Navigating the Parallel Universe That's in Your Office

It's always been fascinating to me that two people can experience the exact same situation in entirely different ways. They emerge from a shared set of events telling stories so at odds that it's as if they inhabit parallel universes.

I was a history major in college, and it's no surprise to me that Herodotus, the father of history, was also called the father of lies. There is no one version of reality that we all recall or inhabit. There are many. Perhaps even an infinite number. As a journalist, I encountered this challenge each day. I see it in my office today. And it's starkly evident in our current political climate.

The wonderful memorist Mary Karr dramatically illustrates this phenomenon in her writing classes in an attempt to "douse my students' flaming certainty about the unassailability of their memories." She fakes a fight with a colleague while a videographer discretely films the scene. Then she asks her students to write down what happens. Each student's innate prejudices and personal histories shape his or her account. Almost none are true to the videotape. But they are authentic to the students' lenses.

Accentuating this effect is that we often record in our memories our emotions alone. That leaves the events and "all detail blurred into unreadable smear," says Karr.

Last week, I cited Tara Brach, who talks about the concept of real vs. true. Something can feel very real to us - but that does not make it true. The narratives we create from our experiences are only true in the sense they reflect what we imagine.

This is how we come to build parallel universes. Or, as the designer Dave Gray describes this in his book, Liminal Thinking, our own self-constructed pyramids of belief, upon which we lay the ground that we think is reality: "Your 'obvious' is one of many versions, and other people have different ones."

I believe this phenomenon is the number one problem in our collegial relationships and team dynamics. We experience certain situations together and then emerge with alternate realities. We tell ourselves different stories. We imagine Ryan on the technology team is intent on withholding information from us, while he feels forced to sugarcoat every situation for fear we'll shoot the messenger. Each story is real. The truth is another matter.

If it's inevitable that we will experience parallel universes, how can we possibly come together?

I think there are three important things we can do.

First, we should question our own stories as often as we can. As Gray notes, we walk around with our heads so full of what we imagine is obvious that we often can't see what is really going on. The antidote is to question what is obvious and why we believe it to be so. We should ask what alternate theories might explain a situation. He says,

"Cultivate as many theories as you can - including some that seem odd, counterintuitive, or even mutually contradictory - and hold on to them loosely. Don't get too attached to any one of them."

This is critical to opening our minds, which is the only way to lessen the separation that parallel stories create.

As Voltaire said, doubt is unpleasant, but certainty is absurd.

Next, we need to have caring and direct conversations about our own theories and seek to understand other people's perspectives as well. This can be mind-altering, in a good way. It's an exploration that also can uncover the common values and vision that unite us. Even if we live in our own universes, we can inhabit a powerfully shared territory when we share understanding and direction.

And third, we should view all of this as an enormous opportunity for our organizations and ourselves.

The best organizations embrace diverse thinking. They know that innovation is fueled by multiple perspectives, many lenses and multiple stories. We shouldn't try to surround ourselves with those whose universes most closely parallel our own. We should appreciate the divergences we find - and seek to know what they can teach us.

The opportunity for ourselves is equally great. Daring to reconsider our own stories can remove us from a rut and even change our life's trajectory. What a wonderful - and unnerving - prospect it is that we do not have to finish our narrative as it now stands. It is ours to rewrite as we wish, backwards and forwards.

Of course it is not easy to question our own versions of history. Karr writes: "No matter how self-aware you are, memoir wrenches at your insides precisely because it makes you battle with your very self - your neat analyses and tidy excuses. One not-really-a-joke in my family is, 'The trouble started when you hit me back.' Your small pieties and impenetrable, mostly unconscious poses invariably trip you up."

It's still worth trying.

Because, as most of us already know but often forget, a change in perspective can change most anything, for the good.