Earlier this year, Rach and I attended a dinner event. We barely knew anybody there, but they were the kinds of people that were important to our work, so we decided to pay the $150 per ticket and just see what happens. This is often how our business life goes - We step into a space with open hearts, and see if there are connections with others. We each share stories, perspectives, ideas, and look for a fit.
It was dusk, and the restaurant overlooked the river, whose surface danced with oranges and purples, and the city lights from the far shore. We sat at a table of six, everyone looked dashing and beautiful, and the wine was paired perfectly with the seven courses. It had all the makings of a truly enjoyable and meaningful evening.
I think the way a culture evolves is very similar to the way a conversation evolves. We all start off separate, nothing to relate to, outside of our geographical setting, and then we start to talk. And the more we spend time together, the more we learn about each other, the more we discover we have in common, the more interesting the other party becomes. We start to assign value to differences, considering where in our lives their pieces can fit.
Like a jigsaw puzzle, where we each have a pocketful of pieces, we’re all slowly revealing what we have, and together finding the right fit for each piece, slowly building the masterpiece.
The first course arrives, and the conversations begin. This magical potential to add some more pieces to the great jigsaw puzzle. Rach compliments someone’s choice of earrings, asks about the story behind them. I share about my day, some of the challenges I got through to get to this moment. Across from us, a doctor shares a dramatic story of life-and-death pressures at work, while juggling a young family at home. The earrings, it turns out, were chosen because the owner loves to paint. But she can’t find the time for arting, because of her myriad other commitments of life. The doctor, it turns out, struggles with expectations, and a feeling of never being good enough.
This is the evolution. We start at the surface, we find similar experiences or feelings, we build some trust, and then we dive deeper. And as the conversations become more vulnerable, the level of connection between us grows stronger, the potential for deep insight increases, and we start to attribute this conversation to be “meaningful”, or “worthwhile”.
Absolutely worth the $300 we paid for the tickets.
The trajectory of the evening was looking great. The way things were going, we might not only find ourselves in some really deep and meaningful conversations, but we also may end up with some work collaborations in the future. It seems simple: We share our stories, we increase the vulnerability and the connection, and we land on a meaningful experience.
But, what happens if some of us as the table choose NOT to share their stories honestly? What happens if, instead of vulnerability, they share dramatic self-aggrandising stories? Or melodramatic soap operas? Or judgemental black-and-white opinions?
..
By the second course, the conversation has already commenced its downhill run on the dark path of melodrama. Two of our party, long-time friends of each other, began to share their stories. Long, detailed accounts of their own lives, monologued at a “here’s what happened” level without ever allowing insight as to what they made it mean for themselves. They were so proud of their lives, that they lost sight of anyone else’s. And, by generating such a dramatic, surface-style story energy, they were essentially demanding that we all respond with this same style of story: If anyone is to join this conversation, they must bring an equally sensational story to the table. And then we’ll all decide who’s story is better.
Rach and I went quiet. The plates came out, one after the other, and the monologues ran longer and became more sensational. We couldn’t find the space to speak, nor the energy to turn the conversation. Our pockets were still filled with our jigsaw pieces. The others in our circle had pockets filled with jigsaw pieces. And on the table was the jigsaw, with just a handful of pieces from these two conversation vampires, being swished about as if they can fill all the gaps on their own.
We left at midnight completely exhausted. The food was delicious, the guests all looked beautiful, but the conversations shattered us. Like a facebook feed, we were just bombarded with drama and self-promotion. We did not evolve that night, and it took us a week to recover.
Aristotle writes that when storytelling goes bad, the result is decadence. I think he may have been referring to a decadence of ego. A story requires more than surface action: it requires vulnerability, emotion, a heart-response. Sharing our successes alone, without admitting the terrors and self-doubts and weaknesses that preceded the success, does our audience, and our culture, a great disservice.
Revealing our jigsaw pieces to the world takes courage. Sharing any part of ourselves with another is hard. But this is how we are built: The evolution of our culture, just like a meaningful story, just like my next conversation with you, requires more than the story of your success.
I need your honesty.