Chris Kenworthy – Embodiment Coach & Facilitator in Leeds

Tag: stories

  • Unsure what your ‘thing’ is? Clue #1: it’s what you take for granted

    The more I coach people, the more I realise how annoyingly humble and dismissive us humans can be about the very things that define us. 

    I’d even go as far as saying that there are things about you – inclinations, experiences, stuff you’re capable of, that are so intrinsic to who you are (and what makes you interesting) that you’re practically blind to them. 

    Let me give you an example

    On a typical coaching call, a client and I will meander the psyche in pursuit of ways around an obstacle, when all of a sudden, apropos of nothing comes: ‘that reminds me of the time I got interrogated by the FBI… ‘Next week I’m launching a satellite’.

    Hang on… What? I ask, taken aback. There’s no way I’ll let a glimmer of gold like this get shovelled aside, when we’re figuring out what really makes someone tick. 

    So I press them: go on… 

    Cue a passionate eulogy, a deluge of enthusiasm about their current obsession or tinkering project. Or a curious tale from their chequered past – a man-hunt, a mysterious benefactor, a lost love in a war-torn city. Then along comes the censor to put truth safely back in its box:

    ‘Anyway, weird, I know… not sure what that’s got to do with anything… not that anyone’s interested.’

    To which I scream (internally), are you kidding? 

    What you take for granted is a clue to your place in the world

    These things that seem quite ordinary, having been part of our lives for so long, are often useful clues about which direction to take our careers in. Anything we hastily dismiss as irrelevant, historic, or too weird for everyday consumption – these are indicators of ourselves in our natural, uninhibited, creative state.

    Wouldn’t you like more of these passions and interests in your life? How about meeting like-minded people who are equally fascinated in your experiences and worldview? What if you could get paid for indulging them?

    I’m no stranger to springing this trap myself. For years I’ve secretly been drawn to railway archaeology – disused stations, trackbeds, tunnels, and industry departed. If ever I cycle over an old bridge with ‘BR’ chalked on it, that’s me lost for hours on a curious reverie into the nostalgic mists of time. And don’t get me started on the metropolitan ghosts of Leeds Tramways. 

    Yet I’d filed all this under ‘miscellaneous/other’, content to stare longingly at old maps of transport networks, imagining lost souls conveying themselves through familiar, abandoned locales. I never sang about it in case I came across as a trainspotter (I don’t own a jotter and couldn’t give a flying scotsman about trains). It all seemed too odd and niche, almost workaday, to be relevant to my coaching.

    That was until my own coach recommended I practice what I preach. I haven’t quite worked out how urban mass transit and abandoned railways integrate with my coaching practice yet, but I’m enjoying the process of picking out the bones, in my curious podcast.

    It seems some of us organise our lives into boxes

    Perhaps it’s just my kind of people; the people I coach, but I see this thought-process a lot:

    This is professional… This is personal…. F*** knows what this is, but that can go right to the back of the cupboard – out of sight out of mind.

    When we treat our lives like this, it’s easy to assume one characteristic is more important, valuable or accessible than another. And generally, the box labelled sensible, professional, commercial takes precedence over all others. It’s the box we think others want to see when our cupboard door is opened.

    Yet it’s the combination of everything in there, in balance, that makes us interesting (and valuable) to others as whole, rounded human beings.

    When you talk down your stories, the world’s poorer for it

    That satellite you’re launching on a home-built rocket – do you know how mind-blowing your tribe will find that?

    That story of mistaken identity by an FBI convinced you were a spy – pull up a chair!

    Believe me, there are people out there who’ll deeply value your insight, even pay you for it.

    I recently stumbled upon a blog, curious to see what an acquaintance had been up to. Within minutes I fell down the rabbit’s hole – they too love tinkering with low-cost Linux computers!

    Indulging my curiosity, I found myself doing what every prospective follower of yours will do; wishing I lived more like them. I was drawn to them.

    Trust and intrigue grew

    To those of us on the outside looking in (humans have another bad habit of thinking everyone else leads more exciting lives than our own), this stuff is deeply compelling. We see your worldly, inventive, adventurous value through your interests, hobbies and stories. They draw us towards you, and make us imagine new ways our paths might cross.  

    Curious nuggets of humanity are what people really hope for when they stalk you online. Sure, they want to check you’re legit, but really they long for something unusual, unique and personable.

    A peek behind the curtain.

    Because fundamentally, humans are drawn to novelty, especially when presented through the lens of those who share our values.

    Your curious hobbies, your stories, your idiosyncrasies are irrepressible

    Here’s another phenomenon.

    When I press my clients about their apparently minor hobbies and irrelevant stories, often an opportunity emerges, some change in fortune, or paid work. It turns out some fellow enthusiast found them on the internet, and invited them to collaborate on a project, or funded an experiment.

    So I press yet further – my responsibility as a coach. Don’t you think there’s something interesting going on here? 

    ‘Maybe’, comes the reply, ‘but it was just an accident. I doubt there’s enough of this kind of thing out there.’

    Really?, I ask, do we know that for certain? What would it look like to test that theory?

    Think about it like this: perhaps the real challenge is scaling up what you already do?

    If things are already happening after a handful of sporadic blog posts or tweets, imagine what might happen if you regularly updated a Youtube channel with stuff like this. Or wrote a book about it?

    ‘Oh I’d love to do that,’ comes my clients’ reply. ‘In fact, I did, well I wrote half a book anyway…I make videos about this all the time with my kids…’

    By this point I’m usually gripping the table with white knuckles, trying to retain a semblance of professionalism. 

    ‘Maybe I could take this somewhere?’ comes the realisation.

    Do you think?!?!

    Your curious hobbies, stories and other idiosyncrasies are irrepressible

    Whether you like it or not, it seems our inclinations and experiences always find a way to express themselves. Maybe it’s leaked onto a blog somewhere. Or you allude to it in your bio on your favourite social network. 

    Take a look now. What clues have snuck into your online footprints? Or if they haven’t, what do you avoid mentioning professionally that you’d rather be doing personally?

    Which boxes, full of intrigue and passion, can you delve into at the back of your mental cupboard today, and show to the world, unashamed of your enthralling geekiness?

    Because your tribe is out there, waiting to hear all about it.

  • Time to realise the power in stories

    Humans love a good story. It’s probably our most effective invention (after writing of course), yet so simple in its execution that even a child can understand one.

    We’re all familiar with the way stories distill complex ideas into an unfolding sequence of events – usually viewed through the lens of characters, who react and develop in a way we can sympathise with. But have you ever paused to consider just how mesmerisingly powerful a story can be? And just how much persuasive influence they have over our thinking?

    I liken our general awareness of how stories work to the nation’s grasp of grammar. Most of us know how to use it implicitly, but we don’t quite grasp the underlying rules and mechanics. We’re taught the what and how, but less so the why.

    Same for me, until I collaborated with a professional storyteller, on a (soon-to-be-published) article about the art of storytelling.

    He explained to me how stories mimic our inner narrative and our relationship with time – how we perceive it as linear, and how reality to us is a string of related causes and effects. Put simply, stories help us make sense of all the complexity, uncertainty and noise around us. They connect things.

    It also fascinated me to learn how brain maps reveal stories are social; when we share them, the same parts of the brain in both listener and speaker light up (called neural coupling) – in the regions that deal with imagination, emotion, movement and the senses.

    Put simply, stories are tools for synchronising our experience of reality

    These revelations have set me on a course to discover more about the science of stories, for tricks I might borrow and incorporate into my freelance copywriting, of case studies and speechwriting. Like grammar, I use story-telling narratives a lot as a copywriter – but examining the fundamental building blocks unveils a whole new world of possibility.

    Stories in context

    I’m devouring Nick Clegg’s account of his time in coalition government at the moment, and the penny dropped when he put stories into a context I’m deeply engaged in – that of modern politics:

    “Simply appealing to hope, optimism or a better life is nothing more than an emotional spasm unless it is wedded a compelling story story about who you are, what you’re trying to do and why you’re trying to do it. Stories enable you to understand something instinctively, to feel and see it for yourself, in a way that is much more compelling than simply following a logical argument to a rational conclusion. It’s the difference between showing and telling.”

    He continues to say that powerful stories involve simplified choices between what you perceive as good or evil. They appeal to the heart, not the head. I think this is because much as we like to think of ourselves as rational, moderate and logical beings – we’re not. We’re just animals perpetually playing catch up with the technology, events and new challenges we unleash.

    And there’s no more influential, profound example of the power of stories than in events of our recent past here in the UK. Nick quotes the easily-understood narratives of the SNP, extolling liberation from a tyrannical English government (a timeless theme in Scottish folklore, and probably well-justified). How UKIP paint a rosy picture of the good old days when Britannia ruled the waves, and a return to the certainties of matron on the ward, and barbarously stringing people up who later turn out to be innocent.

    For right or wrong, these are simple stories that evoke strong emotion by borrowing from established motifs; stirring up powerful feelings in the listener. They’re bold and unafraid to assert their worldview, however controversial. They contrast against familiar backdrops and propose simple solutions to problems.

    The trick to writing lasting ones, however, is to be honest and put virtue at the heart of your story.

    “Governments and leaders who have a clear story that has a beginning, middle and end will generally be rewarded.”

    Nick’s right, and the same goes for anyone who wants to influence other people. Craft an evocative story, rich in imagery and emotion, that handholds a reader into their promised land, and you’ll connect with the people who share that, your, worldview.

    And whatever story you do craft, make sure it’s steeped in your vision, your cause, what gets you out of bed in the morning – because people don’t buy what you do, they buy why you do it.

    Stories help us make sense of the world we’re creating, which often feels too complex and overwhelming for many of us. And as they say, with great power comes great responsibility. Making complicated things clear and easy to understand is what I’ve done all my life (not just as a freelance copywriter) so I feel the burden is on me, in some small part, to use that gift wisely, for good.

    So with this newfound knowledge comes respect. Next, I plan to put stories to meaningful use in my case studies as a freelance copywriter, ideally for clients who share my aspiration to do the right thing.

    Honesty always comes first. And if there’s one thing stories tell us, it’s that the hero or heroine who perseveres, and tries to do the right thing, always comes out on top.