Creating Fiction

This isn’t about constructing a story. If it were, I’d start with motivations, characters, and let the plot unfold. But this isn’t about characters, either. It’s about humans. Everyday people creating stories in their minds just to get through the day. We assume we know what others think, but in doing so, we often craft versions of them that exist only in our imagination. We don’t just misunderstand people—we invent them, and once someone becomes a “character” in your mind, everything they do is filtered through that lens.

I saw this play out in a small but revealing way while coaching high school football. A friend came to one of our games late. The opposing school’s administration was selling tickets, and the person at the door let him in for free, casually saying, “Goleman is probably down by forty at this point.” To understand this, you have to know that my school didn’t have a strong football history, and the opposing school often beat us soundly.

When my friend walked in and saw the scoreboard, it showed a forty-point margin. He immediately assumed we were the ones losing. There were signs this wasn’t the case: the away team had the higher score, and our players were literally doing backflips at the end of the game. Those details were ignored. After a long, confusing conversation, he suddenly realized Barbara Goleman hadn’t lost by forty points. What he assumed was a scoreboard error was actually correct, and the theatrical display at the end wasn’t chaos or indifference but a celebration of victory. What he took as evidence of failure was actually proof of success. Once someone is cast in a role, everything becomes evidence that the casting was correct.

The same dynamic becomes more damaging when applied to people. When I was a student, a new player transferred in and joined the team. Before I ever spoke to him, I was told he was weird and awkward. From that point on, everything he said or did was filtered through that label. Eventually, he noticed. You could see him start to overcompensate, wavering between pretending not to care and desperately trying to fit in. Like quicksand, the more he reacted, the deeper he sank. He eventually convinced his parents to transfer him back to his old school.

Years later, I ran into him at a party with friends from that school. Talking to him then, it was obvious there had never been anything strange about him. He spoke confidently and comfortably. Nothing about him had changed. Only the story attached to him had. Removed from the environment that defined him, the character we had created no longer existed.

It’s tempting to write this off as kids being cruel, but the same patterns appear among adults. I saw it while working in recruiting and operations for a college football team. A new coworker was quickly labeled strange. Having seen the effects in high school, I never joined the gossip. Yet I didn’t defend her either. Reasonable comments she made were met with laughter and exchanged looks, as if she were speaking nonsense. Over time, she stopped talking in meetings. After work one day, she thanked me in tears for not ostracizing her. It made me wonder how much of our personality is shaped as a defense mechanism and how much of who we are is a response to how we’re perceived.

When the head coach was fired, new staff arrived, and the label disappeared. In a different environment, she spoke freely and confidently and eventually earned a promotion. Once someone is cast in a role, everything becomes evidence that the casting was correct—until the surroundings themselves change.

So how much of what we say and do is shaped by misunderstanding? How often are we truly listening, rather than waiting for our turn to speak? Perhaps the danger isn’t seeing people wrong, but never truly seeing them at all.

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