The narrator that foretells failure is fluent, detailed, and certain. It’s easy to get drawn into the story.

“If I screw up this meeting, I’ll lose my job, and … well … I might never find work again. That will cause my marriage to fall apart and then my friends will abandon me. I’ll never get back on my feet, and I’ll die alone and penniless.”

It puts a lot of pressure on that one meeting. But that’s the only hook the narrator needs to weave together a seamless story of disaster.

Life doesn’t really work like this. When we err, we don’t enter free-fall; it’s more like falling forward as we walk uphill. Maybe we slip. Maybe we look foolish. But we’re still on the hill, and we can still get up and get back to climbing.

So listen to the other narrator. The one that speaks of possibility and purpose. She can be quiet at times, and less likely to be certain of her predictions, but she’s more likely to be right … and she intimately knows our greatest potential.