Our Lives Are Measured by the Stories We Leave Behind


My friend Mike died last month. He was sixty-five.

We reconnected about two years ago through a chance meeting at Mineta San Jose International airport. We started catching up at the Santa Cruz Wine Bar in Terminal B (Mike loved red blends) and continued the conversation on our flight back to Orange County. We talked nonstop, making it feel like one of the shortest one-hour flights I’ve ever experienced.

At this point you’re probably wondering, what does this post have to do with business storytelling? Truthfully? Nothing..and everything…because after attending my third funeral in as many months, I’m feeling a bit introspective and have come to a conclusion:

The true value of one’s life is measured by the stories that people remember after you’re gone.

And so, rather than talking about business storytelling this week, I want to share my favorite Mike story with you.

* * *

First, you need to know that Mike was a very large human being–something like 6’ 9” and pushing to 300 lbs.

One day, Mike found himself jammed into a commercial airline seat on a long flight. He needed to stretch, so he walked to the back of the plane.

“I apologize,” he said to the stewardess with his Arkansas accent. “I know I’m not supposed to be standing here, but that tiny seat is killing my knees and I just need to stretch for a while.”

The stewardess smiled. “You can stand here for as long as you need,” she said.

A few minutes later, Mike noticed an elderly couple that kept looking back at him. That’s when the woman got up and approached. “My husband and I feel so safe with you here,” she said. “Thank you for your service.” As she returned to her seat, the old man flashed Mike a thumbs-up sign.

Mike flagged down the stewardess to get her advice on the strange interaction. “I’m not sure, but I think that couple over there thinks I’m an Air Marshall or something. Should we tell them?”

“No,” she said, gesturing toward a man seated mid-cabin. “You see that guy up there?”

Mike locked eyes with a timid-looking, shell-of-a-man. “Yeah?”

“He’s been nothing but trouble. But, I just pointed at you and said, ‘Now, do I need to have him come over here?’”

* * *


I’ll miss Mike’s wisdom, big heart, and massive hugs. But most of all, I’ll miss his stories: the adventures of running a Medical Devices company, how he sold bags filled with rattlesnakes to make pocket money as a kid, and the tale of an epic basketball battle between him and his Olympian/NBA center brother.

Our lives are measured by the stories we leave behind. What stories will people tell about you?


Photo Credit: Highsmith, Carol M, photographer. Headstones at Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia. Arlington United States Virginia, None. [Between 1980 and 2006] Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2011635737/.

Storytellers Question Their Beliefs


Marvin Minsky, co-founder of MIT’s Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, described a fundamental flaw in human thought that he called The Investment Principle:

“Our oldest ideas have unfair advantages over those that come later. The earlier we learn a skill, the more methods we can acquire for using it. Each new idea must then compete against the larger mass of skills the old ideas have accumulated.” 1 

First, we learn something new. Then, we practice applying it. Finally, we enjoy success as it becomes our go-to-move whenever we’re faced with a similar problem. But, what about adopting a new idea, variation, or technique that might solve the original problem better? Minsky suggests that we are so invested in the original idea, that it’s highly unlikely that we’ll adopt the new one.

So, how do we adopt new ideas? Minsky performs periodic evaluations of his old ideas.

“If I still believe something after five years, I doubt it,” he said.2

Storytellers should periodically question what we know. That doesn’t mean we must always change our views or adopt a new idea. Instead, it gives us an opportunity to review our mental inventories, weed out the bad ideas, and bolster the good ones.

One way is to revisit an issue from a different perspective. We are the heroes of our own lives. Darth Vader was the hero of his story, just as Luke Skywalker was the hero of his.

If a story is the result of people pursuing what they want, looking at what each character wants offers different perspectives. Luke Skywalker wants to destroy the Death Star because it stands in between him and the survival of his people. Darth Vader wants to protect the Death Star to quash the rebellion. Both are part of the same story, yet each views the end goal differently.

What do you still believe after five years? Question it. Find someone who disagrees with you. Read a new book about it.  Flip the script. Put something old into a new context.

You might just find a better idea, perspective, or story.



  1. Marvin Minsky, The Society of Mind (New York, Simon & Schuster, 1985) p 146.
  2. Stewart Brand, The Media Lab (New York, Viking, 1987) p 104.

Photo Credit: https://www.loc.gov/item/2017696833/

Who Knew Storytelling Could be so Dangerous

Although most of this audience only knows me as the creator of the StoryHow™ Pitchdeck, another has known me as the host of one of the oldest storytelling podcasts, Griddlecakes Radio, now in its 14th season.

And so, rather than bringing you another storytelling perspective this week, I’m going back to my storytelling roots to tell an actual story–in audio form. It’s a story called, Who Knew Storytelling Could be so Dangerous?


The Storyteller’s Kryptonite


The creation of fire requires three ingredients: fuel, oxygen, and heat. Remove any component and fire cannot happen. Similarly, Aristotle taught us that persuasion also requires three ingredients: ethos (credibility), logos (facts), and pathos (emotion). Removing any one of these components inhibits one’s ability to persuade.

For the past four years, I’ve only focused on persuasion from a speaker’s perspective–teaching storytellers the importance of representing all three components in their work. However, I never considered persuasion from the firefighter’s perspective–the naysayer whose job is to remove the fuel, restrict the oxygen, or reduce the heat of ideas. That all changed when I read The Effect of ad Hominem Attacks on the Evaluation Claims Promoted by Scientists, a study that reveals a major flaw in the power of story. Evidently, no matter how hard a storyteller works to present facts, make them relevant emotionally, and to do so in an ethical manner, the fire of persuasion can be extinguished with a simple attack the storyteller’s character.

The study presented two groups (college students and adults) with scientific claims followed by one of three critiques:

  1. an empirical attack on the facts, data, method, etc.
  2. an ad hominem attack on the scientist (misconduct (present or past), conflict of interest, education, sloppy work)
  3. attack both the science and the scientist

The study predicted the following results (from most to least):

  1. attacking both the science and the scientist would have the most negative effect on persuasion
  2. attacking just the science would have the next most negative affect
  3. attacking the scientist would have the least affect.

The results didn’t support their prediction. Instead, it found that attacking the scientist had the same effect as attacking the science. In other words, readers could be swayed against the claim by either a) attacking the data, or b) attacking the character of the individual. And here’s the saddest part of the study. Not only did both attacks have the same effect individually, only one attack was required to erode confidence in the claim. A combination attack on the scientist and the science had negligible effect. Evidently, only one attack was enough to poison the well.

(Note. Misconduct and conflict of interest had the most negative effect, while attacking education and sloppy work had negligible effect)

As someone trained in the sciences (electrical engineering), I found the results disheartening. Pointing out empirical errors is the generally accepted way to vet scientific findings. But learning that a simple character assault is JUST AS EFFECTIVE as attacking the facts–that shook my confidence in human communications.

But, it shouldn’t have been that surprising.

While studying the brainwaves of people listening to stories, Kendall Haven found that the most effective way to change an audience’s perspective is through viewing the character’s actions through the lens of motive. A character with good intentions is loved by an audience while that same character performing the exact same actions with bad intentions is despised.

One doesn’t have to look beyond today’s headlines, tweets, and masked protesters to see how those on both the political left and right choose to denigrate their counterparts by attacking their character as opposed to their ideas. Since it’s just as effective to lob inflammatory terms (bigot, fascist, homophobe, Hitler, Mao, marxist, misogynist, racist, Stalin, transphobe, socialist, supremacist, uneducated, unpatriotic, and xenophobe) as opposed to a carefully thought-out critique, there’s no need to prepare counter arguments. All one has to do is poison the conversational well by implementing a personal attack on the opposition’s motivations to exploit an unfortunate flaw within in the human mind.

Although I’m discouraged by daily evidence of this phenomenon in news headlines and social media posts, I find myself cautiously optimistic. Storytellers make the best communicators and thus we need to consistently exercise our craft. We must rely on the time-tested successes of ethos, logos, and pathos to convey our messages. Then we must sit back and and hope that this crazy part of human history fades back into the dark recesses from which it emerged.

Commonality is the Super Glue of Human Bonding


Wouter Corduwener is a polyglot who masters languages faster than deltiologists collect postcards. So, what does this polyglot have to do with storytelling? Human behavior.

In How to Tell a Story in a Half-Second, I detailed the system of involuntary reactions associated with the startle response–the auto-defense system that’s built into everyone, independent of race, gender, country of origin, or creed. When we see something new or that we don’t understand, we’re all compelled to focus on it and pull away until we do.

But, do the opposite of instincts exist? For example, is there a natural reaction that causes us to drop our guard?

That’s where Wouter Corduwener comes in. The Dutchman produces a YouTube channel where he records his multilingual interactions with tourists. Each video starts similarly: he initiates conversations in English or Dutch. At this point, most people are being friendly, polite, and slightly guarded. Yet, once he switches the conversation to their native tongue, they melt. The reaction–just like the startle response–is universal. Check out the following video to see what I mean.



I love how the mood changes from guarded/polite to familiar-friendly at the sound of their mother tongue.  Wouter changes their demeanor by connecting with something central to their core being.

The lesson for storytellers is clear. Use anomalies to draw attention and commonalities to bond. The best way to bond with a reader, listener, or audience member is to find something that you have in common, like the same language, hometown, friends, adversaries, or common experiences. And if you really want to bond, find something personal.

The more personal the commonality, the deeper the bond.


Photo Credit: Parks, Gordon, photographer. Haverstraw, New York. Interracial activities at Camp Christmas Seals, where children are aided by the Methodist Camp Service. Camp buddies. Haverstraw Haverstraw. New York Rockland County United States, 1943. Aug.?. Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2017861195/.

How to tell a story in a half-second


It’s called the startle response–an involuntary reaction initiated within our bodies when we encounter an anomalous event. While it’s common to discuss this phenomenon in the context of the fight-or-flight response, limiting the discussion trivializes the complexity of the underlying biological and neurological processes involved. A closer look reveals the fundamental reason why storytelling plays such an influential role in our lives.

We’ve all experienced the startle response. Perhaps you walked into a darkened room and saw unexpected movement. Instantly, you pulled back, possibly shrieked, before finally recognizing that the movement was tied to a familiar, harmless face. The most amazing thing about this universally human experience is that it only takes about a half-second to occur and I propose that it forms the building blocks for all understanding.

Let’s take a closer look at the startle response. The moment we perceive an anomalous life event, processes deep within the oldest parts of our brains signal the release of a hormone cocktail that increases blood pressure, heart rate, and blood sugar. Simultaneously, a twitch signal travels away from that primitive place in the brain.

Within 20 to 40 milliseconds (one-thousandths of a second) of the initial perception, that signal commands our eyes turn toward the potential threat to gather as much information about it as possible. Between 60 and 120 milliseconds later, our neck muscles turn our heads in the same direction. As the signal proceeds downward through our spinal cords, our shoulders tense (100 to 121 milliseconds) and our arms pull away from the threat and toward the most vulnerable parts of our bodies (125 to 195 milliseconds). Finally, between 145 and 395 milliseconds from the initial perception, that signal hits our legs which propels our bodies away from the perceived threat.

Why do I keep calling this anomaly a perceived threat? Because, our cognitive processes require more time than the 400 milliseconds (0.4 seconds) it took our instinct to distance ourselves from the perceived threat and put us into a defensive position. And therefore, it’s reasonable to assume that the role of instinct is to buy time for our slower cognitive processes to catch up.

Both processes, instinctive and cognitive were signaled simultaneously and proceeded in parallel. While the twitch signal traveled down and away from the primitive part of the brain, it also hit both sides of the frontal cortex–the nonverbal/emotional right hemisphere and verbal/logical left hemisphere. The faster right hemisphere preprocessed the information gathered from the eye/head orientation by presenting a series of uncategorized images to the left hemisphere. Think of the right hemisphere as generating a nonverbal series of hypotheses for the left hemisphere to derive conclusions. Since these nonverbal hypotheses have yet to be categorized, it’s common to experience emotions such as fear. Finally, the left hemisphere completes its (verbal/logical) assessment and ultimately concludes about nature and severity of the threat.

The entire process, from perception to conclusion, takes about a half-second (500 milliseconds)– for all humans, independent upon gender, race, culture, and ideology.

One of my favorite examples of the startle response comes from something called the Bushman Prank, where YouTube personality, Nickxar, blends into the background by wearing an ivy suit and steps toward unsuspecting people. This harmless prank offers a petri dish for us to study the startle effect.



So, let’s take a step-by-step look at a couple reacting to the Bushman Prank.

t = 0.033 seconds before the event, both are walking hand-in-hand relaxed.


t = 0.00 The startle response appears to have been signaled as both start glancing to their left


t = 0 .033 seconds: Both heads appear to be turning toward the “threat”


t = 0.100 seconds: The woman begins to pull away quickly, as the combination of her head turning toward the “threat” and her body moving away from it cause her hair to swing. The man’s head continues to turn toward the threat, yet has yet to show any indication of retreat.


t = 0.133 seconds: The woman’s right arm start to draw inward and we see the man’s first sign of retreat as his left arm draws inward and his right shoe lands with its toe pointed away from the threat.


t = 0.167 seconds: The woman is clearly leaning to the left and we see concern on her face. The man’s left arm continues to pull inward.


t = 0.200 seconds: The woman’s right arm is almost completely pulled in and her face shows fright. The man has shifted his weight to his right foot to change his forward momentum away from the perceived threat.


t = 0.233 seconds: The woman is pulling away quickly. The man’s face starts to show concern.


t = 0.267 seconds: Both are now in a full motion of pulling away. The woman’s hand is almost to her face and the man’s arm is still approaching his body.


t = 0.333 seconds: The woman shrieks for 0.25 seconds. The man’s face shows some concern.


t = 0.367 seconds: The woman covers her mouth and the man’s left arm is almost pulled to his body.


t = 0.433 seconds: While her hair and right hand obstruct our ability to observe the woman’s face, we see the man’s expression change from concern to the beginning of a smile.


t = 0.500 seconds: Although we still can’t see her face, her body appears to relax, thus offering us an indicator that she has identified the threat. The man’s smile grows as his body appears to relax also.


t = 0.567 seconds: We still can’t see her face because her hand is over her mouth, but her eyes appear to show some sort of recognition. The man’s smile grows.


t = 0.633 seconds: With the situation understood, they both laugh.


t = 1.067 seconds: All in good fun.


Humans are a messy bundle of instinct, emotion, and logic that help us navigate through a dangerous world. Our best stories are rooted in those universally common moments where each of us were forced to choose between fight, flight, or in the case of the Bushman Prank, delight.

The startle response phenomenon is the atomic building block of all shared human experience. Studying it will lead to the heart of human perception, decisions, and actions–all of which form the elements of a great story.