This is a story about an ice cream sundae.

Although it’s about so much more than that.

It’s about a moment in time that makes you realize things don’t necessarily have to be the way you’ve always assumed they need to be.

It’s about a spark to the brain that gives pause, far less painful than ice-cream-induced brain freeze.

It’s about the stories that stick with us like hot caramel sauce, long after we’ve experienced them – and about why – or how – we get stuck in unhelpful patterns.

The story takes place more than a decade ago. I’m out for ice cream with my daughter and my good friend, who is with her daughter.

I’ll call my friend Anna, though that’s not her real name. I’m not looking to question or shame her,10-12 years after the ice cream incident occurred. That would create another sticky situation, like that hot caramel.

If anything, she inspired me that day.

I’M Not Looking To Create A Sticky Situation

The girls, like us, are friends. The ice cream date must be in celebration of something – a recital or the completion of a school year. I don’t recall.

What I do recall is our order. After my daughter and I each ordered a small cup of ice cream and my friend’s daughter did the same, Anna stepped to the counter and ordered… an ice cream sundae.

Not a single scoop, as the rest of us did, but a full sundae, with hot fudge and whipped cream (not caramel – that’s just a better metaphor for this article).

And then – here’s the really crazy part – she sat down to eat it.

She didn’t explain or justify, or apologize. She didn’t mention she had worked out each day that week to treat herself to the sundae. She just picked up her spoon and started eating.

Weird, right?

I looked on longingly from my single scoop cup, which until moments before had been making me very happy. I mean, who wouldn’t prefer the hot fudge sundae?

A Replica Of Anna’S Sundae, For Illustration Purposes, In Case You Don’T Know What An Ice Cream Sundae Looks Like

Her daughter looked over. “What did you get, Mom?”

“A sundae,” Anna replied.

And this is where it gets really weird.

She replied, and then…  she just kept eating.

I waited, my body tensing up.

I waited for her daughter to lose it, to demand a sundae for herself, too.

After all, her mother hadn’t suggested she order a sundae. Then again, she never said she couldn’t have one either.

But nothing happened. We just all sat there, eating our ice cream, Anna making audible noises of enjoyment.

And it struck me then, and to this day, years later…

… I would never do that.

I’m not the kind of person who can be the only person to order an ice cream sundae and then just eat it.

I realize that sounds absolutely ridiculous to say. Am I not an adult? Do I not have free agency? Am I horrifically lactose intolerant or something?

I am not.

So… why? Why, if I wanted to order a sundae, would I not just – I don’t know – get one?

Here’s why – or how – I justify that:

If I had ordered a sundae after my daughter got a single scoop, I would be besieged by her questions as to why I got something she didn’t. I’d guiltily offer her some of my sundae, maybe split it, or feel compelled to trade with her. Maybe I’d approach the counter and let her re-order to make things “even.”

I’d probably wind up apologizing over her perceived slight and admonish myself later for being so selfish as to think I could order myself a sundae without first conferring with my kid to make sure she wouldn’t be unhappy about it.

If I had been with both my kids in that situation, there would have been a near riot. And after I finished the sundae – if I was able to do so without handing it over to my kids (“Ok, fine, here YOU eat it…. I’ll just sit here with a napkin.”), I would have felt bad about myself after.

I’d bemoan the stomach ache I’d have later (OK, I am a little bit lactose-intolerant). I’d berate myself a day or two later when I couldn’t button up my pants without a giant inhale because obviously it must have been that one sundae that put me in that predicament.

It just wouldn’t be worth it to think of all the emotions I’d have to deal with. Like, I didn’t really need the sundae, I didn’t deserve the sundae. Why did I have the sundae?

And I acknowledge I come off here sounding like a spineless parent with a spoiled kid and a mild eating disorder because, as I reread this, it sounds a little silly at best and unhinged at worst.

I mean, it’s a nice idea, ordering a sundae, but you can’t actually do that. Can you?

Anna can. Anna did.

And she didn’t seem at all remorseful or guilt-induced or worried about her daughter or her pants.

“Yum, that was good,” she said, tossing our trash into the garbage. We head out the door and get on with our day.

It’s one of the things I love about Anna. She operates of her own volition, without much second-guessing or rumination. Her life is not easy,  and as her friend, I know there have been big struggles. But one thing she doesn’t do is sweat the small stuff.

I sweat when it’s hot. I sweat when it’s humid. And I most certainly sweat the small stuff.

And here I am, a dozen years later, still so amazed by that interaction that not only have I not forgotten about it, I’ve decided to write about it in scoop-by-scoop detail, like the articles I’ve written about cauliflower and kidney beans and hot dogs. I’m beginning to think I might be a bit food-obsessed. But it’s not about the food. It’s about the story we tell ourselves about the food.

Why Do Some Of Us Struggle With Simple Choices?

Why is it that some of us struggle so much with the simple things, or worse, sweat them?

Does an adult need permission to order a sundae?

Do we worry about the impact our small choices will have on someone else? Or how we might justify our choices?

Obviously, I do. Perhaps you do too, if you’re still reading this.

Or perhaps you are more like Anna. You’re reading this while eating an ice cream sundae, thinking, “Just order the sundae, lady, what’s the big deal?”

If so, you inspire me too.

I’m too often in my own head, worried about what other people will think, more concerned with taking care of them first before considering my own needs.

Did I even get my preferred flavor that day? Or did I order the one I know my daughter would like to have a taste of, even though she also got her own?

Perhaps showing up for ourselves means checking in first with what we want at the moment and simply ordering it up wherever we are. Because no one is judging us more harshly than we judge ourselves.

And exercising that “me” muscle on small moments like those at the ice cream parlor are what strengthen us for the times when we really need to stand up for ourselves and ask for – or insist upon – what we need.

So it’s not really a story about ice cream at all.

It’s about the gumption to order it. Even if someone you know might write about it years later.

At least you know they’re writing it with admiration.

Valerie Gordon, the founder of The Storytelling Strategist,  is an author, workshop facilitator, trainer, and educator who helps high achievers get out of their heads and into their lives. She teaches the power of story – how to find inspiration in daily interactions and make the most of your messaging. Her favorite ice cream flavor is coffee Oreo. Also mint chocolate chip. It’s a toss-up up but she’s still unlikely to order a double scoop. 

The Storytelling Strategist
Can You Put Yourself First?

Do you find yourself going through the motions and wondering, “What’s the point?”

Do you bemoan the feeling that no matter how much effort you put in, “nothing seems to change”?

Do you wish you could be more outwardly optimistic despite your proclivity towards pessimism?

Of the ten narrative types explored in my book Fire Your Narrator! A Storyteller’s Guide to Get Out of Your Head and Into Your Life, the Defeatist is the most self-defeating.

The Defeatist is done before she even gets started. She’s like Eeyore, walking around with a giant cloud over her head. It’s sunny elsewhere and raining only on her. She has a hard time seeing the bright side of things or the potential for a better outcome.

If the Defeatist Narrator had a musical accompaniment, it would be the world’s tiniest violin.

Is There A Tiny Violin Playing Just For You?

Poor little Defeatist Narrator! She’s so run down, confused, and self-loathing that she’s given up. What’s the point in trying if nothing will change? Even worse, why hang around with optimists when they clearly don’t understand these unfortunate circumstances?

She’d rather decline the umbrella and stay in the rain. She won’t look out at the horizon to see how the distant clouds are parting and will eventually reveal the blue skies above. She doesn’t see the optimal outcome ahead – another rain cloud is sure to be not far behind.

When the Defeatist Narrator stems from a larger issue or an underlying and overwhelming blanket of depression, controlling an inner narrator is only one part of the work necessary to change the storyline. A larger rewrite is necessary along with a helpful and aware Cast of Supporting Characters.

Here are 5 Tips to Defeat a Self-Defeating Narrator:

• Identify times in the past in which your hard work paid off. Don’t discount small successes. Did you learn a new recipe or finish a jigsaw puzzle? Tangible results serve as evidence.
• Focus on small activities that can help you feel a sense of positivity and momentum. Break bigger tasks into smaller ones. Before you can lose 50 pounds, aim to lose 5.
• Surround yourself with optimistic people. Pessimism feeds on itself. Let someone else shine a light.
• Get some healthy perspective. Acknowledge all that’s going right in your life. If you have clean running water, an ample food supply, and electricity, you’re doing better than a third of the world’s population. Volunteer. Read. Get out of your head!
• Take care of your physical self. Get enough rest, sunlight, healthy nutrition, quiet time, and opportunities for fun.

That voice in your head thinks it’s protecting you from future failure when all it is doing is holding you back.

Small steps can lead to a big change! Start by believing that change is possible.

It’s time to defeat that inner defeatist and cast yourself as the heroine in your own success story.

Find out more about the book here.

Valerie Gordon is a longtime storyteller, author, and the founder of career and communication firm The Storytelling Strategist. She speaks at conferences and works with corporations to bridge the talent gap and help high-achieving women advance in the corporate world. She believes in the power of story and how our most influential stories are the ones we tell ourselves.

The Storytelling Strategist
Defeating Your Inner Defeatist

It’s funny, how little things can often mean the most.

When I embarked on a seismic career/life change some years ago, I worked to identify what was no longer important and replace it with what I thought deserved to be in my next chapter. My goal was to get to those inner thoughts – all of those unhelpful shoulds and coulds – and create a new and more positive internal narrative.

I found it easier to start with the external. Before I could tackle the clutter in my brain, I’d need to confront the clutter in my physical space. That led me to Edit Mode: Less is More, a three-year process of Finding More Through Having Less by decluttering 10,000 Items from My House.

(You read that right… ten-thousand!… and amazingly, I still have more to go…)

I had too many pairs of jeans that no longer fit, heels I was happy to never wear again, and hoards of office supplies from the communal closet. Why did I think I’d need all those binder clips?

For the most part, I pared down to the essentials.

But there are some things I won’t get rid of: those that I currently use, obviously, and those that bring me joy, as Marie Kondo so clearly instructed.

And then there’s this… a ceramic donkey pulling an empty barrel.

This Donkey Is About 60 Years Old

Why, you ask, does anyone need a ceramic donkey pulling an empty barrel?

What is its purpose? Its function? Its usefulness?

What is there to love about it?

Memories, that’s what.

The donkey’s now empty barrel at one point held a tiny plant. It lived in the living room bay window of the split ranch suburban home where I grew up. It was dwarfed by its neighboring plants in larger containers, but it was by far my favorite.

More than a planter, it had personality.

As a kid, I couldn’t pet those other containers. I could pet the donkey. I think some days when elementary school was all too much, I talked to it, telling it about my struggles, confiding my secrets.

It never spilled them.

As I grew up and took on household responsibilities, I was tasked with watering all the plants from a small copper watering can.

Years later, my parents moved once, then twice. They took some plants with them while others perished.

I moved on as well. To college, to an apartment rental in the city, to a suburban home outside of it with northern exposures and poor sunlight where my husband named the table where I’d keep the occasional plant, “the table of death.”

A Plant Awaiting Its Fate On The “Table Of Death”

I never knew what happened to the donkey. I never thought about the donkey.

That is until I unearthed it in that purge of household items. I dug through unopened boxes that had been in our basement for the past 12 years following their stay in other storage for at least 8-10 years prior. Underneath high school yearbooks and faded ’80s t-shirts was a bubble-wrapped package.

Inside: the donkey carting an empty barrel.

I was surprised to see it. I may have gasped out loud. I may have placed my hand on my heart in that “Awww, it’s the donkey I used to talk to when I’d come home from third grade!” kind of way.

I had completely forgotten about it. I had no recollection of having asked to keep it or packing it for storage.

But now that it was found… what to do with it?

Was it worth keeping when I was getting rid of so much else?  Where would he go? His barrel is small. What use might he have? When did I determine this inanimate object is a “he”?

The first answer came with my daily coffee. I put packets of Equal and other sweeteners in the barrel and the donkey on display right next to my coffee maker and my mug.

When I’d make my coffee –  even before I’ve had my coffee – I would smile.

And then I finally ditched the artificial sweeteners and the donkey was no longer needed to hold those tiny yellow, blue, and pink packets.

But I wouldn’t send him back to storage. I wanted to see him every day and simply needed to find something for him to hold. A purpose.

Years ago, the donkey was used as a planter. Despite my awful track record with greenery, I would try this again. A bit of life to brighten the kitchen counter with the poor northern exposures provided I remembered to water the plant with enough frequency (not too much! not too often!) to keep it alive.

In doing so, and in using this item, I’m keeping memories alive.

And I swear that after 20 years packed in a box, that donkey is happy to be of use. It looks happy.

Objects are more than mere possessions when they contain our stories. When the stories bring us joy, they are worth holding on to.

How about you? What items do you hold onto simply for the stories they hold?

Valerie Gordon is a lifelong storyteller, a 10-time Emmy award-winning television producer, and the founder of career and communication firm The Storytelling Strategist. She runs virtual workshops to teach high-achievers and career pivoters how to capitalize on the power in their own stories. And often she writes just for joy. 

The Storytelling Strategist
These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

There I was, stuck in a line of cars a half-mile long.

My destination: a public works recycling event for locals to properly dispose of household items large and small – electronics, car tires, cleaners and fertilizers – all types of things detrimental to the environment.

Not Going Anywhere, Fast Or Slow

The wait was due to the massive amounts of hazardous materials people were unloading from their cars. Hazards ahead, we have lots of hazardous materials!

In my car: a small container of non-recyclable batteries and two outdated and non-working Kindles. That’s all.

I didn’t have much to bring, but, having committed to the drop-off, I sat in line, questioning how my engine idling was hazardous to the environment as I waited to drop off my limited amount of hazardous materials. Was I creating more hazards than I was disposing of?

This was not how I planned on spending this beautiful Saturday morning.

We weren’t going anywhere fast or slow. We were barely moving at all.

Kinda like other things in my life stuck in neutral.

What type of things?

Goals – short and long-term. Work projects started and stalled or abandoned entirely. Plans to get to the gym, get in shape, gain muscle, write daily, earn more income, be more helpful, volunteer more frequently, stop wasting time on Wordle, meditate regularly, get more sleep…

I took that time in my car, without much else to do, to judge myself harshly for not making better use of my time. That narrator in my head – the always present and not-so-helpful Squash – once again showed I’m my own worst enemy.

Why wasn’t I more productive? Why had I let so many things go? Was sitting here to drop off a small container of batteries and two outdated and non-working Kindles a worthy use of my time? Couldn’t I just toss them in the trash – environment be damned – and spend my time in more useful ways?

And that’s when I saw a sign. (Really, isn’t everything a sign if we know what to look for?)

The public works facility is located near a forest of ponds and hiking trails.

The road paralleled a bog filled with lily pads and tall reeds. The drivers in cars are not the only ones here.

A sign advised to be aware of wildlife. Slow turtle crossing.

I turned off my car engine and opened the window. Amid the calm rustle of the leaves, a full conversation was taking place.

Several – or potentially dozens – of frogs burped and gurgled at each other in the bog. Dragonflies whizzed by. A hawk soared overhead.

I would have missed this moment had I only been focused on the non-moving line of cars in front of me.

Eventually, we snaked forward. (The cars… I saw no snakes though I’m sure they were there).

I turned my car engine on again, made it to the front of the line, dropped off my few hazardous items, thanked the public works collection members, and left much more speedily than I had arrived.

I didn’t see any turtles crossing the road though if I had, I certainly would have slowed and stopped for them.

They have somewhere to be and someplace to get to.

And they do, in their own time.

It made me reflect on all those projects started and stalled or stopped, on intentions and deliverables and pacing, and how often I feel I’m not keeping up with the world.

And when I fall behind, what do I do? I stick my head back in my shell, turtle-like, protecting myself from judgment or criticism, which you can never really escape with the judgment and criticism comes from within.

I vowed in that moment to stay present. To always take in my surroundings and consider the path. Where do I want to go next?

The pace matters less than the destination. Just ask any turtle. If you can’t take a giant leap, start with a single step and then take another one. 

How about you?

What’s something you’re working towards? How might you tune out distractions to truly listen and see? Why are you so focused on catching the elevator to success when there are more meandering roads to enjoy?

What Might You See When You Tune Out Distractions And Truly Look Around?

Why not let go of external expectations or internal criticism on how long it’s taking you to get there? What if you just let yourself grow at your own pace?

Maybe the pace you’re on and the progress you’re making is just fine. Maybe you’re meant to enjoy the process rather than speed it up.

Even turtles have momentum. A line-up of cars will eventually drive on. You’ll lose those hazards you were so worried about and find the destination there for you when you arrive.

Valerie Gordon is a former Emmy-winning television producer, an author, and the founder of career and communications firm The Storytelling Strategist. She speaks at conferences and partners with corporations to help high-achievers reach their goals through the power of storytelling. Follow her on LinkedIn or set up an introductory call to learn more about her services. 

The Storytelling Strategist
Slow Progress is Still Progress

“Do you have any questions for us?”

You’ll likely be asked at the end of a job interview what questions you have for the hiring manager or search committee.

I encourage my business students and coaching clients to have smart questions prepared, those that reinforce the skills they’d bring to the job while also expressing knowledge of and curiosity about the organization.

If nothing else, here are a few general questions to ask if they haven’t already been covered during the course of the interview:

“What does success look like in this role?”

“What are the priorities for this role for the first 3 / 6 / 12 months?”

“How is feedback given to ensure performance is on track with the goals of the position?”

If your interviewer cannot answer these questions with positivity and specificity – BEWARE!

A former TV colleague on the job hunt recently posed the “success” question to his somewhat terse interviewer. Without hesitation, the interviewer replied: “Your job is to make me happy.”

I’m sorry… what?

Red flag!

This interviewer believed a new hire’s role is to make him “happy” without giving any indication of what that means, what it looks like, how to do it, or how it would be measured.

How can you make someone happy without knowing what makes them happy? A stellar job performance isn’t going to help an unhappy person.

It reminded me of the time I was assigned a new role and asked a supervisor the success question. “What does success look like for this project?” I inquired.

His answer… “I’ll know it when I see it.”

No targets, no metrics, no key performance indicators. Just aim at… something…. and see if you hit it. Needless to say, I was not successful in this initiative.

Other red flag phrases to be aware of:

“We’re still figuring out what this role will entail.” Do you want to take on a role when they don’t know what they want or need?

”We’re not big on formalities or company policies.” A lack of formal processes means a lack of objectives and measurements, as well as a lack of recourse if you find yourself in a bad situation.

“You’re overqualified.“ – Is this truly a skills assessment? Or a judgment of your years of experience or your age? Is this a role where you’ll feel challenged and fulfilled or undervalued and underpaid?

”We’re not sure how you’ll fit in here.” – You probably won’t want to. So don’t try to.

Job seekers can also gain clues about company culture in non-verbal ways. Does the interviewer seem rushed, harried, or disinterested? Do they answer vaguely or evade questions entirely? Are they generally rude or unfriendly? Do they badmouth co-workers or other job candidates?

Do they seem genuinely interested in YOU and your response to the “Tell me about yourself” question?

Though the job market is tight and candidates are happy to have any offers at all, heed these caution signs and trust your gut! If it feels off in the interview, it will only be worse when you are an employee. You might be putting yourself in a position with so many red flags that you’ll want to wave a white flag and break up with your job.

When “Mary” had a last-minute family emergency that required her to reschedule a second interview for her “dream job,” her potential boss-to-be outwardly expressed her displeasure. She needed someone on board ASAP, she told Mary with a huge sigh of impatience. They didn’t have time to waste, but fine, if it was absolutely necessary they would reschedule. How soon could Mary get herself there?

Mary spent an hour trying to arrange for family backup so that she could make the interview even though she had the sinking feeling that this “dream job” might be a nightmare. She ultimately pulled her candidacy. If bad behavior is evident at a time when a company should be at its most welcoming, eager to get a candidate on board, what do you suppose it would have been like for Mary once she was fully ensconced in the organization?

Just as a red flag at the beach is a warning signal for swimmers to stay out of the water due to dangerous conditions, the red flag at the interview offers a similar alarm bell.

Stay out of that water.

Find a role and company where you can provide value and where you feel valued for the value you provide.

That’s what happiness at work looks like!

Valerie Gordon, founder of The Storytelling Strategist, works with corporations to grow future leaders and build strong teams through the power of story. A former 10x Emmy-winning producer, she helps career seekers and high-achievers scale the leadership ladder through clear and compelling communication skills. Reach out to her to learn more about her keynotes and workshops. valerie@storytellingstrategist.com.

The Storytelling Strategist
Beware these Interview Red Flags!

“That is one ugly orange!” I thought, at my local market, looking at what can only be described as… an ugly orange.

And here I am, espousing that you can’t judge a book by its cover.

Or a wine bottle by its label.

Or anyone’s innards by their out-ards.

That we can never truly know someone’s story. We make judgments based on what they let us see.

What a hypocrite I am!

But, really, it’s an ugly orange.

Of course, that’s only part of the story – the biases we hold and the categorizing we instinctively do to make sense of our world.

Oranges should be smooth and round and plump and pleasing to the eye, we might think.

I’d never seen an orange like this before –  misshapen, wrinkly, protruding.  They are known as “Sumo” oranges which seems appropriate. Rather small on top and large on the bottom, they seem like a weighted Sumo wrestler with its bulk closer to the ground.

As if aware of this, they come accompanied by a sign announcing they are “ENORMOUSLY DELICIOUS.”

I did a little research. Sumo oranges are seedless, easy to peel, and “incredibly sweet.”

Essentially an “oversized mandarin orange,” Sumo oranges are typically expensive because they are grown from trees that take a long time to mature. Originally grown by a single owner in Japan in the 1970s, the Sumo orange is often given there as a gift. Now grown in California, the Sumo orange’s availability at places like Costco, belies the fact the fruit requires “pampering” as its extremely delicate skin is subject to bruising and sunburn.

Who knew something so seemingly unattractive could be so delicate? Then again, aren’t we all like that?

A specialty item, Sumos are typically only in stores from January through April. My run-in with the Sumo the other day indicates I’m at the tail end of being able to purchase and try one.

Did I?

I did not. I had come to the market with a small shopping list that included chicken salad and mushrooms, not oranges. As someone who enters Target for one or two items and exits the store with a full shopping cart and $200 less in my wallet, I try to rein myself in by sticking with my list.

Did I miss out on an opportunity to further explore the Sumo orange? I did.

Did I miss out on the opportunity to reflect upon my tendency to judge an orange at first glance? I did not.

(I’m here writing about it, aren’t I?)

This isn’t a post about citrus, just like it wasn’t a post about finding a solitary kidney bean in a can of chickpeas, or running the stairs for someone else’s hotdog, or a disappearing ladybug in an empty bathtub.

These are all stand-ins for what we should be talking about.

Why do we judge on outward appearances alone? Why do we turn in with envy or away with revulsion when we see something that doesn’t meet our own prescribed standards?

Why do we make up stories when we see someone (“I know the type of person you are”) when, in actuality, we know nothing about them?

What type of stories are we unaware others are creating for us and about us based only on our surface layer?

How wrong they are! How wrong we are.

If someone were to peel back your layers, what would they find inside? What are you not showing on the outside – either out of protection or habit – that is the real story of you?

How might we refrain from making judgments about others when we only know what they are willing to show us?

It would be easy if we could all carry around a sign extolling our attributes. Mine would say something like:

“A somewhat dense and complicated story but a good listen nonetheless.”

“Creative, compassionate, caring.”

“Always seeking to be – and do – better.”

I’m sorry I didn’t purchase at least one Sumo orange. I bet I would have been surprised by how its harsh outward appearance hides its incredible sweetness inside.

Maybe that’s true for all of us.

When you peel away your many layers, what’s inside?

Perhaps that’s more of what you should bring to the world.

Valerie Gordon is a former Emmy-winning television producer, a lifelong storyteller, and a communications and leadership trainer. As founder of The Storytelling Strategist, she works with corporations to share the power of story to build future leaders and strong, equitable teams. Her favorite citrus is Ruby Red grapefruit. 

The Storytelling Strategist
Outer vs. Inner Stories

Admittedly, I’m not the most patient person.

I’m the person who beep-beeps the horn if the light turns green and you’re clearly on your phone in the car in front of me.

I don’t blare the horn obnoxiously, but I do tap with enough effort that you’ll awake from your phone-induced stupor.

The light is green. Go!

I’m also the person who says, “Representative!” into the robotic automated phone options so I can get a real human being on the line.

OK, OK… you got me. My “say” is more of a “yell,” particularly if I’ve already listened to the 9 buttons of options I have at my disposal, none of which serves my needs.

Patience is a virtue, but who has time for that?

So maybe I’m not the best person to write about patience.

Or maybe that makes me the best person to write about patience.

Or maybe you’re getting impatient waiting for me to get to the point of this blog about patience. Hurry up, will ya, lady?

My point is this:

Good things don’t typically come to those who wait.

Notice I added the word “typically” in there. They might, if you’re lucky. If the opportunity and the stars and the prancing unicorns all align with your patient time frame. It does happen, occasionally.

Most are left waiting, now impatiently, for those good things they were promised if only they had waited long enough.

Because that’s not how it works.

Good things come to those who make a plan to get those good things while others wait.

Often that plan will involve some level of patience.

But you’re not waiting for things to happen. You’re making them happen through a series of strategic steps with calculated results, restarts and retries, mistakes and missteps, do-overs and try-agains, hard work and lessons learned.

There’s little action if you don’t take action. Sure, things might come your way, but you could spend an awful lot of time waiting for them.

Too much time when we look back upon it.

I was ill-advised, at numerous points throughout my career, to be more patient. At one such stop, my patience held out for about 8 years. When I finally questioned the results of my patience, one higher-up counseled that perhaps I had “waited a bit too long” to make a move that would elevate my career.

I had somehow missed that window of opportunity.

This is what I call the avocado effect. You’re not ripe enough for way too long and then minutes later, you’re overripe and inedible.

Don’t become an overripe and inedible avocado.

What’s that opportunity you’ve been patiently waiting for?

What’s that thing you’ve been wanting – and waiting – to do?

When will the time be right? Whose permission are you waiting for? How about your own?

Want to go back to school, launch a business, publish a book, travel somewhere new, find love, find meaning, find peace?

Those good things aren’t going to just come to you because you’ve waited for them. They’ll likely seem further away than ever.

Good things come to those who figure out what they want most and take the steps to get there.

So get going. Stop waiting.

Your good things await but, like you, they might get tired of waiting. Before you know it, some other prancing unicorn might snatch them up while you look on, green with envy.

That’s just the reflection of the green light you haven’t noticed in front of you. It’s your wake-up call.

Beep-beep. Go!

Valerie Gordon is a longtime storyteller, a former Emmy-winning TV producer, and a career and communications strategist. The founder of The Storytelling Strategist, she speaks at conferences and works with corporations to grow future talent and build strong, equitable teams through the power of story.

The Storytelling Strategist
Why Good Things Come to Those Who Wait is Terrible Advice!

Spinach is good for you!

This leafy green vegetable is full of vitamins, antioxidants, and fiber.

According to the Popeye cartoons of my youth, it will also make you strong, providing superhuman strength so you can knock out adversaries with your gigantic biceps.

So, how can we take the strength of spinach and use it as an analogy for storytelling?

Easy.

I’ve written similarly about other vegetables (Are You the Office Cauliflower?) and fiber-rich legumes (Be the Kidney Bean in a Can Full of Chick Peas). Now I’ll add spinach to my vault (pantry? refrigerator? cold-storage locker?) of food-themed posts.

According to SciTech Daily, spinach is one of the top 5 most nutrient-dense vegetables, delivering vitamins A, C, and K, along with iron, folate, potassium, and fiber.

Similarly, a story should contain a valuable delivery of tools to your audience such as knowledge, motivation, inspiration, or a call to action. 

And, like spinach, your story needs to be delivered in a way that is both palatable and digestible.

Remember Popeye, sucking down spinach from a can to build those big muscles?

I liked Popeye as a kid. But I hated canned spinach which seemed to be the only way it was offered.

Now, as an adult, I can appreciate the numerous crave-worthy ways spinach can be prepared: sauteed with olive oil and garlic, mixed into a dip with artichokes and Greek yogurt, as a base for a green salad with crumbled feta, cranberries, and walnuts…

Yum!

How might you deliver your story in a way that it is gobbled up by your audience, making them want to come back for seconds? (OK, I admit this is a stretch, but you see what I’m serving up here…)

The key to spinach is how it is prepared. Serve it raw and some people can’t digest it. Overcook it and it is mushy.

How are you preparing your speech or message so that it delivers the punch and tang necessary, while keeping the audience “full” long after with the benefits provided?

Have you ever cooked spinach and discovered how much more compact it becomes?

A bag of leafy greens overflows your sautée pan. After a few stirs, it starts to shrink.

And shrink.

And shrink.

By the time you are done, a mere minute or two later, your giant bag of leafy greens is a mere handful, at most.

Where did it go? What happened to it?

This process – wilting the spinach – changes its appearance but not its value. Essentially, you’ve condensed the goodness of that giant bag into a few nutritional powerhouse bites.

Who wants to eat – or has time to eat – 8 cups of roughage when you can get the same benefit from a single cooked cup?

Livestrong.com notes that spinach is nutrient-dense whether you eat it raw or cooked. Some cooking methods such as steaming limit the nutrients that can be lost during other cooking methods, such as boiling. (Again, who likes boiled spinach?)

Just like spinach, a message should be boiled down to its essential elements, but in a way that doesn’t dilute the meaning. Make it clear, concise, compact, and complete. While you’re at it, make sure it’s also convincing and compelling. Don’t overload your audience with too large of a serving or complicated side dishes (extraneous stories).

Cooked spinach, prepared thoughtfully, is compact and delicious, meaning the eater will be more likely to eat it and retain its benefits.

A story, prepared thoughtfully, can be similarly comact and effective, meaning the audience will be more likely to receive it and retain its benefits.

And maybe even come back for seconds.

Valerie Gordon is a 10x Emmy-winning television producer, an author, and the founder of The Storytelling Strategist. She speaks at conferences and works with corporations to help high-achievers capitalize on the power of story to build successful brands, lead with confidence, and build strong, equitable teams. Follow her on LinkedIn.

The Storytelling Strategist
What Spinach Can Tell Us About Storytelling

Photo By Alexas Fotos For Pexels

Have you ever had one of those days when you want to chuck it all, sell off all your belongings, and move to a tropical island where you will earn a living peddling shaved ice by the sea?

No? Just me?

We’ve all heard a story of someone who has done just that.

The corporate exec who walked out one day and never came back and now paints seascapes while living off the land. The flight attendant who quit on the intercom and then escaped the jet by emergency slide. The woman who left her marriage to Eat, Pray, and Love around the world before writing a best-selling book about it.

Some of these stories are true. Some are embellished. Others are pure fantasy.

Who would you be if you’re not who you think you are?

We’ve all wondered at some point – or at least I have – would I be capable of such great change?

Most of us would not.

We’re tentative. We’re habitual. We hold onto what we know best, even if it’s not entirely joyful or fulfilling.

We wait for something to change, rather than changing something.

Because change is hard.

It’s also because we think of change as extreme turnarounds where you are one person one day and entirely different person the next. A complete 180!

And it usually doesn’t work like that.

Few of us are brave enough to walk away from it all, to pull that emergency slide, to wander the world for a year.

And… on whose dime would we do such a thing?

We have responsibilities and roles and reasons to stay put. We have jobs and families and pets and To-Do lists and lawns to mow and bills to pay and laundry to fold.

There are expectations thrust upon us from every direction.

Art Installation

We can’t just walk away!

So we stay. Year after year after year.

When the years create a fog of dissatisfaction, when you’re finally sick of your own B.S., it’s time to change… something.

And it doesn’t need to be monumental to have an impact.

If you’re the type of person who can change everything all at once without looking back (new job, new home, new hobbies, new wardrobe, new partner, new face?), good for you.

You are a brave chameleon!

This is for the rest of us, those who stubbornly hold onto our original colors, who are fearful of taking that first step.

Which is why we just start with one.

Change something.

It doesn’t matter what it is. Change one small thing. It may be the one thing you need to do.

Action is the antidote to anxiety.

If you’ve always taken the same route to work, try a new one. If you eat the same sandwich for lunch every day, try a different kind. If you find you’re in the same discussions or arguments with the same people, try a different tactic.

Change your look. Wearing sweats every day since you’ve been working at home? Get a little dressed up.

Change your workout. Always go for a run? Try yoga on YouTube.

Change your habits. Watch TV while snacking on the couch? Try stretching or rolling out during your nightly viewing habits.

If you don’t like what you’ve tried, there’s no harm done. You haven’t made a permanent change like selling off all your possessions to peddle shaved ice by the sea.

Change one thing and see what happens next. Then change another.

Change opens up new pathways in our brains. It gets us uncomfortable, which helps us grow. Your newfound openness and flexibility will help for when you find change unexpectedly thrust upon you.

And, who knows, when all those changes add up over time, you may just find yourself where you longed to be.

On a beach painting seascapes, traveling the world, or simply enjoying some downtime to read about those who do.

Valerie Gordon, the founder of The Storytelling Strategist, is a 10x Emmy-winning television producer who pivoted her career in 2017 to share the power of storytelling with conference audiences and corporate clients. This big change came as the result of many smaller ones. She uses her blog to share advice, wisdom, and humor and her belief that everyone has a great, next chapter inside of them. 

The Storytelling Strategist
One Small Change Can Make a Big Difference

In February of 2023 I started an article called “Lost Your Mojo? 5 Ways to Get it Back.”

And then I apparently lost my own Mojo because I never even got to the first of the five ways to get it back.

I abandoned the article after a few sentences. Into a drafts folder it went, along with 16 other “great ideas” I recently discovered languishing there that I’ve been attempting to dust off.

I hit “delete” on most. Send them to the trash can

One or two in that drafts folder have proven to be potential gems in need of polishing that, with an hour or so of revision, I’ve completed and published.

I suppose I could have mustered the MOJO to get my Mojo article up and running with 5 simple, stereotypical tips such as:

1. 1. 1. Start small! Small steps lead to big gains!
      2. Just get started! Action breeds momentum!
      3. Time-block per Pomodoro, 25 min on, 5 min off!
      4. Get over your perfectionism! Done is better than perfect!
      5. Set rewards to look forward to! Netflix and Chill, anyone?

Hey, those aren’t bad tips. I feel more MOJO already. So, there you go. Article done!

But, as I revisit, I want to take that initial inspiration in another direction, as I often do, which I believe is very much my MOJO.

Some of my favorite posts have been similarly revised. The comical Hell Hath No Fury: How to Piss Off a Woman at Work was once an instructional guide to fostering strong workplace relationships. It seems I’m better suited to snarkily reporting the exact opposite.

Are You the Office Cauliflower? came from an article about doing too much work for too little reward that I conceived while chopping up the cruciferous vegetable, and voila! A recipe for success.

Today, while almost deleting the original post, I started thinking about a shorthand way to finish the work, and voila! A recipe for what follows.

I realized it’s possible I lost my MOJO for the original Mojo article because I felt FOMO, the Fear of Missing Out, and abandoned the project to do something else like… I don’t know… learn to play pickleball or buy wide-legged pants.

Perhaps that came from a sense of YOLO, You Only Live Once, and sitting down to write and regain my MOJO is not as interesting as the YOLO which made me want to play pickleball or buy those pants so I wouldn’t suffer from FOMO.

Are you following me?

It’s possible that if I had JUJU, considered to be good luck or fortune, I might have felt more MOJO, that personal energy or effectiveness or success that was missing.

To be honest, I most often feel FOMO when I see another business person’s success because of what I perceive as their MOJO and their JUJU and the fact that they say YOLO and go all in on their dream to run writing retreats in exotic locales like Tulum or Greece.

Which isn’t what I want to do, if I think about the logistical nightmare of planning such an excursion. What I’m feeling is JOMO, the Joy of Missing Out, which is the opposite of FOMO because YOLO and you don’t want to send your time creating a business trip for picky clients when all you want to do is go to Tulum or Greece on your own because you have FOJI which I’ve learned is a Fear of Joining In.

I’m sorry, is this TMI?

Are you reading this thinking WTF, but you can’t say that aloud because it’s NSFW and you are reading this at work right now, suffering from FOMO because you’ve lost your MOJO to say OMG, IDK TBH this isn’t what I want to do with my life and YOLO so I’m going to go find my MOJO somewhere on a beach in Greece.

BRB…

OK, here I am again.

IMHO it can be confusing to follow all these acronyms and what they mean particularly when you’ve lost your MOJO which is what you were planning to write about in the first place!

I don’t know whether I should be SMH or ROTFLOL.

ICYMI, this post was supposed to be about regaining your MOJO. As a result of writing this bit of shorthand silliness, I think I’ve found mine.

So, TTYL, I’ll be AFK because YOLO so I’m going to do something as soon as I decide what it might be.

Most likely, with my newfound MOJO and a bit of JUJU, it’ll be NSFW.

Valerie Gordon is an author, humorist, and longtime storyteller whose feature work has appeared on ESPN, HBO Sports, and CBS News. She founded The Storytelling Strategist in 2017, a communications firm drawing on the power of storytelling for personal and business success. She’s a Gen X-er trying to understand today’s shorthand, SMH LOL!

The Storytelling Strategist
FOMO, YOLO, MOJO, JUJU and Too Many Acronyms