Twenty-twenty-six marks my 26th year of fatherhood. It’s one of the longest-running aspects of my identity. At this point, I’m just leaning into most peak-dad behaviors. I watch the thermostat like a hawk. I have a black belt in dad jokes. And it’s why I asked for a big ‘ol pile of U.S. history books for Christmas to get me through the winter.
In addition to reading history, I’ve spent the holiday season watching history via Ken Burns’s remarkable American Revolution docuseries. In a recent interview, Burns noted, “Story is the editing of the human experience.”
Editing isn’t about adding meaning. It’s about shaping, clarifying, and deciding what stays in the frame and what doesn’t.
Setbacks Don’t Define the Story
When great Americans like George Washington, John Adams, and Benjamin Franklin were living their lives, they weren’t setting out to make history. They were living and leading through the chaotic crucible that became our national story.
Along the way, there were countless setbacks. Washington kept losing. Adams was disliked and far from home. Franklin was disgraced before he was indispensable. They weren’t defined by these struggles. In fact, over time, these setbacks became part of a bigger story arc.
We may not feel like we’re living history, but like these figures from our past, we’ve all faced setbacks. But our setbacks don’t define us—our edits do.
Editing the Story I Was Living
A little over a year ago, I faced a setback of my own. A longtime consulting client suddenly decided to move on. It was a setback financially, but also in my own personal narrative. Over the years, I’d juggled the work of being a consultant, a professional speaker, an author, and an educator. My favorite aspect of my work has always been teaching, whether in a classroom, on a conference stage, or through my books and podcast conversations. While consulting was important in-the-trenches experience, it wasn’t where my heart was. In fact, I’d phased most of this work out. Except for this one client.
And yet, with the loss of this client, I found myself mourning not only the loss of money but the loss of an identity. I’d been a consultant for nearly 20 years (almost as long as I’ve been a dad). As I looked back, it was an identity I was ready to shed. The high-stakes pitches, the hustling, the client services. I was even tired of my consulting uniform—sport coat, stiff-collared shirt, uncomfortable dress shoes.
As hard as this loss was, it allowed me to edit a new path forward in my own story. A new path based on becoming more of who I already was. Like leaning into my peak dad, I’ve refocused my own narrative solely on the work of teaching others to connect through story.
One of the books I got for Christmas was a collection of essays and speeches by David McCullough called History Matters. McCullough often returns to Harry Truman as a touchstone for leadership. “He knew who he was, and he liked who he was. He liked Harry Truman. He enjoyed being Harry Truman.” This grounding helped him focus his leadership.
Editing our story doesn’t change the past, but it can clarify the present. And sometimes, that clarity is what permits us to step more fully into the work we’re already doing.
Story Strategy: Edit Your Story
Setbacks don’t define the story. The edit does.
Apply it: Think about a recent setback—something that felt like a loss or friction at the time. If you were editing that moment a year from now, what would you keep? What would you cut? What’s the bigger arc that moment might be serving?
A version of this first appeared in Story Strategies—my monthly email newsletter designed to help you connect with your audience through the power of story. Get the next issue delivered to your inbox.
