Would anyone watch a film or read the book about the story you’re living right now? Not what you did in the past. Not what you hope to do someday (I hate that word). I’m talking right here, right now. Is there something compelling that would cause others to lean in and wonder, “what’s going to happen next?”

Let’s face it, no one cares about a story of a guy reclining in a chair eating Cheetos day in and day out. (Unless the chair has magical flying powers in which to defeat alien invaders and save planet Earth from destruction). We want to experience tales that move us. With a hero to root for and a clear goal for them to shoot for.

Will there be obstacles along the way? Absolutely. But that’s par for the course. No struggle, no story. But you must get up and go. You can’t wait for someone to do it for you.

So what’s your story right now? What’s the wall you need to break through? What’s the difference you need to make?

Perhaps it’s an endeavor you need to begin. Maybe it’s a relationship that needs to be repaired. It could be a project you need to finish.  Whatever it is, have the courage and grit to take a step forward. Just one step. You can do this!

After all, that’s what hero’s do.

Some stories need changing.

This weekend, we hosted a screening of the documentary, Sex+Money: A National Search for Human Worth. The film highlights the issue of human trafficking and exploitation in the U.S.  For many, it was the first they had thought of the issue. And the impressions following the screening varied from reflective sadness to indignant anger.  It was clear to many that this was a story that needs changing and that they need to be a part of changing it.

How about you?

Is there a story that needs changing that you should be a part of?  Is there something in this world, in your community, or in your relationships that fires you up? Something that makes you think, “This should not be!”? That makes you think, “Someone should do something about that!”

Perhaps that someone is you?

You can gripe about it or you can do something about it. It’s up to you. But heroes do something, and I believe that’s who you are.

If you act, you’ll discover that you’re not alone. Others are passionate about the same thing. And it’s remarkable what a group of people who are fueled with the same passion and driven by the same goal can accomplish.

They make a difference. They change a story. They do what they’re called to do. They become who they were meant to be.

Why not you?

When developing characters for a story experts suggest you reveal them in three arenas of life:

(1) In Public
(2) In Person
(3) In Private

This provides a more well-rounded snapshot of who that character really is and helps your audience better connect with them.

Looking at ourselves in these three domains is beneficial to us as well.
If we want to get a better sense of who we are right now, it helps to reflect on it by honestly answering these questions:

(1) What am I like in front of other people (work, school, marketplace, etc.)?
(2) What am I like in my relationships?
(3) What am I like when no one is looking or around?

Create three columns on a sheet of paper and write down your responses.

Do they surprise you?

How large are the gaps between the arenas?

Do any of those gaps need closing?

There should be alignment throughout, but some differences are natural.

For instance, you may dance around in your whitey tighties at home, but that’s not an action to take in public.  However, if you find that you are really nice to people during the day and you come home and are cruel to your family, that’s something to work on. And if you dance around at home in your whitey tighties as a way to be cruel to your family, you’ve got even bigger issues, pal.

The point is, you are you wherever you are. If you’re not, you’ve got to be exhausted from playing so many parts. You don’t have to live that way anymore.

Instead, you can jump on the train of recovering hypocrites like me who have played the roles, put on our masks, and been different people. We still stumble from time to time, but we’re learning there’s a better story to live. One of authenticity and wholeness. Where we don’t have to pretend to be more or less than we really are.

Won’t you join us?

Likability. It’s something every protagonist must have in a story at some point.  Screenwriter Blake Snyder called this, “Save the Cat” in his book by the same name. It’s the part of a story when the hero, even if he/she is a jerk, does something that makes us want to root for them, such as save a cat. Although I’ve never come across a cat worth saving.

When you’re in a position of influence, likability is a must. It’s what gets folks wanting to join you on a journey, whether it’s a new venture, project, or presentation. If people like you, they are more apt to root for you. Bottom line.

Interestingly enough, sometimes it’s a flaw that makes us more likable.  Oprah Winfrey, with all her success, had a more favorable image when she struggled with her weight than when she appeared to have conquered it.  It made this mega-star, public figure more human. Thus, more likable. It made us think, “She’s just like us.”  And we like people like us. Flaws and all.

So what does this mean for you?

In your story, it’s important to embrace your humanity.

You might be quirky, weird, and different…
You might be gruff, tough, and obnoxious…
You might be jacked-up, messed-up, and fed-up…
You might be shy, reserved, and quiet…
You might be successful, interesting, and attractive…

Whoever you are, do something that gives us a glimpse of your heart, your humanity. Show us you’re like us. When we can relate to you, we may join you. And if nothing else, we will root for you.

Smile. Say something kind. Open a door. Help a kid. Pay for the meal. Laugh at yourself. Confess a flaw. Care about someone else. Admit a mistake. Save a cat.

It might seem small, but your likability is key to you living and telling better stories.

On the surface, Breaking Bad is a story about a middle-aged, high school chemistry teacher who’s diagnosed with lung cancer and turns to manufacturing meth to provide financial security for his family before he’s gone.

Initially, you’re rooting for the protagonist, Walter White. While not agreeing with his decision to produce meth, his motivation is understandable and relatable. Most of us would go to great lengths to take care of the ones we love.  So we excuse Walter’s trips across the moral state line because, well, he’s dying.

Over the course of several seasons, his descent becomes clearer. His decisions and behavior reveal that this story goes much deeper than originally thought, and a more grandiose premise begins to emerge: this a story driven by a protagonist who gradually evolves into the antagonist.

And we, the viewers, are the ones who must discern how far is too far. Where’s the moral line a hero must cross before he becomes the bad guy? The show dares us to make that judgement—and therein lies the brilliance of the show.

In a piece by the New York Times, the creator of Breaking Bad, Vince Gilligan, gives us a glimpse under the hood of the story:

“If there’s a larger lesson to ‘Breaking Bad,’ it’s that actions have consequences… I feel some sort of need for biblical atonement, or justice, or something… I want to believe there’s a heaven. But I can’t not believe there’s a hell.”

Gilligan later states…

“I’m pretty much agnostic at this point in my life. But I find atheism just as hard to get my head around as I find fundamental Christianity. Because if there is no such thing as cosmic justice, what is the point of being good? That’s the one thing that no one has ever explained to me. Why shouldn’t I go rob a bank, especially if I’m smart enough to get away with it? What’s stopping me?”

This reminds me of the words of C.S. Lewis,

“My argument against God was that the universe seemed so cruel and unjust. But how had I got this idea of just and unjust? A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line. What was I comparing this universe with when I called it unjust?”

Whether he realizes it or not, Gilligan is stumbling upon a profound truth and this is what makes Breaking Bad so good: It’s an echo of the gospel story.

It explores the reality that we, like Walt, have a bent toward descent and are capable of much more than we realize—for better or for worse. Instinctively, we know there’s a distinction between right and wrong, between justice and injustice, and this is a clue to a much larger story. We know we deserve justice, but hope we get redemption.

As the narrative of Breaking Bad unfolds, I’m curious to see if it ends with justice for Walt, getting what he deserves or redemption, getting what he doesn’t.

Regardless, it’s remarkable storytelling that’s worth watching.