On an early fall weekend, a hurricane is skirting the New England coast and triggering all sorts of watches and warnings via modern meteorology. The myriad of reports and updates about coastal flooding, wind gusts, and possible power outages are blinking red lights that must be heeded. And while preparations began more than a few days ago and we are well-stocked to ride out the storm, there is still a sense of apprehension or unease in the air. The natural world is in control here.
Sometimes it takes an external force or major life event to truly slow us down. Such force or life event can simplify our cluttered and sometimes chaotic lives by focusing our immediate attention on what is most important–people. Our own safety as well as those we love. Our friends and colleagues who may be in the path of potential harm. And even those we have never met yet share basic bonds of humanity. An oft missing clarity suddenly emerges and our primal need for emotional and physical safety takes hold.
In my childhood, Nor’easters, hurricanes, and other major weather events often created an air of adventure and excitement in my little corner of the world. I could not comprehend the power and potential destruction of such storms or their lasting emotional impact on those most affected. Instead, there is a burst of communal energy and heightened sense of awareness that something big was about to happen. A flurry of preparations by my parents and other adults in my life, numerous phone calls and neighborly visits, and seemingly endless talk about weather punctuate the days leading up to the storm. Of course, all the chatter among my friends is about how many days our school might be closed. Queue the excitement.
The Blizzard of ’78 changed all that for me. Nearly 3 feet of snow fell in the span of few days in early February and brought eastern Massachusetts to a grinding halt. There were drifts in excess of 10 feet around our house and it took more than 4 full days of shoveling to get our doorways and driveway clear. Not that we could go anywhere or visit anyone. And with the telephone land lines down, no electricity for radio and television, and no postal service, we had zero access to real-time information about the storm’s magnitude. In fact, two full weeks passed before we truly understood its devastating impact. Nearly 100 persons died, thousands more injured, and countless homes were destroyed by coastal flooding or roof collapses. My narrative of the natural world changed forever.
To this day I remain in awe of the natural world’s impact on my physical and emotional well-being. As a New Englander, I was taught to have a healthy respect for Mother Nature and be attentive to the physical conditions around us every day. We live by the timeless weather snark from Mark Twain–“if you do not like the weather in New England, just wait a minute.” Conditions can and do change quickly and sometimes for the worst. In nature, in life, and in leadership.
I too have come to appreciate how emotional storms have immense power to clear space for personal growth and self-exploration. Three major storms impacted my life and all center on loss. Each storm varies in duration and intensity, but they share common elements. In the scariest moments when the darkness appears endless and the storm is raging, I feel utterly and completely lost. Next, when I stay in this place too long, I become stuck in my own morass which then triggers a debilitating narrative. New England self-reliance and a hint of self-delusion kick in and I believe I can weather the storm on my own. I resist asking for help from others even at the expense of my own physical and mental health. It is only a matter of time before the call goes out to my personal Coast Guard to initiate the search and rescue operation.
Yet after each storm comes a calm. The natural world’s promise of growth and self-exploration can be found in the sunshine, blue skies, and calm seas the morning after. Hope, optimism, and renewal are our companions for the long journey ahead. We witness this time and time again with communities devastated by natural disasters.
In our own lives, hope, optimism, and renewal can expose or even destroy the narratives we tell ourselves every day. You know the ones I am talking about. Those deeply held stories often narrated by critical voices which we replay over and over again in our hearts and minds. Left unchecked, such narratives create seemingly immovable obstacles on the journey to becoming a more authentic, compassionate, and impactful leader.
I am not worthy of unconditional love.
This narrative runs vast and deep. I have felt this way for as long as I can remember. Yet I cannot point to a life event or recall a memory that gives birth to this story. I just feel it in my bones. Like most of us, I have my share of loss and grief, romantic breakups and frayed friendships, health issues, and professional setbacks. Intellectually, I know that my family and close friends love me because they tell me so. Yet my heart still questions it for reasons I cannot fathom. Over the years, I thought that this narrative may be my default coping mechanism for keeping people I love at a distance. I am not so sure anymore.
I am selfish and uncaring.
This narrative is judgmental and unforgiving, and an especially loud voice when I face a difficult leadership decision. Unfortunately, this narrative also amplifies my first one. I suspect its origin traces back to the Puritan culture of early New England. Fear, guilt, and shame are all part of that legacy narrative and they are readily identified in all institutions, manners, and parts of my childhood. Point of personal clarification here. I was not raised Catholic even though I grew up in eastern Massachusetts. Yet I was most assuredly exposed to a steady dose of that doctrine via my schoolmates and teammates. Clearly some of it stuck with me all these years.
I lead to fill a hole that lies within me.
This narrative feels bottomless. Nothing I ever do seems to be enough. Yet I keep pursuing the next opportunity or leadership role as if that will resolve it once and for all. When I was younger, I thought this narrative was explained by my fundamental need for love and attention. I rationalized that the more I do, the more I am worthy of love and attention from others. What I learn over time is that this approach is emotionally and physically exhausting and, in my experience, can lead to serious health issues. Now with each passing year, I simply try to embrace that I am loved for who I am and not what I do. But this one is still a blind spot for me.
My own leadership journey continues to this day because I wish to build and live a meaningful life, create impact in my community, and above all else be truly connected to those closest to me. Most leaders I talk with want the very same. Like so many leaders, I value working in teams and believe that well-intentioned people who are aligned on values and common purpose can achieve something special. I also recognize that my personal motives for leading come from the desire to fulfill my ego needs and from a place of altruism and a sense of service. Lastly, I am forever grateful that my parents taught me about the importance of these last two for they are the foundation for a building a good life.
Inflicted with the human condition, every leader inevitably struggles with imposter syndrome, issues of self-worth, and other doubts that prevent us from becoming the most authentic, caring, and loving person we can be. And try as we might, we will never become the best versions of ourselves by avoiding, outrunning, or outworking our own narratives. The silver lining here is that we do not have to suffer in silence nor stay stuck in those stories. There is a way forward for all of us.
That leadership journey of growth and self-exploration begins by running towards our narratives. A critical first step is to simply name them. Only then can we bring these narratives into the light and seek understanding of how they impact our behaviors, our thoughts, and our decision-making every day. Big picture, the journey is not about personal reinvention or leadership makeover but rather emotional curiosity and continuous learning over time. An important disclaimer here. This journey is not quick or easy and the resulting self-reflection can feel downright scary. Yet the emotional return on investment is huge in terms of greater self-awareness, self-confidence, and belief. All are desperately needed in large quantities right now as we lead our organizations forward in today’s ever-changing world.
So what are the narratives you tell yourself?