The Habit of Resisting Stories

The next stop on my international tour brought me to Harvard. Even saying the name felt heavy. Harvard. The word alone carried centuries. Presidents, Nobel laureates, and titans of every kind had walked these same paths. And now I was here, invited to stay for a few days - collaborating with students and faculty to write a Harvard case study on Plastic Bank, and delivering a workshop as the main highlight. They’d even set me up with a small office tucked inside one of the old brick buildings so I could move between the case study work and refining my talk.

Day one was all case study. The room smelled faintly of chalk and varnished wood, sunlight slicing through tall windows framed in leaded glass. The energy was sharp, restless, alive - questions flying in from every angle, students challenging every assumption. By the end of the day, my head was buzzing. That night, a few of them took me out in Harvard Square. We ducked down a set of steps into Grendel’s Den, a pub tucked below street level with dark beams and tables carved up by decades of elbows and pint glasses. Jackets steamed by the door as the frost melted off.

Halfway through the night, one of the students leaned in with a grin, lowering his voice like a conspirator. “Don’t touch the John Harvard statue,” he said. “Why not?” I asked. “Tourists rub the golden foot for luck,” another chimed in. “But first-years pee on it for fun.” I burst out laughing. All day I’d watched proud visitors polish that glowing foot with their bare hands, grinning into their cameras. The most photographed spot on campus was basically a urinal. Lesson learned: hands in pockets. The next morning, one of them smuggled me inside Annenberg Hall - Harvard’s freshman dining hall.

Chandeliers glowed from vaulted ceilings. Long wooden tables stretched endlessly, portraits stared down from the paneled walls. I chuckled to myself, this looks like American Hogwarts. Day Two - A Walk Around Harvard By day two, I wandered the cobblestone-style streets around Harvard Yard. The stones curved under my boots like ripples through time. Wrought-iron lamps leaned overhead. Eventually I drifted toward the Charles. The river shimmered silver, sleek boats cutting through the current in unison, rowers rising and falling like one body. Joggers passed in Harvard crimson, breath fogging into the cold. For a moment, I let myself drink it all in - the air, the spires, the weight of history underfoot.

This was the kind of place you’re supposed to pause, soak it in, and feel grateful. But my phone buzzed. The One Word Message The subject line glared: Client presentation. Inside: one word. SIGH. All caps. No punctuation. It landed sharp, like a door slamming shut. Sarcasm? Disappointment? My chest tightened. My mind filled in the silence: We blew it. They’re unhappy. The deal is slipping away. And then the messages started from my team back at home. “What does that mean?” “What went wrong?” “Should we jump on a call?” One word - SIGH - had started a spiral of theories.

The Office at Harvard I pushed back from the window of the small office they’d given me. The radiator hissed in the corner. I pulled out my notebook, 1. Notice the trigger. reacting to a one word email. SIGH. 2. Name the trigger. we added our own meaning to that one word email. And reacted to that added meaning 3. Take an intentional breath 4. Release it. - get back to balance The ink steadied. My shoulders loosened. Answer = STICK TO FACTS. Trigger released. Back to balance. I stared at the words. And for once, it worked.

The spiral broke for me. But it was still spiraling out of control with my team. And i added another reflection in my notebook Non-Negotiable: I refuse to assign meaning until I know the facts. Interrupting the Spiral I dialed in my team for a quick video call. “Quick huddle,” I said. “Five minutes.” They joined immediately. “First,” I said, “there has been a lot of back and forth around that client email. A lot of assumptions. But, we’re going to wait for facts before we react.” Amr jumped in. “Shaun, I was on the call last week.

I know the facts,” he said. “They hated the pitch. You could hear it in her tone; she sounded bored out of her mind. Honestly, I bet she doesn’t even recycle at home.” “I’m going to stop you there,” I said gently. “Those aren’t facts. The fact is the email said SIGH. Everything else you just said is an assumption. It’s added meaning you made up and put on top of the facts.” Silence. “I would like to share something.” I continued. “I noticed, I when ever i responded to my wife by saying ‘Sure’, she’d get mad.

Eventually, I asked why. She said she knew exactly what ‘sure’ meant. So I asked her to explain to me what it really meant. And it turns out she created an imaginary mini conversation with back stories every time I said ‘sure’ based on the tone of my voice or sub-context. But from my point of view, all I ever meant from sure … was no problem. “Then I realized I did the same thing. When she asked, ‘Did you remember to pack this? Did you lock the doors? Did you remember X?’ I would also instinctually create a whole production in my head about what she really meant-like she thought I always forgot, and she had to remind me constantly.

But in her mind? She likes to ensure the house is locked at night. It’s a routine. It was nothing more than a checklist. Once i realized how often this happened I made two non-negotiables: First. I never indulge in conversation with people who aren’t there. If I catch myself writing a script in my head, I name it and stop. Those fake conversations aren’t a healthy habit. Second. I stick to the facts. In this case, all we know is the client emailed ‘SIGH.’ I replied asking for details. We’ll see what they say tomorrow.” “Okay,” Amr said.

“Facts first.” “Facts first,” the others echoed. We ended the call-five minutes, done. The spiral had been interrupted. Now that everyone was committed to stick to the facts. It was time for us all to get back to work. I flipped to a fresh page and began mapping out ideas - how to shape this workshop for students, not executives. Less about corporate strategy, more about choices, legacy, contribution. Then I thought of the other common story that people often tell themselves, and found the inspiration I needed to customize the workshop.. Just in time.

The Workshop - Turning the Spiral into Purpose The lecture hall filled with light. Rows of students leaned forward, notebooks open, pens poised. Sunlight spilled across the wood paneling like a spotlight. “When it comes to purpose at work,” I began, “there are three main paths. None of them are easy. But all of them are possible.” A hand shot up. “But isn’t purpose usually… extra? Like, you make your money first, then give back later?” I nodded. “That’s the story most of us hear. A guidance counselor once told me, ‘You can either provide for your family or save the planet.

You can’t do both - because purpose doesn’t pay the bills.’” The room went quiet. “But that’s the old way of thinking,” I said. “I believe you can combine becoming the best version of you on this planet with giving more to the world than you take, while still paying the bills and beyond. You don’t have to choose. You can have it all.” A student in the back let out a breath, almost in relief. “That feels like freedom. I’ve always been told purpose had to be a side project.” Heads nodded. “The second path - and the one most of you will face - is joining a for-purpose business.

And let’s be honest - Harvard students? You might have an easier time than most getting in the door.” Laughter rippled. “But passion is the baseline. Everyone says they care. Contribution is what matters. The question isn’t, Do you care? It’s, Can you deliver what the mission needs?” I stepped forward, lowering my voice. “If you’re trying to join a for-purpose company, don’t just say you’re passionate about impact. Show that your DNA - your default natural advantage - is exactly what that mission needs to grow. “Be able to say, My DNA is this… and that’s exactly what your company needs to go further, faster, and with greater integrity.

“That’s how you stand out. That’s how you move from wanting to contribute, to being the person they need to have on the team.” Pens scratched faster now. Some students looked up, thinking. Others nodded like the idea had finally clicked. “Anyone can care,” I said. “Few can articulate who they are and why it matters. The ones who can - they’re the ones who lead.” A student near the front raised a hand. “And if we don’t join one right away?” “Then you take the third path,” I said. “You create change from within.

Wherever you go, whatever role you hold, whatever legacy you leave - you can always make your environment more purposeful. That’s the true art: creating change from within.” The silence shifted. Skepticism melted into possibility. Pens scratched furiously. “So when you graduate,” I asked, letting the pause hang, “what path will you choose?” Resolution & Payoff - Clarity at Last The next morning, my inbox glowed with clarity. From the client: “Sorry - didn’t mean to send that yesterday. Please find the new contract attached. Signed. Ready to go.” Signed. Not sigh. We hadn’t lost anything.

We’d won. The same team that had spiraled into panic was now cheering like champions. I laughed at how fragile we’d been, hijacked by a story invented from silence. Presence at Harvard That afternoon, I walked Harvard Yard one last time. The bells tolled from Memorial Church, their echoes carrying across the frozen air. Students poured out of lecture halls, arms loaded with books, laughter fogging into the cold. Just as I was packing up my notebook, another notification flashed across my screen. App Store: Status Update - App Still in Review. Updates Required. For a split second, my stomach dropped.

The spiral started - Oh no. Did we miss something? Is this kind of app even allowed? Did we violate a rule? And then I caught myself. Not doing this again. I took a breath. Noticed the trigger. Named it. Released it. Then I simply forwarded the email to the team with one line: Please review and advise. Tourists lined up again at the John Harvard statue, polishing the golden foot like it was holy. I chuckled, hands tucked safely in my pockets. For once, I wasn’t rehearsing comebacks in my head. No more spirals.

No more stories hijacking the silence. Just the Yard. Just the bells. Just the gift of being here. An hour later, a reply came back. Fixed the issue. We just re-submitted it. And moments after that - the message I’d been waiting for: App Approved. I leaned back, exhaled, and smiled. Harvard had been a beautiful gift. But the lesson was finished, and the moment had passed. It was time to catch a plane. Reflections The human mind loves drama. We add it to moments like seasoning. We take something small - a word, a tone, a look - and turn it into a whole production.

We assign meaning. We make up stories. And almost always, we give them a flair for the dramatic. It’s human nature. Our brains crave certainty, so when we don’t know the full story, we write one - usually starring the worst version of the other person. They must be upset. They must be judging. They must be disappointed. But none of that is fact. It’s fiction written by fear. The Habit of Resisting Stories is about catching yourself before you start filming the movie in your head. It’s learning to pause long enough to separate what actually happened from what you added to it.

Because meaning is optional. And indulging in stories is a choice. You can resist the urge to fill in the blanks. You can wait for the facts. You can choose peace over drama. How to Practice the Habit of Resisting Stories 1. Pause Before Reacting The next time you feel triggered by a word, tone, or action, pause. Ask yourself, “What are the actual facts here?” For example, someone said, “Sure.” That’s it. Anything beyond that is a story you’ve created. 2. Challenge the Story If your mind starts spinning, gently ask, “What evidence do I have that this story is true?

What if I assumed the best of this person?” 3. Refuse to Argue with Fiction Stop rehearsing conversations that haven’t happened. Instead, remind yourself: “This hasn’t happened yet. I’ll handle it if and when it does.” 4. Practice Neutrality When someone’s words or actions feel loaded, practice seeing them as neutral. A “Sure” doesn’t have to mean more than “Sure.” When I’m triggered by an unanswered text, a short reply, or silence my mind wants to fill with meaning - and I catch myself carrying on conversations in my head - I break the spiral with a simple non-negotiable: I won’t argue with people who aren’t there beyond the point of diminishing returns.

Stories don’t get to steal my presence. Let me share something I’ve learned: The stories we create are shaped by our mental filters. If you believe someone is unreliable, their canceled plans feel like proof of that belief. If you believe they’re supportive, you’re more likely to give them the benefit of the doubt. Our brains aren’t built to see truth - they’re built to confirm belief. But the moment you notice that pattern, you gain the power to rewrite it. That’s what the Habit of Resisting Stories really is - awareness as a choice.

To pause before the spiral. To meet silence with curiosity instead of fear. To stop arguing with fiction, and come back to the only thing that’s ever real: the present moment. Because peace doesn’t live in the stories we tell ourselves. It lives in the ones we stop telling.