Years ago, I was a temp at Kroger when I stumbled on a process that burned through thousands — probably tens of thousands — of dollars every year. A co-worker was printing fifty-page reports for about 150 store managers every week, taking three days of her time and reams of paper. Each packet went into a fresh interoffice envelope and was mailed out. The kicker? The managers only read a handful of pages; the rest went into storage, or more often, the recycle bin.
I didn’t accuse anyone of waste. I just asked, “Why are you doing it that way?”
She explained the process from beginning to end, and in the middle of her explanation, she sighed over how little anyone actually read.
That sigh was a clue: she was already frustrated, already primed to hear another way.
I listened, nodded, and then asked: “Couldn’t it be just as effectively delivered electronically?”
No one had ever considered it. She went to IT, who had a simple, ready-made solution. She took it to our boss, giving me credit. They offered me a job the next week.
That little exchange was a classic example of editing the narrative. She already had a story in her head:
“Every week, I print and mail these packets. Managers get them, read their parts, and store the rest.”
By asking her to tell it out loud, she could hear the oddities herself. I didn’t destroy her story. I kept the same characters, the same beats, and the same outcome. I just swapped a detail — the delivery method — and it changed the ending entirely: faster, cheaper, easier.
People carry around narratives in their heads:
When you try to replace someone’s narrative — especially in politics — you trigger defensiveness. They dig in, not because they’re right, but because you’ve threatened their identity.
When you gently edit their narratives:
This is why “Why are you doing it that way?” is so powerful. It asks for the story before you offer the edit. And it forces them to hear the story. If you frame things just right, the absurdities in any position jump out not just to you, but to the person explaining it to you.
Think about how this plays out on the national stage.
Leaders who shifted policy without bloodshed often did it by editing the national narrative.
- Ask for the story – “Why are you doing it that way?” is your entry point.
- Listen without pouncing – Let them lay out the beats.
- Change one detail – Delivery method, order of steps, definition of the goal.
- Leave the rest intact – So they can still see themselves in the story.
- Let them own the change – That’s how it spreads.
Some changes work fast, not because the idea is brilliant, but because the person is ready. My co-worker’s frustration was the open door. All I had to do was walk through it with a better ending.
You can watch for those moments:
The best time to edit a narrative is when the storyteller already wants a rewrite.
You can save a company thousands, streamline a law, or shift a public debate without a single shouting match. You don’t have to burn the story down; you just have to edit the narrative.
Because once someone hears their own story with one better detail, they can’t un-hear it. And from there, change is only a matter of time.
Ever wish you could change someone’s mind without getting into a shouting match? In my latest column, I show you the quiet, subversive art of editing the narrative—the single question that can save companies millions, dismantle bad laws, and even defuse political landmines without raising your voice. It’s not about destroying their story; it’s about tweaking one detail so they rewrite the ending themselves.
This approach works in business, politics, and even at the dinner table with your in-laws—and once you learn it, you’ll never debate the same way again.
Don’t just win arguments. Change the story.
Get 60% off with a PJ Media VIP membership using promo code FIGHT.