The Power of Leader Story

I’ve been thinking about Ameila Earhart lately. Better said, I’ve been thinking about the story of Amelia Earhart lately.

The story of this powerhouse record-holder has captivated me for years. Bright and capable, Amelia lived her life on her own terms. She had a string of careers before finding her calling, and a string of romances to match. When she married, she assured her husband in writing she expected no old-fashioned faithfulness, and trusted he felt the same way. She endorsed products at a dizzying speed, building a powerful personal brand long before it became a buzz phrase. Then, when she was nearly 40, she took off with her navigator for a spin around the world and was never heard from again.

She drowned, of course. Dropped out of the sky and off of the map and into the ocean.

Eighty years later, a different story is emerging. There is photographic evidence she may have been captured by the Japanese. The remains of a shoe and, heart-achingly, a tub of facial cream found on a deserted island suggest she may have survived a wreck and been stranded.

What’s more surprising to me than the mounting evidence that something else happened to Amelia Earhart and her navigator is that the evidence isn’t new. The photograph was taken and logged decades ago, and quickly forgotten in storage. The remains were also found and forgotten. Experts have known of this evidence for years, discussed and debated it internationally, and collectively dismissed it.

What fascinates me about the story of Amelia Earhart now is what it tells us about how we make meaning of the world around us.

We are meaning-making machines, we humans. We take in literally mind-boggling amounts of data every day, from the moment we wake up to long after we drift of to sleep. We can’t possibly process everything we see. We are trained to sort through what we see, discarding the inconsequential and taking in the important.

Leaders are especially adept at meaning making, having been rewarded repeatedly for drawing correct conclusions quickly and moving o action.

But what’s really important? How does our exhausted and overwhelmed brain decide what to keep and what to throw away?

What’s important is different to each of us, and that affects what we see. You don’t know the release date of the new Tesla unless you are an investor or sitting on the waiting list. The leader focused on innovation will recognize and reward it over other corporate capabilities. The auditor looking for risk may view that same innovative culture as a ticking time bomb. The incoming chairperson of the board will see different opportunity that the outgoing leader, based on her prior experience.

It’s easier to believe that the cantankerous employee griping about the new benefit plan is complaining because of who he is, rather than because of a flawed new plan. It’s simpler to believe that all creative types are emotional, or all engineers are anything but. Leaders often assume that their teams are equally capable and committed across a variety of tasks, rather than looking carefully at commitment and capability on a project by project basis.

Stories serve and limit all of us. Stuck in a story, we miss what’s really possible. That can be cost leaders and organizations significantly.

The story of Amelia Earhart’s disappearance is a perfect example of this on a grand level. We agree to believe that Amelia crashed in the ocean and drowned; it was the first and most circulated story. Because of this, the story the locals told for years of the female Caucasian living in Japanese captivity fell on deaf ears. The human remains on the island must belong to a male native, even though their measurements suggest a female of European descent.

The number of accomplished leaders I’ve worked with who believe a story about themselves no one else sees is surprising. Often those stories begin early in life, and have little to no bearing on the adult in the workforce. And yet, those stories (bad at math, not an athlete, timid kid, shy in new situations) persist in our heads and hearts.

The leader who believes her first lieutenant is incapable of operating in white space won’t ask for his input to the strategic plan. The CEO who believes he alone must drive new business will miss the opportunity to develop bench strength, and years later, watch his potential sale price plummet thanks to key-man risk. An employee licking her wounds from a failed entrepreneurial venture may hold back in her new job, believing she brings less to the table than she once did.

The “truth” becomes irrelevant. That failed entrepreneur may or may not be less capable than she once imagined. The CEO might or might not be a critical figure in driving new business. Amelia may or may not have died in the ocean. It doesn’t matter.

I am taking in decades old information about a story I know well, and it is shifting how I think about Amelia and her navigator and the morning she may or may not have used the last bit of her face cream on a deserted island. More importantly, Amelia’s story, adjusted for information we so readily discarded for years, is making me think about what stories I still tell myself.

What information am I missing because it doesn’t match a story I know by heart? What is limiting my perspective? What could I notice about what I am failing to notice?

How is the story I tell myself shaping my reality?

How might I tell myself a different story?