The Story & The Script
Each of us cherishes some form of the two narratives that I call The Story and The Script.
The Story
The Story represents your past. It is the condensed version of your life, highlighting some of your proudest moments and reflecting some of your most challenging ones. You invoke the story when you want to describe who you are or to explain why you behave the way you do.
"I am wary of relationships because my former partners let me down."
"I can't be happy at work because I don't respond well to authority."
"I'm great with kids because I grew up with four younger siblings."
"I was captain of the debate team in high school."
The Story is a little bit like that Zen tale of two monks in the way that we carry it around:
Tanzan and Ekido were once traveling together down a muddy road. A heavy rain was still falling.
Coming around a bend, they met a lovely girl in a silk kimono and sash, unable to cross the intersection.
âCome on, girl,â said Tanzan at once. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her over the mud. Ekido did not speak again until that night when they reached a lodging temple. Then he no longer could restrain himself. âWe monks donât go near females,â he told Tanzan, âespecially not young and lovely ones. It is dangerous. Why did you do that?â
âI left the girl there,â said Tanzan. âAre you still carrying her?â
The Script
The Script represents your future. It is that idealized version of how you expect your life to play out.
"I'm going to college and then will work for three years before going back for my graduate degree."
"I'm going to get an MBA and go to work for a Wall Street firm."
"By the time I'm 30, I'll get married and move to the suburbs."
"When I retire, I'll travel the world."
Quite often, The Script includes many such scenarios tied together into a larger saga so that each event in the future depends on accomplishing the one before.
Hereâs an old anecdote from India to illustrate:
At Tirupati lived a Brahman in poor circumstances, who received on a certain day a pot of flour as a present from a certain merchant. He took it and, being very tired, seated himself on the verandah of a house and soliloquized thus, âIf I sell this pot of flour, I shall get half a rupee for it, with which I can purchase a kid. This, in short time, will produce a flock. I will then sell them, and buy cows, buffaloes, etc., and thus in a few years I shall be the master of three thousand head of cattle. I will then purchase a mansion, which I will furnish elegantly, and marry a beautiful damsel who will crown my happiness by giving birth to a son. My wife will be particularly fond of me, but I shall not allow her too much freedom, and shall sometimes send her away with a kick when she comes to caress me.â
Thus thinking, he thrust out his leg like one really going to kick, struck the pot and broke it in to pieces. The flour got mixed with dirt, and all his ideas of happiness vanished.
Breaking Free
Both The Story and The Script are unnecessary burdens that we insist on holding on to. They limit our possibilities by binding us into a single version of our lives. They contribute to our limiting beliefs. When we release them, we make a conscious decision to live life free of their heaviness and open to the possibilities each day brings. We're then on our way to accomplishing what Peter Drucker called intellectual integrity -- the ability to see the world as it is, not as we want it to be.





