Listen for your call, not someone else’s.
If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s.
—JOSEPH CAMPBELL
In 2006, a New York Times Magazine journalist, Rob Walker, conducted an experiment to test the power of storytelling.1 He collated two hundred random objects on eBay that had no intrinsic value. He asked authors to come up with made-up stories about each object. Then he reposted these objects on eBay to see if the invented stories upped the value of the objects.
They sure did. A butterfly-embossed cigarette case that he had purchased for a dime resold for $33.77. A ceramic horse bust purchased for 99 cents was resold for $62.95. An old wooden mallet purchased for $1 was resold for $29. You get the idea.
All told, the two hundred objects he bought for a total of $197 were resold for $8,000. A markup of 3,900 percent! Stories transform ordinary life and ordinary things into things of value. They help us make sense of life.
For centuries, stories have been used to pass on knowledge. A study in Nature Communications explains why—storytelling teaches social cooperation and social norms.2 Stories help us explain every aspect of our experience, from relationships to memories to science to feelings. When we hear a good story, our mind makes cognitive and emotional connections that shape our understanding of the world around us. We learn deeply from a story because we remember the underlying emotions conveyed.
The most common stories we tell are in the form of figurative language. We use similes and metaphors six times a minute in conversation.3 They help us to grasp abstract, complex topics quickly. They do this by comparing one kind of thing in terms of another.4 They are especially good at using things in the physical world to illustrate abstract concepts.
Cool as a cucumber. Fiery temper. Sunny disposition. All are examples of using a more concrete and tangible reference (cucumber, fire, sun) to describe something abstract (emotions, attitudes, and mindsets). We use the metaphor of temperature to describe someone’s emotional state: She was cold to me. We frame arguments as battles and wars: They attacked me. I won the argument. They shot down my idea. Money helps us conceptualize time: I lost an hour. I can’t give you the time. Time is money.
A metaphor is a mental picture, and a picture says a thousand words. For instance, when we use “games” to describe the way we pursue our goals—you can picture what we’re talking about. These mental representations give us a framework for how we receive information.5 They’re like coatracks for hanging ideas.
One metaphor that is prominent in the world of education is that of a path.6 We say things like: You’re on the right path, you’re headed in the right direction, and keep going! We place students in “accelerated” courses or “pathways programs” to ensure they “pass” and don’t “drop out.” We give them “progress reports” that inform them if they are “on track.” When COVID-19 forced schools to close, parents and educators worried that students would “fall behind.”
The metaphor of a “path forward” is so embedded in the way we think about our students’ journeys that we hardly notice it’s there. Yet this metaphor insidiously permeates much of our advice and guidance for students. We imply that their journeys should be predictable and straightforward once they find the right path. The notion of a path brings to mind a continuous or linear road, with some alternative roads leading to the same destination.7 This metaphor suggests that students will be all set for success once they find the right path. So simple. No more stress about uncertain futures.
A good path feels safe because it’s well trodden and well marked. Nothing scarier than losing sight of the path and getting lost in the woods when the sun goes down. Nothing more comforting than suddenly finding the path in the same woods. Suddenly we’re not lost anymore. We know how to get to where we’re going. The promise of the path is a belief that we can predict the future. And if we can predict the future, we can control it. Hence the appealing allure of pathway parenting. In fact, most of K–12 education is designed around the premise of a path.
But here’s the rub. The path metaphor is misleading. It gives students a false sense of how life actually works. It gets them fixated on reaching the end of the path, be it graduation, acceptance into college, or a specific profession. If you think you’re on a path that leads somewhere special, you can’t help but be anxious to get there. By using the path metaphor, we set the wrong expectations for students: that their school and career journeys are like lovely, well-marked trails. All they need to do is select the right one, and it’ll lead them straight to the destination of their dreams.
Pathway education may have made more sense in the “good old days” when people committed themselves to a company for thirty to forty years. The reward for climbing the corporate ladder (a nice straight path) was a fancy Rolex watch at retirement. In the 1960s, when the average worker held on to a job for twenty-one years, watches were flying out the door.8
This gig is over. Today, the more apt gift would be a stopwatch. In 2020, the median tenure in current jobs for all salaried employees was just four years, and for millennials less than three years.9 Current college graduates can expect to have at least fifteen career-related jobs throughout their careers. That’s a lot of change!
And it’s not just employees who are shape-shifting, it’s entire companies and industries. In the 1960s, spending your whole career as a “company” man or woman was possible because companies lasted that long. When a company made it onto the S&P 500, they could expect to last thirty to thirty-five years. That tenure will be cut in half in this decade, so many of today’s S&P 500 companies will be gone in fifteen years.10 Life spans of companies and tenures of employees are shrinking by the day. Nothing is set in stone.
Signs You Are Stuck on the Path
The on-ramp into the workforce is just as precarious. Students are increasingly unlikely to enter fields related to their hard-earned degrees. For example, nearly half of all computer science majors enter alternative fields, and over half of engineering majors don’t become engineers.11 And these are the majors where students are most likely to find a job related to their fields. In most other majors, nine of ten graduates don’t land jobs directly related to their majors.12
These numbers, combined with alarming college dropout rates, suggest that the “straight path” from school to a stable and steady career is anything but. The notion of a “path” to financial stability is a relic of a golden era of work that no longer exists (if it ever did). Set paths are only set if you can predict the future. The only thing we can predict today is that we can’t predict much. The future will bring increasing disruption and change.
Gone are the days of gold watches and retirement traditions for lifers—those who stay on the same path their whole careers. But new doors have opened. Where previous generations based their identities on their work and corporations, young people today see their identities more openly. They come from personal convictions. Abilities. Interests. Connections they make on their own. So, while predictable paths felt safe, identities today hold greater possibilities. The American entrepreneur Ping Fu said, “I believe that behind every closed door there is an open space.”13 It’s time to step off the eroding path into those wide open fields. It’s time to tell a new story.
Gone are the days when we could plan for a safe, predictable career path. But would we actually want it any other way? On a Friday night, who scans cable in search of a good ol’ predictable show? Predictable is ho-hum. Give us some conflict, tension, throw in some unexpected twists and turns, and we might just have a story worth its salt. The most iconic stories—whether they’re epic myths, fairy tales, or Hollywood blockbusters—are about people who reject the path and blaze their own way forward. Analyses of thousands of stories across cultures reveal some universal themes in what’s been called the Hero’s Journey. Think about the great books and movies you’ve loved—the protagonists find the courage to step outside their comfort zones into the unknown. They are challenged and tested. They succeed and fail, and ultimately they’re stretched in important ways.
Those who have written about the Heroine’s Journey have added themes beyond those captured by the Hero’s Journey.14 Whereas the Hero’s Journey paints a picture of events in the world that influence his behaviors and view of himself, the Heroine’s Journey captures the battle within. The search to affirm and embody wholeness. This can mean integrating various kinds of wholeness. Success and failure. Perfection and imperfection. Joy and despair. It’s a quest that emphasizes inclusiveness and persistence throughout the journey rather than a singular destination. We see what happens when people make choices that help them reclaim their authentic voices, values, and self-worth and take charge of writing their own story. We see the power of authorship for people and the world around them.
In this chapter, we introduce the Seeker’s Journey. We’ve adapted relevant themes from heroes’ and heroines’ stories to capture the true stories of our students’ journeys. Seekers are students. They’re real-life hero/ines, navigating real-life experiences. Theirs is a voyage of true courage. One that requires resisting society’s narrative of what success looks like. The Seeker’s Journey is a cautionary tale for proponents of pathway parenting, pathway education, and career paths toward fame and fortune. In place of strolls down predictable paths, protagonists embrace exploration into new, unexplored territories. They are lightning bolts of bravery and nonconformity.
The Seeker’s Journey unfolds in a series of acts, as in a play, that together offer a liberating metaphor for our students. One that frees them of set “paths” as they chart their own way.
Most stories begin with an ordinary person in an ordinary world. Luke Skywalker is a farm boy from the dusty planet of Tatooine. He rises from these humble beginnings to help save the galaxy. Katniss Everdeen is an ordinary sixteen-year-old from District 12—her ordinary world. She later sparks the overturn of a totalitarian government. Moana lives on her island protected by the reef. Dorothy begins in the prairies of Kansas …
Stories take off when the hero/ines leave the safety and security of familiar paths to fulfill their greater purpose. This is the call to adventure. Luke’s call to adventure is an urgent plea from Princess Leia delivered by R2-D2. Katniss volunteers to take her sister’s place in the Hunger Games competition. Moana goes outside the reef to find Maui and restore the heart of Te Fiti. Dorothy’s call comes when Toto—representing her intuition—is captured and escapes. Dorothy follows Toto (her instincts) and runs away from home with him.
Hero/ines respond to the call to adventure by venturing out of the comfort and predictability of their ordinary worlds. They step off their predictable paths and take a leap of faith into the unknown to achieve a dream, confront a challenge, change a life.
Seekers come to similar crossroads. They may become disillusioned with the path they’re on. They no longer see the status quo through rose-colored glasses. Their call to adventure is not always a quest; sometimes it’s a need to find peace. To step outside their comfort zones to something scarier but better. To discover who they truly are. Some question the path when they are twelve years old, others twenty years old—for some, it may not happen until they draw near retirement.
Most students start their educational journeys by following a well-trodden path—the educational pathway that well-meaning adults forge for them. They will follow the signs along the path and trust that they will lead to a fulfilling destination. They will play by the rules and do what is asked of them: competing in fixed games, working hard to get good grades and test scores, applying to all the elite colleges in hopes of later getting prestigious jobs, and on and on. They will buy into the idea that “end destination = job” (teacher, scientist, electrician, lawyer, YouTuber, etc.). And so they will fixate on this end destination.
Inevitably they will come to a point—a crossroads—where they begin to question the path. As they travel along, a sense of conflict and unsettlement will arise. Motivation will wane. They will start to realize: maybe the path they’re on isn’t their own. Well-meaning adults will cajole and coerce students to get back on the path. But in the Seeker’s Journey, students will hear a different message that reassures them: “This internal conflict is normal. It opens the door to an enormous opportunity.”
Good mentors point out that the urge to question is a sign that students are ready to explore. To seek answers to life’s big questions when the destination may be unknown. In their ordinary world, their path will have them thinking too little and too small … only asking, “What’s my end destination? What do I want to be?” The crossroads may in fact be the start of their call to adventure.
An adventure is different:
These questions have to do with what you want to do (growth game), not just what you want to be (fixed game). These are the questions that precede the end destination question.
They respect the uniqueness of each traveler’s journey: there are no cookie-cutter paths for hero/ines.
Hearing the call to adventure represents a departure from the ordinary world and an urge to see what the world has to offer. As Joseph Campbell notes, “destiny has summoned the hero and transferred his spiritual center of gravity from within the pale of his society to a zone unknown.”15 It’s transferring your center of gravity from predefined paths to a zone unknown. This is where the adventure begins.
Reflect honestly on your own life. Have the most meaningful things you’ve done been leaps of faith or the result of traveling on a straight path? Has your journey been punctuated with twists and turns, dead ends and detours? So many of our most cherished experiences were not super-predictable. An unexpected opportunity came, and we took a chance! On a good day, we trusted ourselves and acted out of courage and authenticity.
Or sometimes we didn’t take the leap but were catapulted into an adventure nonetheless. In the Hero’s Journey, the call to adventure typically comes to the protagonist. Gandalf seeks out Frodo to take the ring out of the Shire. Peter Parker is bitten by a radioactive spider. Dorothy is swept up by a tornado.
In the Seeker’s Journey, whether or not the call to adventure comes to you, it must surely come from you. Students must choose to seek the call. They must listen attentively for the call from within themselves. This is no passive listening. It’s an active listening that involves search and research.
You have to listen inwardly to who you are, how you are wired, and where you thrive. There’s nothing more exhausting than being pushed from the outside to reach higher and live bigger. Your calling is not imposed from the outside. It must be cultivated from the inside out. To hear the call we first must learn how to listen for it.
When you’re on a path, you aren’t listening to yourself; you’re on autopilot following external directions. Stepping off the path and listening inwardly is an intentional disruption of the script. How do you listen to and evaluate the things you gravitate to?
Ask yourself: How do you listen to and evaluate what music you like? If you were to listen to a new artist we recommend, what would you do? Most likely, the process would go something like this:
This is how students expand their self-knowledge about what music they like. They use a similar process for discovering all sorts of preferences, from cheeses to books to blockbuster movies.
Why not apply it to their vocational exploration? When we ask them about their life aspirations, cue the “deer in the headlights” responses. Cue the hemming, hawing, and struggling to say something that sounds true.
But when we ask them about music/movies/Netflix series/sports teams they like? Cue the clarity and confidence. Suddenly they know exactly what they like and why.
What’s the difference? Students have a concrete decision-making process for evaluating music. They’ve learned to listen for what moves them.
They weren’t born with good taste. They developed a sense of what they like and dislike through trial and error. After tasting enough ice cream flavors, they realized they like mint chocolate chip or raspberry sherbet the best.
The more we try things out while tuning in to how minds, bodies, and spirits respond to each thing, the better we understand ourselves. We come to know which flavors we love and which artists move us. This applies to everything from musical taste to what we want to do in life.
For more complicated decisions, we start to develop a system or categories of what to tune in to. When you’ve listened to your share of music, you learn to determine what you like by evaluating the artist’s production, lyrics, and voice.
In the same way, when you listen to your life, you will learn to determine what it’s authentically about by evaluating your values, your strengths, and the skills you’re motivated to master. You will shift from listening to outside orders to inside intuitions. Because they are who you are. The more we listen, explore, and discover, the more likely we are to hear our call.
In sum, students can’t know what to do with their lives before they understand who they are. So, when they notice something that piques their interest? We encourage them to listen. When there’s a spark for photo editing, environmental justice, 3D animation, criminal law, food science? Fan the flames. Encourage them to follow their curiosity, even if you can’t see where it may lead. Direction over destination. The more students tune in to what they’re drawn to, the more they’ll find their way.
What Are You Called to Do?
Hearing the call is not the same as heeding the call. When hero/ines hear the call, they do not bravely fly into action. No, sir—they initially say no, thank you. They run away or hide. When Luke Skywalker is asked to go to Alderaan to learn the way of the Force and help save the galaxy, he says: “Alderaan? I’m not going to Alderaan. I’ve got to go home. It’s late…” When Moana’s grandmother tells her the ocean chose her to voyage beyond the reef, she says: “But why would it choose me? I don’t even know how to make it past the reef … I can’t…” Hero/ines resist their calls to adventure out of doubt, insecurity, and fear of the unknown. And so do our students. They self-sabotage, make excuses, procrastinate, or dodge their call entirely. Accepting the call to adventure is embracing change. Depending on one’s risk tolerance, this may sound bold and exciting or dangerous and terrifying. One thing is for sure, adventures are not for the faint of heart.
We adopt performance and passion mindsets out of a desperation for safety and certainty. The call to adventure means loosening this death grip. The more important the call, the more scared we are to fail. Seems safer to say no, thank you, and remain in Kansas with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry. The devil you know seems better than the one you don’t.
When hero/ines refuse the call, mentors can guide them through this impasse. Think Dumbledore from Harry Potter, Gandalf from Lord of the Rings, Mary Poppins, and, from The Wizard of Oz, Glinda the Good Witch, Scarecrow, Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Wizard himself.
We can guide our students through their trepidation by recognizing and reframing these critical crossroads (“Hey, this looks like a call to adventure”). We can instill confidence that they have what it takes (“You were built for this”). We can’t do life for them, but we can talk them off ledges and encourage them to fly.
One major way we support them is by validating that fearing the call is universal. Most people aren’t thrilled about stepping outside comfort zones. Normalize and name it: “Fear of the unknown is what makes life an adventure. It’s tempting to just stay in our comfort zones. But what you’re doing—venturing out to try something new—is brave.”
When our students are at an anxious crossroads, or struggling with a momentous decision, invite them to air out their fears: “Of course you’re uneasy. This is a huge decision. Decisions like this are scary for most people. What’re you most nervous about?” This framing sends the message that we understand the uneasiness and we’re not afraid to look these feelings in the eye.
We can help them identify potential roadblocks to accepting the call. What’s the fear here? Is it impostor syndrome, fear of failure or the unknown? Or are you sensing that this isn’t the right call for you?
What’s Holding You Back from Answering the Call?
Hero/ines eventually realize that some things about themselves or the status quo need to change. They may need to let go of some old scripts, habits, and ways of seeing themselves. They may need to challenge themselves. And so, after much ado, they commit to the journey. We call it taking the leap. Dorothy sets out on the yellow brick road. Luke leaves the safety of his planet. Moana ventures beyond the reef.
Taking a leap is committing to a direction, even when you don’t know exactly where you’ll end up. Leaps come at inflection points: choosing a college or a major, or deciding which job to take or city to move to. It’s rejecting external pressure and making life decisions based on our intrinsic purpose. The term “leap” is instructive; when we sign that acceptance letter or job offer, it might feel like there is no going back. It’s on this precipice that we can become terrorized by decision paralysis. How can we be sure this is the right decision? What if it’s the wrong choice?
When we’re on a path, it can feel like there is only one right way amid a sea of dead ends. But when we’re on an adventure, the direction we head is far more important than where we end up. The journey is the destination. It means that the process of decision-making is far more valuable than a particular outcome. This shift in mindset, shedding the notion that we must have a clear destination mapped out, is profoundly liberating.
Viewing life as an adventurous journey, with no “right” path forward, takes the pressure off students. They will recognize that they don’t have to have everything figured out. They don’t need to know exactly what they want to do. In college, Belle was a chemistry major and Tim was a sports media and marketing major. They use little chemistry, sports media, or marketing in their current careers. Yet pursuing these majors was invaluable in discovering what careers weren’t right for them. They had to head in a lot of “wrong” directions to get their bearings. Kind of like using your GPS to navigate in the city. You have to start walking in some direction, any direction, before the GPS gets calibrated and you can see whether you’re headed in the right direction.
If we’re honest, most of us have headed in “wrong” directions to find direction in our own lives. So why expect it to be any different for our students? Instead of constantly pushing them forward on the conveyor belt of education, let’s support them to just start walking in some purposeful directions. When true exploration is happening, it’s not a straight line. We zig and we zag. The guiding principles of purpose are like a compass for aiming us in purposeful directions. Using our compass means considering at various inflection points, “Which direction is the best way for me to…”
Often we won’t know the answers to these questions until we first take a leap of faith in this direction. The magic only happens when we start moving. Kind of like how a bike gets balanced once you start pedaling. A car can change direction once you step on the gas. And the Red Sea parted when people stepped into the water.
Even with the best intel, we can’t predict the future. We’ll never know for sure where a college, major, or career will lead us. Ultimately, outcomes in life are outside our control. But we do have control over the intentionality we bring to our decisions. While we won’t always make the right choices, we can make them for the right reasons. When we lack information, intentionality becomes even more important. Are we intentionally making choices to use our strengths and skills to meet a need aligned with our core values? If yes, we’re making the right choices, regardless of the outcome.
Placing intentions over outcomes frees Seekers to open their minds and get curious about their future. It transforms uncertainty into opportunity. Dread turns to wonder. It allows them to say: “I don’t know what I want to do, but I’m excited to figure it out.” They will recognize that even “wrong turns” are valuable learning opportunities. Good mentoring can draw out gems from even the most miserable experiences. Why do you hate that class or job? Does it not align with your values? Are you not using strengths you delight in? Are you not learning the skills that matter to you? Are you feeling like what you’re doing doesn’t matter, that you can’t make an impact?
What Decision Will I Commit To and Why?
Almost as soon as hero/ines take the leap and cross the threshold, they’re tested. Luke struggles to wield his lightsaber and must go through many trials and tribulations to become a Jedi. Harry is tested by the sorting hat, on the Quidditch field, and throughout his time at Hogwarts. Katniss must risk her life while fighting many enemies.
Students will encounter setbacks and failure when they accept their call to adventure. That’s the price of admission. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Deep down, we all want to be pushed to our potential, to see what we’re capable of. As discussed in chapter 5, if we run interference to keep students from facing any challenges, we rob them of the chance to grow and become their best selves.
Rather than helping students avoid inevitable setbacks, we can teach them how to respond well to adversity. This begins with us. Our attitude toward failure determines our response.
We tend to appraise obstacles in one of two ways—as a challenge or as a threat. When we believe we have the resources to cope with the adversity, we see it as a challenge to overcome. If we believe the problem is bigger than our resources, we see it as a threat. Feeling prepared turns a final exam into a challenge; it’s an opportunity to demonstrate our mastery. Competing with three other teammates for the last spot on the varsity lacrosse team may feel like a threat—we could get cut from the team. It’s not the obstacle itself, but our perception of the obstacle that determines whether it’s a growth opportunity or a threat to our well-being.
Mentors play a key role in reframing setbacks as obstacles to overcome, instead of threats to be avoided. Imagine the following documentary following a first-gen student we’ll call Ana.
Act 1, Scene 1. Ana is taking freshman English her fall semester. She’s determined to do her best on her first essay assignment, worth 40 percent of her course grade. After hours of working at the library, she completes the essay and submits it online. She smiles to herself, self-satisfied: “Slam dunk. I got this.”
Act 1, Scene 2. The next week, she’s sitting in her dorm room, and gets a notification that essay grades have been posted. She feels a pang of nerves before opening the course website to check on her results. Ana quickly reassures herself. After all, she had mastered six AP courses, was the valedictorian, and one of only a handful of students from her high school to go on to college. She reminds herself of how happy her teachers were when she was accepted into Boston College. She has to do them all proud.
Ana clicks on her graded essay. Gut punch. It’s covered with corrections and the professor’s evaluation at the end reads: This paper needs a lot of work. I am concerned with everything from grammatical structure to content. I recommend you go immediately to the academic support center on campus to get help with your writing … C-.
Act 1, Scene 3, Take 1. That night she lies in bed sleepless, her mind racing. She asks herself the critical question:
Why?
I worked all week on that essay. I gave it all I’ve got. How could I have done so poorly?
The story Ana tells herself will make all the difference in her academic journey. For many underrepresented students like Ana, it’s easy to see the grade as proof they aren’t cut out for college. She’s one of a handful of students of color at this university, and of these, even fewer are first-gen students from underresourced high schools. Recognizing they’re different from their college peers makes them constantly question: “Do people like me succeed here?”
A common response among students from Ana’s background is to interpret the poor result of their efforts as confirmation of their worst fear: I don’t belong here. Admissions made a mistake by accepting me. I can’t handle the academics here. “Belonging uncertainty,” along with financial constraints, is one of the primary reasons people drop out of college.
When students interpret setbacks as failure, they disengage from the campus community and withdraw from peers and faculty. Rather than getting more help, they feel pressured to prove they belong by succeeding on their own. Asking for help becomes akin to waving the white flag. This isolation only perpetuates further failure. And ultimately, they succumb to their worst fears. They can give up on school, a direction that can get set from that first disappointing result on a paper.
At the end of the semester, Ana seriously questions whether she can ever fit in academically and socially at this college.
CUT!
This is not the only way for Ana to interpret her poor result.
Act 1, Scene 3, Take 2. After receiving her grade, Ana wakes up early the next morning from a restless night’s sleep. She decides that her essay grade is a wake-up call: her writing strategy clearly didn’t work. To get the results she wants, she has to double down. She starts by meeting with her professor to see what she can do to improve. They end up having a thirty-minute conversation that extends beyond concerns about the paper. She tells the professor that she is a first-generation student and that she came to college to become a secondary ed math teacher, but that she is doing poorly in her math courses as well. The professor encourages her to go to the academic support center to get her essay edited, and to get help with math. That she can get free tutoring from the center is news to Ana. The professor encourages her to keep dropping by for office hours so they can get to know each other. This also amazes Ana: she thought that office hours were for specific questions about the course. The professor discloses that she herself was a first-gen student who shifted career tracks because of academic difficulties in her original major. She reassures Ana that she has options—she can keep working at math or try other majors. The professor connects Ana with a senior from a similar background. Taking Ana under her wing, this older peer shares her own story of struggling during freshman year. She invites Ana to hang out with her friend group. She lets Ana in on a secret: fall semester of freshman year is tough for most everyone—sticking it out is the name of the game.
Act 1, Scene 4. Having explored other options, Ana returns to her original passion for secondary education and math. Despite the challenges, Ana graduates with honors and eventually enters the Donovan Urban Teaching Scholars Program, a one-year MA in education opportunity that provides a generous financial package and tuition support. She is developing a nonprofit organization focused on mentoring first-gen high school students in the college application process and transition to freshman year.
CUT!
Normalizing the experience of struggle as a common aspect of the college experience is one of the most helpful ways we can reframe challenges and difficulties for students. Attributional reframing is the act of helping students view failures as opportunities to adjust their strategies and levels of effort, rather than the result of factors they can’t change. Reframing boosts students’ motivation, resilience, emotional regulation, and academic outcomes in elementary, high school, and college students.
Compared with their peers, freshmen who watched video-recorded interviews of upperclassmen talking about overcoming their initial academic struggles had higher grade point averages and were much less likely to drop out after their first year.16 Knowing that being tested is a common college experience (which can be conquered) makes students respond more adaptively. They see a test as a challenge, rather than a threat.
Students can benefit greatly from the reminder by trusted mentors that everyone faces challenges and failures. Failures do not mean you are a failure. Instead of thinking “am I the problem?” think “how can I be the solution?” Instead of wondering “am I a loser since I don’t have many friends?” wonder “how can I open up to making more friends?” Instead of thinking “I failed the exam, I must be stupid” think “how can I do better next time?” It can help to remind students of the times they’ve overcome challenges—proof of their ability to overcome the next challenge. Finally, they can be reminded of all the internal resources they have at their disposal. They can tap into their authentic values. Use their strengths to address challenges at hand. Look for opportunities in the challenges to build universal skills. They can remind themselves of the positive impact they are striving to make.
When people are struggling, a simple question can turn the tides: Are you struggling because this is important or because it’s impossible? If we’re focused on the impossibilities or low odds of success, we want to give up. If we focus on the importance of the task, we want to double down. Important things take hard work. This reframing can increase both academic perseverance and performance.17
How Will I Respond to Obstacles?
Even after overcoming various tests and challenges, the hero/ine’s journey can still get harder when they arrive at the lowest point. It’s that moment when we’re held in suspense and tension, wondering if the hero/ine will make it out alive.18 Harry’s ordeal comes when he faces Voldemort for the first time, nearly dying in the process. Luke’s ordeal is watching Obi-Wan sacrifice himself to Darth Vader. Sometimes it’s an internal struggle. In the final showdown, Moana is faced with whether she can find the courage inside to answer the call of the ocean and persist in the quest to save her people.
The ordeal represents the existential crisis of the hero/ine’s journey: the moment of facing one’s greatest fear.19 We call this the turning point: it’s the moment in life when things aren’t going well. No matter how well prepared we are, some life challenges will get the best of us. Not all obstacles can be overcome. We will fail.
Sometimes we don’t have the ability to move forward, no matter how much we would like to. There will come a time when we all will wave the white flag, admit defeat, and move on. The challenge is in knowing when to do that.
Some vivid examples of people facing the ordeal come from the corporate world. Twitter, Facebook, Amazon, and Netflix have all faced near-death experiences. But they prevailed, rising to great heights of success … all because of how they responded to failure. When faced with their existential threat/near-death experience, here’s what happened: they pivoted.
A business pivots when it keeps its vision but changes its core business strategy. The best businesses combine an ability to recognize when they are off course with the courage to drastically change direction. Twitter did not start as the media platform that has determined the results of presidential elections. It was initially a podcasting company called Odeo. Odeo pivoted when Apple introduced its own native podcast application in iTunes. Hence a side project of Jack Dorsey became Odeo’s main business and Twitter was formed.
Amazon began as “only” an online bookstore before becoming the “everything” store. Today, 60 percent of its revenue comes from cloud computing services. Netflix wasn’t always the one-stop shop for streaming TV shows and movies. In the mid-1990s, it was founded as a rent-by-mail DVD delivery service, a far cry from their current competition with Hollywood. In the early 2000s, Facebook was a glorified online “yearbook” where college students could rate whether their classmates were “hot or not.”
None of these companies had a predefined grand plan for how to end up at the top of the food chain. Their successes were not due to the paths they initially chose. It was their ability to pivot: to understand their customers, to adapt to emerging technology, and to learn from their competitors. These companies weren’t afraid to reorient themselves every step of their journey. Pivoting allowed them to adapt to new information and make informed decisions. Pivoting means having the courage to change when a strategy no longer works, all while having a clear vision for the new direction. In the same way, Seekers pivot onto a new course when it’s time for a new strategy.
Taking up the call to adventure is not all threats, trials, and failures. There are definite payoffs for hero/ines. These range from saving the world to saving their own souls.20 Katniss and Peeta survive the Hunger Games and claim victory. Luke acquires the blueprint of the Death Star and saves the galaxy. Harry acquires the Sorcerer’s Stone, and House Gryffindor wins the cup.
For Seekers, the reward may be a new set of skills, strengths, and insights to keep for the ongoing journey. It may be an important epiphany about themselves or the world. These rewards may all be part of a newfound purpose. Not surprisingly, newfound purpose often comes with a sense of being enlivened, a sense of joy, a spark that has been lit.
This is the opposite of apathy, and yet it is not the kind of superficial and synthetic happiness so many people strive for. The spark that comes from purpose is different. It’s an aliveness we feel to the core because we’re into something deeply good, and bigger than ourselves. Something that connects us with others and with humanity. Something that grounds us in the awareness that we belong. We matter. We recognize that we live in a world of pain, and that pain doesn’t necessarily dissipate in the presence of sparks. Sparks have the mysterious ability to be felt in the midst of suffering.
We intentionally use the term “spark” rather than “happiness” or “positive emotions,” lest people think that meaningfulness has to feel light and airy. On the contrary, the purposeful work may be solemn, dignified, and filled with gravity. Hospice workers. Child oncologists. Search and rescue workers. And many, many other careers involve stress and stamina, both physical and emotional. For example, many of Belle’s colleagues do clinical research, and policy work associated with trauma and injustice. Because humans tend to notice the things they persistently ask questions about, these colleagues often see more than their fair share of darkness, pain, and cruelty in the world. They can’t unsee what they’ve seen. They have to work hard at self-care, lest they burn out. They do this work at great personal cost because they want to make the world a better place for future generations. That potential makes the work feel meaningful.
How do we know if work feels meaningful? What is the feeling of meaningfulness? In other words, if sparks aren’t the same as the feelings of happiness the world chases after, what are they? And how do they enliven and enable us?
|
Type of spark |
How does it enliven/enable us? |
|---|---|
|
Joy |
Lightens us up so we can play. |
|
Gratitude |
Gives us a sense of the blessings in our lives that we can give back to others. |
|
Serenity |
Calms us so we can savor the present moment. |
|
Interest |
Tunes us in to something in the world so we can learn with curiosity and fascination. |
|
Hope |
Helps us believe that things can and will change for the better so that we can trust in, wait for, long for something or someone. |
|
Type of spark |
How does it enliven/enable us? |
|---|---|
|
Pride |
Makes us conscious of our worth and dignity so we can do what matters to us rather than simply seek human approval. |
|
Amusement |
Opens our eyes to the humor in things, so we can take ourselves less seriously and enjoy the ride. |
|
Inspiration |
Enables us to draw energy from what’s good in the world, and to add to it. |
|
Awe |
Gives us the sense we are part of something much larger than ourselves. |
|
Love |
Allows us to share all of the above sparks with others—individuals and communities. |
Sparks don’t just feel good. They have a physiological impact on our bodies that changes the way we think and act. They increase the scope of our visuospatial attention,21 so we can literally see more of the world. They allow us to access more parts of our brain and memory, so that we can understand more of the world.22 They reduce our inhibitions, fostering courage to venture forth in the world. They flush our bodies with oxytocin, improving our ability to connect with others. They make us more likely to trust other people,23 which in turn makes them trust us. This is associated with forming stronger, longer-lasting bonds with individuals and support networks.24 And yes, they can also make us feel better—bolstering sleep quality, immune systems, life satisfaction, and reducing mental and physical health symptoms.25
Different sparks enliven us in different ways. Joy opens us to creativity and play. Interest opens our ability to focus, remain curious, and seek out information and experiences. Serenity opens us to the present moment, slowing us down and allowing us to soak it all in. Pride opens our ambitions and gives us pleasure in the outcomes of our work. Love opens our hearts, so we are motivated by more than egos or selfish desires. It’s the key spark that keeps us honest, lest we lose sight of our impetus for service and contribution in the world. Love is also the backpack that holds all the other types of sparks. It enables us to experience all other sparks in concert with those we love, making the journey all the more sweet.
Together these sparks perfectly equip us for the adventure that is the Seeker’s Journey—opening our eyes to the world around us, our minds to possibility, and our hearts to other people. Interest, joy, and amusement provide the attention and creativity needed to hear the call. Pride and inspiration give us the courage we need to accept the call and take the leap. Hope and serenity make us resilient in the face of adversity, allowing us to overcome tests and challenges.
Finally, sparks can be signposts that inform and confirm we’re going in the right direction. We can go down the list of sparks with students to identify which ones (if any) have been present on their journeys. Do they still experience joy and amusement sailing or playing basketball? Do they find computer programming inherently interesting? Are they inspired by the art they’re creating? When there’s been an absence of sparks for an extended period, that’s a sign. It may be time to pivot.
To be clear, meaningfulness is not about feeling good all the time. The reality of life is that there are many moments that are boring and mundane. A study of professionals across various occupations found that people can’t sustain a constant sense of meaningfulness in their work.26 We’d flame out if we were burning cauldrons of sparks all day, all the time. Instead, meaningfulness is episodic. Work is punctuated by meaningful moments.
The magic number appears to be 20 percent. People who spent at least 20 percent of their time on “meaningful” activities were significantly less likely to suffer burnout than peers.27 This finding is consistent with the Pareto principle, or the 80/20 rule.28 According to this principle, 80 percent of outcomes are driven by 20 percent of actions.
By extrapolating this rule of thumb, we propose the 80/20 Purpose Ratio: at least 20 percent of any given activity should spark you. If you have that, you’re good. Some workplaces have put in place policies consistent with the 80/20 Purpose Ratio. Google allows employees to work on whatever they want to 20 percent of the time. This time has not gone wasted—it’s inspired personal meaning and innovations like Google News, Gmail, and AdSense. What’s good for employees is good for employers.
From time to time, we can consider whether the extracurriculars and work we choose to do meet this 80/20 threshold. If yes, consider your pursuits meaningful.
An alum (whom we will call Liza) of our class and True North program (our college curriculum on purpose discovery) explained how she’s used her elements of purpose to make decisions for her future:
Throughout my undergraduate and postgraduate experiences, True North has been a reminder to stay present. I have realized how easily life can fall into a routine, and I was constantly focused on the next step without checking in with where I was in the present. Each week I reminded myself to think through my job, my hobbies, and my relationships and question them. How was I cultivating my skills and developing my strengths? What parts of my job made me excited and passionate, and which parts felt draining? Working on a COVID research team this past year has been both challenging and rewarding. By taking the time to reflect on my elements of purpose, I could sense that while my passion for working with patients had stayed the same, I had found a new interest and strength in diagnostic medicine and research. These realizations gave me the courage to detour from my path into nursing programs, take some more classes, and now apply for training as a physician assistant. Essentially True North gave me the tools to be able to check in with myself and the confidence to be able to pivot in my career journey.
For a generation that over-worries about wasting time and losing a place on the game board, Liza’s journey provides perspective about the importance of side trips. There is joy and benefit in trying things out. Explorations serve a great purpose. For Liza, it provided important clarification of what she wanted to do. And the language of purpose provided a way to understand what she did and did not like about a field.
Changing course doesn’t have to be an about-face. In basketball, a pivot step is keeping one foot on the ground while moving the other foot. Pivoting provides navigational nuance; it helps us to recognize what should stay the same and what needs to change.
Oftentimes when we have found a direction that works for us or experienced some success, we cling to it. Stability feels good amid uncertainty. Yet the Seeker’s Journey never proceeds in one direction forever. Humans are remarkably adaptable: the longer we are exposed to pain or pleasure, the more these sensations dissipate over time.29 Biological habituation underpins the platitude “Good things don’t last.” It’s why our favorite shoes eventually lose their appeal, the car we were so excited to drive is no longer thrilling, and the fifth piece of chocolate is not nearly as enjoyable as the first. It’s why we get used to cleaning the dishes, raking the leaves, and making our beds. It’s how that workout you used to not even finish now feels like a breeze. Thankfully, it’s also why the heartbreaking pain of a loss eventually subsides.
We can only sustain intense joy or pain for so long until we return to equilibrium. Exposure breeds familiarity. Stability leads to comfort, and comfort leads to complacency. It’s at moments like these, when we have overcome challenges and tasted real success, that we must take the road back and recommit to the journey. Change is not a bad thing, it’s what makes life an adventure. Arthur Ashe put it this way: “Success is a journey, not a destination. The doing is often more important than the outcome.”30
Hero/ines like Katniss, Luke, Dorothy, and Moana grow up to become adults as they traverse their respective journeys. They learn to harness their powers, become wiser and more battle-hardened. Our journey will change us, too. It will transform how we understand ourselves and the world.
The pathway model is problematic because it visualizes pushing students along a straight line: start at point A, travel to point B, and continue all the way through to Z. But the Seeker’s Journey is more like a circle. Stories end and begin, end and begin. And while every so often we may return to our roots, we are not the same. We are wiser, more confident, and the better for it, battle scars and all.
This is the ultimate reward of the Seeker’s Journey: transforming into the best versions of ourselves. And as we grow, so too does our purpose. The act of pursuing purpose evolves our purpose. And so we need to consistently conduct heart-checks, asking ourselves:
If so, journey on. If not, you now have the tools to find your way. The more we embrace the recursive nature of life’s journey, the better we come to understand ourselves.
The Seeker’s Journey is ubiquitous. Look for it in movies, books, and the real-life hero/ines around you. Refer to these stories for examples of hearing the call or refusing it, taking the leap and being challenged, or facing a turning point. Use the Seeker’s Journey to share your own story with your students. The ups and downs, the good, bad, and ugly. Examples help students to expect and embrace these parts of their own journeys.
Below is a template to help you articulate your personal journey in dialogue with students:
Role-Modeling the Call to Adventure
Below is a template for drawing out your students’ stories:
Students’ Call to Adventure
The Seeker’s Journey