Fake it
A Latin proverb that I’m especially fond of is this:
“Fortune favors the bold.”
It’s sometimes translated into “Fortune favors the brave” or “Fortune favors the strong” but these are stupid translations.
Bravery and strength are lovely assets, but it’s easy to see yourself lacking in both qualities. But being bold is something anyone can do at any time. It only requires a singular moment of decision making.
Case in point:
Jonny Greenwood, keyboardist for Radiohead, didn’t know how to play keyboard when he first joined the band. Here’s what he told Terry Gross on a recent episode of Fresh Air:
Well, they had a keyboard player who — Thom’s band had a keyboard player, which I think they didn’t get on with because he played his keyboard so loud. And so when I got the chance to play with them, the first thing I did was make sure my keyboard was turned off when I was playing. And I must have done months of rehearsals with them with this keyboard that was just — they didn’t know that I’d already turned it off and was just — they made quite a racket, quite a noise. It was all guitars and distortion.
And so I would pretend to play for weeks on end. And Thom would say, I can’t quite hear what you’re doing. But I think you’re adding a really interesting texture because I can tell when you’re not playing. And I’m thinking, no, you can’t, because I’m really not playing. And I’d go home in the evening and work out how to actually play chords. And cautiously, over the next few months, I would start turning this keyboard up. And that’s how I started — you know, started in with Radiohead.
To be fair, Greenwood knew how to play music. Prior to the keyboard, he played the recorder and viola, so he could read music and understood music, but he most definitely didn’t know how to play the keyboard.
Remarkable. Right?
Fortune favors the bold.
Many years ago, I was teaching one of my very first storytelling workshops. A few seconds after I began speaking, a man sitting at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest, said, “Excuse me. What makes you think that you’re qualified to teach storytelling?”
His tone was not welcoming or kind. It was combative and challenging.
I paused for a moment, wondering what to say. I’d already won more than two dozen Moth StorySLAM competitions and a handful of GrandSLAM championships. I was performing in theaters around the country and was producing and directing storytelling shows for Speak Up. I could’ve said all of this, but instead, I said:
“Actually, I’m one of the foremost experts in storytelling in the country. I know as much about this art and craft as anyone you’ll find. But if you don’t want to be here, I’ll refund your money right now and stop wasting your time.”
The man immediately backtracked. Pretended that he was just curious. Assured me that he was more than happy to stay.
To his credit, he quickly became a valuable member of the class and someone who later performed in one of our shows.
But was I the one of the foremost experts in storytelling in the country?
I had yet to begin consulting with Fortune 500 companies and advertising agencies.
I had yet to teach storytelling at colleges and universities.
I still hadn’t taught storytelling in public and private schools.
I had yet to teach a workshop to hospital staff, members of the clergy, politicians, or Santa Clauses.
Not a single person in the world would’ve characterized me as “one of the foremost experts in storytelling in the country.” But like Jonny Greenwood deciding that he was a keyboardist, I decided in that moment that I was, so that’s what I became.
Granted, you must be able to eventually back up your claims with the goods. If Jonny Greenwood never learns to play keyboard, his story isn’t worth telling. He’s remembered as a fraud and a failure.
If I don’t go on to publish Storyworthy and build a thriving career in performing and consulting, I, too, am nothing more than a fraud.
But if you have the goods, or even if you have the potential for the goods, declaring yourself the thing you want or expect to be isn’t a bad road to take. Not only does it afford you opportunities that you may otherwise have missed, but it also forces you to do the work to make it true.
