“There’s always room for a story that can transport people to another place.” JK Rowling
Image generated using Sora
Earlier this week, my wife and I were invited to an IPO at the Bombay Stock Exchange by the co-founders of a company that was going public.
What made the occasion special wasn’t just that these were dear friends of more than a quarter century, but that over the last seventeen years they’d pivoted twice—each time reshaping how television and broadcasting work, and in the process rising to global leadership.
When the founder-CEO rose to speak, it wasn’t about numbers. It was about belief.
He spoke about the journey—about building together, about sacrifices made by families, about conviction during moments when the future was deeply uncertain. And then, toward the end of his address, he made a promise.
That they would keep innovating.
That they would build the best software and solutions for their customers.
And that by doing this well, shareholder value would follow.
Listening to him speak, I found myself agreeing. Of course the claim couldn’t be proven nor did I try to carefully evaluate the causal chain. But the story felt right.
Thinking, Fast and Slow
At an IPO, almost everything that matters lies in the future. The numbers tell you where the company has been, but the decision investors are making is about where it might go. Under that kind of uncertainty, we don’t just look for evidence. We look for coherence.
I was reminded of this while rereading Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman1.
In it, Kahneman writes about how our minds prefer stories that make sense over ones that are complete. Faced with uncertainty, we’re drawn to narratives that are internally consistent, morally aligned, and easy to follow—even when the future they describe can’t yet be verified.
The founder’s promise did exactly that.
Innovation leads to better products. Better products create customer value. Customer value, over time, becomes shareholder value.
It’s a clean chain. Perhaps too clean. But in moments like these, simplicity is a feature. It allows people to move forward together.
I don’t think anyone in that room mistook the story for certainty. The speech itself was full of humility, gratitude, and acknowledgement of how unpredictable the journey had been. But the story gave the uncertainty a shape. It made the future feel navigable.
And that’s often what good storytelling does at pivotal moments. It doesn’t eliminate risk. It helps people live with it.
Try this week
Pay attention to how often, at work, you talk about the future.
In strategy discussions. In roadmap reviews. In all-hands meetings where the next chapter is being described.
Notice when the story you’re telling is especially clean—when cause and effect line up neatly, and uncertainty stays politely in the background. There’s nothing wrong with that. We need these stories to act, to commit, to move.
Just pause long enough to ask: What is this story doing for the people listening?
Is it promising certainty? Or is it helping them live with uncertainty a little more confidently? You don’t need to stop telling these stories. Just become more aware of when—and why—you reach for them.
1 Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman