes.” I swear. So, not exactly what I was hoping for, but off I went — up the stairs, down the hall, past the ‘real’ firefighters, who were pretty much done putting out the fire at this point, into the master bedroom to get a pair of shoes.
Even though Mark’s story is much different than Alex’s, we can see the same function in the story. Mark wants to get in on the action. But the assignment he gets from the captain is the opposite of action. Shoes! So again, a plot crisis. Something is getting in the way. And this is the point where some descriptive details heighten the storytelling.
In Brene’s story, the plot crisis comes in this brief back and forth between her and the event planner:
And of course, the academic, insecure part of me was like, “You’re going to call me a what?” And she said, “I’m going to call you a storyteller.” And I was like, “Why not ‘magic pixie’?”
Her story is intentionally short here, but this would be the place she could fatten it up, if she wanted it to be longer. There could be some more back and forth, and some more laughs for the audience. Because the plot is about what it’s going to say about her on the flyer, and the crisis is that what it says might be unflattering or humiliating.
5. The Emotional Crisis is How The Character Responds to the Plot Crisis
If we were perfect and unflappable, then a plot crisis would be easy to overcome. But we’re not perfect. We’re human. So a great story uses the plot crisis to exacerbate our flaws.
Because an authentic leadership story isn’t really about rock climbing or flyers or fires. It’s about finding the courage to change. And no one changes easily. In fact, most of us resist change as powerfully as we can. That’s the function of an emotional crisis. It’s to show our resistance to change. This emotional crisis is what draws the audience even closer.
What’s the emotional crisis in Alex’s story? This is the same section from above:
I’d succeeded in the solo and it was celebrated as a big first in climbing. Some friends later made a film about it. But I was unsatisfied. I was disappointed in my performance, because I knew that I had gotten away with something. I didn’t want to be a lucky climber. I wanted to be a great climber. I actually took the next year or so off from free soloing, because I knew that I shouldn’t make a habit of relying on luck.
See the emotional crisis here? This guy does something no other climber has ever done — and takes the next year off from climbing. How relatable is that?
What’s the emotional crisis in Mark’s story?
I swear. So, not exactly what I was hoping for, but off I went — up the stairs, down the hall, past the ‘real’ firefighters, who were pretty much done putting out the fire at this point, into the master bedroom to get a pair of shoes…Now I know what you’re thinking, but I’m no hero.
He’s poking fun at himself here. But he’s alluding to what must have really felt like a crisis at the time. Rather than being a hero, he’s been revealed as useless. Does that sound familiar?
Finally, Brene:
And I was like, “Why not ‘magic pixie’?”
Very similar to Mark’s. Structurally the stories are almost identical.
6. The A-Ha Moment is the Instant of Transformation
What was the a-ha that Alex had? Practice is the opposite of luck. This whole middle section is about his practice routine.
The most difficult part of the whole route was called the Boulder Problem. It was about 2,000 feet off the ground and consisted of the hardest physical moves on the whole route: long pulls between poor handholds with very small, slippery feet. This is what I mean by a poor handhold: an edge smaller than the width of a pencil but facing downward that I had to press up into with my thumb. But that wasn’t even the hardest part. The crux culminated in a karate kick with my left foot over to the inside of an adjacent corner, a maneuver that required a high degree of precision and flexibility, enough so that I’d been doing a nightly stretching routine for a full year ahead of time to make sure that I could comfortably make the reach with my leg.
As I practiced the moves, my visualization turned to the emotional component of a potential solo. Basically, what if I got up there and it was too scary? What if I was too tired? What if I couldn’t quite make the kick? I had to consider every possibility while I was safely on the ground, so that when the time came and I was actually making the moves without a rope, there was no room for doubt to creep in. Doubt is the precursor to fear, and I knew that I couldn’t experience my perfect moment if I was afraid. I had to visualize and rehearse enough to remove all doubt.
But beyond that, I also visualized how it would feel if it never seemed doable. What if, after so much work, I was afraid to try? What if I was wasting my time and I would never feel comfortable in such an exposed position? There were no easy answers, but El Cap meant enough to me that I would put in the work and find out.
Some of my preparations were more mundane. This is a photo of my friend Conrad Anker climbing up the bottom of El Cap with an empty backpack. We spent the day climbing together to a specific crack in the middle of the wall that was choked with loose rocks that made that section difficult and potentially dangerous, because any missed step might knock a rock to the ground and kill a passing climber or hiker. So we carefully removed the rocks, loaded them into the pack and rappelled back down. Take a second to imagine how ridiculous it feels to climb 1,500 feet up a wall just to fill a backpack full of rocks.
Do you see the contrast from the earlier story? On the first climb, Alex decided to wing it. That’s what got him in trouble. But this time, he decided not to wing it. Practice and discipline are his a-ha moment. This is the core of the deeper message he is communicating. But for us, as the audience, to receive this message, we needed to go through crisis first.
Here’s Mark’s a-ha moment:
I carried my payload back downstairs where I met my nemesis and the precious dog by the front door. We took our treasures outside to the homeowner, where, not surprisingly, his received much more attention than did mine. A few weeks later, the department received a letter from the homeowner thanking us for the valiant effort displayed in saving her home. The act of kindness she noted above all others: someone had even gotten her a pair of shoes.
Here’s Brene’s a-ha moment:
I was like, “Let me think about this for a second.” I tried to call deep on my courage. And I thought, you know, I am a storyteller. I’m a qualitative researcher. I collect stories; that’s what I do. And maybe stories are just data with a soul. And maybe I’m just a storyteller. And so I said, “You know what? Why don’t you just say I’m a researcher-storyteller.”
For all three storytellers, the a-ha was some insight into themselves. There was a part of themselves they hadn’t discovered yet. For Alex it was practice, discipline and humility. For Mark it’s humility. For Brene it’s courage. The whole point of their stories is to get us to this insight.
By getting us here, we’re reminded that we all have traits like humility, courage and discipline inside of ourselves.
7. Deliver the Moral or Message
Now, at the end of the story, we finally get the real insight — the reason we’re listening to this story in the first place. This moral or message is almost always something we already know about ourselves. The whole point of the story has been to remind us who we really are inside. It’s a gift that the storyteller has given us as the audience.
From Alex:
Climbing Half Dome had been a big goal and I did it, but I didn’t get what I really wanted. I didn’t achieve mastery. I was hesitant and afraid, and it wasn’t the experience that I wanted. But El Cap was different. With 600 feet to go, I felt like the mountain was offering me a victory lap. I climbed with a smooth precision and enjoyed the sounds of the birds swooping around the cliff. It all felt like a celebration. And then I reached the summit after three hours and 56 minutes of glorious climbing. It was the climb that I wanted, and it felt like mastery.
From Mark:
In both my vocation at Robin Hood and my avocation as a volunteer firefighter, I am witness to acts of generosity and kindness on a monumental scale, but I’m also witness to acts of grace and courage on an individual basis. And you know what I’ve learned? They all matter. So as I look around this room at people who either have achieved, or are on their way to achieving, remarkable levels of success, I would offer this reminder: don’t wait. Don’t wait until you make your first million to make a difference in somebody’s life. If you have something to give, give it now. Serve food at a soup kitchen. Clean up a neighborhood park. Be a mentor. Not every day is going to offer us a chance to save somebody’s life, but every day offers us an opportunity to affect one. So get in the game. Save the shoes.
In Brene’s story, the moral or message is implicit. Here’s how the story ends:
And she went, “Ha ha. There’s no such thing.”
She’s poking fun at herself and being vulnerable — which is what sets up the rest of her talk. But the bones of the structure are there.
Use What You’ve Learned to Analyze This Authentic Leadership Story
Can you see the same scaffolding in this Obama story?