Stories Of Losses And Lessons And How To Find Them

The essence of basketball, to me, is about elevating each participant to grow. This is what I call the "Sacred Art of Basketball," which stems from my basketball upbringings (my dad was a high school and college coach). This informs how I work today, and why it was a very serious thing for me to accept the title 'coach.' But sometimes I can't just leave this in the realm of philosophical connection and sideline direction, especially when the Warriors are in the NBA Finals. So, feeling motivated, I went out and played basketball my teenage son and his team on Sunday. I walked away feeling like a champ, not because I played very well, but because didn't limp away–which was the result the last two times I played. The definition of success changes with time.

From this morning of squeaking shoes and racing up and down the court, I was reminded of one particular story that changed my life, and one that provides a clear link and connection to my work as a father and a story coach. Here's that story, one that is essential *not* about me reaching my dream, but a dream that was transformed as a result of what the world presented. It's also an example of using a story in action, as well as a set of prompts for gathering your own stories that I often use in trainings and would like to share.

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Some of our greatest leadership stories are formed from our “losses and lessons” stories, the falls and the failures that can become great allies we overlook in our search for stories. You may want to stuff them in the corner or push them into the past, thinking, “Thankfully, I’m done with those times.” But those trials and struggles—the stories that take us through the innermost cave—can be the best medicine for those around us who are facing relevant challenges of their own.

As the mythologist Michael Meade said in a lecture I attended, life isn’t about avoiding trouble. It’s about “getting into the right kind of trouble.” The wrong kind of trouble can kill you. But the right kind of trouble gives you experience, a lesson, and a good story to pass on.

A few years ago, my son Izzy was having a rough baseball game. He had yelled from the dugout at the Little League umpire. Later, he seemed to want to argue with us about everything, and then he tripped his sister. “Go to your room!” I yelled, losing my cool. After a few minutes of realizing my own anger wasn’t really helping the situation, I went in and climbed up next to him on his bunk bed, where he sat, head in hands.

“Iz. How do you feel about today’s game?” I asked. He looked up for a second. “It was terrible . . . We played terrible! I PLAYED TERRIBLE!”

My heart dropped. What do I say to that? I got quiet for a moment and cleared out of my mind whatever I thought was supposed to happen, any self-judgment, guilt, or anger that I had. I scanned my internal database to remember when I had been in a similar situation, to meet his challenge with one of my own.?

I recalled a moment of deep frustration as a kid. Then I saw how it could be a story, with a beginning and an end. But then I had to think for another long second to figure out how the story related.?

“Did I ever tell you about the worst game I ever played?” Even as I said this, I was buying a little time, thinking about just how to share a failure that still rolls over in my mind, decades later.

“What happened?” he asked, looking up.

“I was seventeen. On the high school basketball team. It was a big night, because I knew I was finally breaking into the starting lineup. But then, I just made mistake after mistake. Missed an easy shot. A dumb foul. Threw the ball away. I was so frustrated, I even shoved a guy.”

“Really?” Izzy asked, trying to imagine his dad provoking a fight.

“Really. A very big guy. It got worse and worse. I’ve told you that your grandpa was a college coach—my life had been basketball since I was five years old. But my dream of being a star was fading quickly.”

“And after that game, I got benched. For days afterward, sitting at the end of the bench, I was steaming mad. But really, I felt like I wanted to cry. Finally, I couldn’t take any more, and I decided I would quit the very next day.

“But the next morning came, and I didn’t quit.”

“Why not?” my son asked.

“Because as I was walking to the gym to talk to the coach, I had a thought that had never occurred to me. The thought was this: How would you feel in 25 years if this team won a championship and you had quit? It was a strange thought, seemingly out of nowhere, that made me pause. And as I stood there, leaning against the metal railing just outside of the gym, I thought about it. Deep down inside, I knew that we had a very special team. And I wanted to be a part of it.

So, instead of quitting, that morning I turned around. I never talked to the coach. I decided I had to put down my own dreams and put my energy into the team. So I started cheering more. I worked my butt off in practice, diving everywhere, playing crazy defense, working to help everyone get better. I still felt bad, but every time I’d feel bad about not playing, I’d refocus into the team. And do you know what happened?”?

“What?” he asked, lifting up his head.?

“We started to win. And I was hardly playing at all. We won the league, and then the county. It was like surfing a big wave. And I was able to enjoy it, to get out of the way of myself and support the team.”

“And you won State, too, right?” He said, his reddened eyes starting to brighten.

“Right, we eventually won the state championship in California. And I would roll in only at the end of games, when it was mostly decided. That was still hard! But every time I got frustrated, I put my focus back into the team.”

He had forgotten about his frustration and was there with me, sitting on the sidelines in Oakland Arena at the state championship finals. And so, carefully, I worked to connect my journey to his.

“And that’s the chance that you have, whenever you’re frustrated. Instead of yelling at the umpire, or even the other players, you can put your focus back into the team and create a vision for winning. Not just when you’re hurting. Especially when you’re hurting. Do you think you can do that?”

A long pause, as he looked at me across both of our bleary eyes.

“I can,” he said, and gathered himself, climbing down from the bunk as if he had forgotten all about his challenges with the game that day.

I sat there a moment, allowing myself to exhale for a moment and consider the subtle shift of direction that my vulnerability, and making use of my greatest trials, helped to offer.?

Then I rejoined my team at the kitchen table.

Maybe you wish to teach your kids, or guide your employees, or inspire your customers to see the world as you do. No matter the target audience or the need of the particular moment, it’s good to cultivate a few losses and lessons stories that create connection, reveal wisdom, and show some rough spots you’ve faced.

I would bet that you have had many pivots in your life, many depths plunged, and many insights gathered, that you’ve not yet developed into stories.

Prompts to help shape your losses into lessons:

? Have you ever failed at something? What did you learn?

? Have you ever had to change an ingrained habit? What happened?

? What was the worst game/project/company situation you’ve been a part of? What did you learn?

? Have you ever been fired or laid off? What did you learn and how did you bounce back?

? Share a moment of bad judgment that gave you some good wisdom.

It’s a bummer to lose. But once you’re on the other side of the valley, looking back with 20/20 hindsight, the losses may give you some of your best stories.

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This story is slightly edited for currency and clarity, but largely drawn from my book Retellable : How Your Essential Stories Unlock Power and Purpose.