The Simple Secret to Powerful Stories | Thaler Pekar | TEDxTralee
Transcriber: Lexi Ding Reviewer: Zsófia Herczeg I was horrified. Six years ago, getting out of a pool in London, my brown, dark, wet hair plastered against my head. I had a giant white skunk stripe down the middle. I was three weeks into a business trip, and so three weeks past my regular rendezvous with Abby, my hair colourist. Abby and I had become co-conspirators in an international game of deceit. Keeping up with the dye jobs had gotten emotionally and physically exhausting. I was done. I decided to go grey. Now, professionally, I guide people in efficient and effective communication. So you’d think I would have taken the advice of my own client when she said, ‘No one hires white-haired women to speak at conferences.’ And another told me, ’No, this is what you do. You dye your hair every three weeks, and you go to your grave dyeing your hair.′ And one client efficiently and impressively, simply said, ‘You will never work again.’ They were saying what I was fearing. And they were expressing a deep paradox that although many of us claim to value authenticity, we may also seek the appearance of perpetual youth. And here’s another paradox. I guide high-level executives in listening skills. But I didn’t listen. I forged ahead with my plan to embrace my grey. It took six anxiety-filled hours to strip 30 years of brown hair dye out and to put back in lowlights, brown stripes and tan streaks, that would blend with the amount of silver Abby would cautiously let out. Abby sensed my nervousness that night at the salon, and she opened a bottle of wine. And I anxiously proceeded to drink almost all of it. My husband, Tom, arrived to take me out for dinner and cocktails to celebrate the new but not still real me. I then went home and threw up from drinking. (Laughter) In my first effort to embrace my grey, I embraced the toilet. Instead of adulting, I regressed. Slowly, I tiptoed into having salt and pepper hair. But I wasn’t really salt and pepper. My hair color was intricately curated. I was hedging. Ultimately, COVID quarantine came between Abby and me. All hair colouring ceased. Now that the decision was made for me, I was all in. I even joined a modelling agency for women with grey hair. The first thing I was asked to do was to represent the agency at an event for adult diapers. Next, to audition for an ad in which I would dance confidently in my underwear. Lacking that confidence, I declined both. I still see Abby on social media, and my business is booming. Over Zoom, I can look grey. How about you? How might you seem to be at odds with yourself? Like, deciding to go grey and continuing to dye your hair. Like, joining a modelling agency, and then lacking the guts to actually model. What are your paradoxes? Do you adore your romantic partner? And yet sometimes... Is there anything that you have a love-hate relationship with? Think about it. To what seemingly contradictory options in your life do you answer, ‘Yes, both’? For three decades, I’ve been guiding people in finding, refining and sharing stories. I’ve been exploring what it takes for people all over the world to feel heard and to hear others. People are paradoxical creatures. We are environmentalists who fly. We are atheists who pray. We could be happy and sad and angry and victorious all at the same time. We are multitudes. Our life story represents a paradox that we all face as we grow older, and that often continues long into adulthood. We want to carve out a unique identity, and we also want to fit in somewhere. Every day in our personal and our professional lives, we balance uniqueness with belonging. We struggle between the poles of individuality and community. We live in the messy and gloriously grey middle. People respond best to stories that respect and reflect these complexities. These are the stories with which people are most likely to engage, and then to ponder and then to repeat. Think of ‘The Wizard of Oz’. My dear friend and colleague, the author Annette Simmons says that it illustrates paradoxical truths like, learning to appreciate home by leaving home, that what we seek externally is already inside. The courage doesn't exist without fear, and that risking self to save others can restore one’s sense of self. I didn’t simply say the pandemic forced me to go grey, nor did I claim I went grey, and I couldn’t be happier. I’m not fully present in either of those sanitised stories. Stories that render people one dimensional aren’t representative of who we fully are. By making us solely heroic or totally villainous, we’re made to be less than human, less trustworthy, and less believable. Simple may sometimes satisfy. But we crave understanding ourselves and understanding others. Several years ago, I co-organised a conference on how stories influence behaviour. One night, we were joined by the filmmakers and the subjects of 'Disturbing the Peace', a documentary about former enemies: Israeli soldiers and Palestinian fighters who ultimately collaborated as non-violent peace activists. The former combatants said that the first time they met, they could find only one thing on which they could agree - that each of them had no problem blindly killing innocent strangers. That’s the shared paradox that propelled their work towards peace. That story shows me that when we welcome paradox, we welcome multiple points of view and pathways towards understanding. We expand perspective, and when we expand perspective, we expand possibility. When we make peace with paradox, we can let go of the idea of there being any such thing as one simple truth. We’re not entitled to simplicity, nor do we benefit from it. Imagine what kind of world we’d be creating if we allowed only simple stories. We’d have no understanding of complex systems, let alone of complex people and their experiences. When I first started my firm, I had the great honour of working with the Interfaith Alliance and the Reverend Welton C. Gaddy. Reverend Gaddy is a compassionate leader guiding nations in balancing religion and democracy. He told me society would be better off if clergy were allowed to talk about the paradoxes of preaching. He said, 'If we clergy could speak openly with congregants about our own struggles with faith, even our doubts in God, imagine the trust that would result, and the strengthening of belief.’ These anecdotes are testimony that sharing our doubts and our difficulties ignite possibilities. Here’s another example. In the Difficult Conversations Lab at Columbia University, psychologists asked participants to have a 20-minute discussion about abortion, and then to consider co-signing a statement about any shared beliefs that may have emerged. The participants were put together because they had opposing views on the subject. Before they sat down to talk about abortion, they were asked to read one of two versions of an article on a different topic - gun ownership. The first group read a story in which gun ownership was presented as a classic binary conflict. The group that read that article had only a 46% chance of finding common ground when they sat down to talk about abortion. The second group read an article in which gun ownership was presented as a more complex, multi-layered issue. As a result of reading that complex article, they had an open mind when they sat down to talk about abortion. Their chances of finding common ground increased to 100%. The more complex article on gun ownership cultivated better conversations about abortion. The head of the lab, Peter C. Coleman, has found that the more complexity people have in their lives, the more tolerant we tend to be. He recommends people of different backgrounds and beliefs actively engage with one another more. Earlier, I asked you to think about your stories of paradox. When you leave here today, share them, listen to others. Better yet, ask people for their stories of paradox, for their experiences of living in the gloriously grey middle. Share your story like I did. And then ask, ‘Has anything like this ever happened to you?’ ‘Have you ever felt this way?’ Invite and listen to complexity. Don’t rush to brevity and simplicity. Now, I'm not telling you to make every long story long. Not all stories need to be complex. Sometimes people just need to be reminded that the smell of smoke means, ‘Get out of the house because there may be fire.’ Have a clear sense of the beginning, middle and end of your story before opening your mouth. You don't want to fatigue people. You want to intrigue them. Embracing and engaging with paradox increases our capacity for curiosity, for hope, and for grace. It makes us human. It enlarges our understanding of ourselves and of those around us. The best way to be seen and recognised as the full person you are is to see others that way. This is how we build trust and confidence in ourselves, in those around us and in our communities. Let’s shift away from simple stories. Let’s allow others to be as complex and paradoxical and grey as we ourselves are. Thank you. (Applause) (Cheering)