You don’t know how your story will stick.

A couple of weeks ago, my 15-year-old son asked me if he could interview me for a school project. I didn’t bother to ask him why but immediately said yes.
 
That Sunday, once the 49ers beat the Minnesota Vikings, Joey and I planted ourselves on the sectional couch in the family room. I watched as he opened up his laptop and introduced us to our digital audience: the voice recording memo app.
 
I know… this is my son. But the stakes felt high because it was him and whispers of performance anxiety started to creep in. With nervous laughter I said, “It’s so funny to be sitting on the other side of this conversation. Usually, I’m the one in your shoes.”
 
Joey could tell I was feeling a little anxious. “Relax, Mom, this is just a conversation. I’m going to start off with some easy questions, okay? Some of this I obviously will know but let’s start at the beginning. So, tell me about your parents and your childhood.”
 
I start by painting a picture of my upbringing: Parents, birth order, a few details about my home life.
 
He didn’t interrupt me so after I painted the picture of so many lucky aspects of my childhood, I found myself zeroing in on some of my challenges.
 
...how my grade school Principal [yeah, Sister Alicia] would roam the hallways with a scowl on her face
…how in fourth grade I had the worst Dorothy Hammill haircut ever!
…how not being the pretty one in my family dominated my self esteem...the list goes on but I'll spare you.
 
As I was talking, I realized how much of my thinking in my early life centered on what I wasn’t.
 
Joey nodded as he listened. His eyes stayed on me and his gaze was sincere. He didn’t interrupt or start talking about himself.
 
So I kept going. I painted a picture of high school…And while I zeroed in on some challenges there too, I could feel myself start to own some of the successes. It’s almost like I could start to see my confidence building.
 
Then I brought up a Defining Moment: Living with a family in Kenya when I was 19. I returned to college with a depth of maturity and perspective about what is important in life. I talked a little bit about being the only white person I knew pursuing an African American Studies major. I couldn’t help but mention the C- I got in Psychology class. Since he knows how I like to talk about feelings, he got a kick out of that.
 
I talked about doing Teach For America and how I kept badgering Linda, the founder of Summer Search, to hire me and the incredible highs of working with her and some of the lows, too. [You know I like to keep it real.]
 
An hour flew by. Being listened to [by my son!] was simply profound. And the magic continued after the interview. He said, “Mom I knew a lot of what you talked about but I still learned so much about you.”
 
My initial response was, “Oh good!” But I dug a little deeper and said, with as much of a casual tone as I could muster, “What did you learn?”
 
“It seems like you didn’t let what other people think guide your decisions.”
 
Oh, wow!
 
When we share our story, we don’t know exactly what will stick with our audience. What we DO know is that a few things will happen for the listener. The listener will internalize the story and extrapolate some meaning from it. 
 
Joey probably felt empathy for some of my earlier struggles but focused more on my resilience and strengths than the hard stuff. I think that’s true for most of us. We listen for the hero’s journey in every story. We secretly hope we have what it takes. Our heads [and our hearts!] want the story to have a happy ending.
 
What my son heard might have had less to do with me and more to do with what he’s navigating as a freshman in high school. I don’t know, because I’m not in his head, with his thoughts, listening to my story in the middle of his life.
 
What I do know is that if I said to him, “Don’t let what other people think guide your decisions,” it would fall on deaf ears.
 
Stories stick. We connect to bits and pieces that sound and feel familiar. Stories cross ages and life stages and even life experiences. Stories provide lessons in an open, non-threatening, non-directive way. Much more than advice-giving ever could.
 
Stories transmit wisdom and values in a way that lands, that makes an impression. And stay inside of us, well, forever.