The $10,000 Question
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.
Why It Worked
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.
Narrative Editing vs. Narrative Replacement
People carry around narratives in their heads:
- I’m a feminist.
- Anthropogenic climate change is real, and we can fix it.
- Republicans are evil Nazis.
- All liberals are just stupid.
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:
- They still recognize themselves in the story.
- They still “own” the process.
- The change feels like an improvement, not a repudiation.
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.
In Politics
Think about how this plays out on the national stage.
- Instead of telling a voter, “Your stance on climate is wrong,” you might ask, “Why are we focusing entirely on emission cuts? Isn’t there something else we can consider, since China’s emissions erase everything we cut?” You keep the concern — saving the planet — but change the method. And by not disagreeing with the other person, but rather accepting their premise, you are showing respect for their opinion, short-circuiting the impulse to argue.
- Instead of telling a city council, “This law is a waste,” you ask, “Why is this report being compiled every year when no one uses it?” The value — efficiency — stays, but the process changes.
In History
Leaders who shifted policy without bloodshed often did it by editing the national narrative.
- Abraham Lincoln kept the Union story intact but added the abolitionist ending.
- Ronald Reagan took the Cold War story and rewrote the finale from “endless stalemate” to “peace through strength.”
- Winston Churchill reframed Britain’s WWII role from “isolated survivor” to “linchpin of global resistance.”
How to Do It Yourself
- 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.
The Bonus Lesson: Prime the Edit
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:
- Listen for frustration — complaints, sighs, and “this is ridiculous” are cues.
- Offer the alternative as a question — “Would it work if we…?”
- Let them own the change — people protect what they’ve built themselves.
The best time to edit a narrative is when the storyteller already wants a rewrite.
The Takeaway
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.
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