It Started as a Story: The Unexpected Power of Imagining a Life You Can’t Yet See

A talented young professional who once interned with me—and later became a mentee—encouraged me to share a practice I’ve used with her. It’s a practice that has served me well for more than thirty years.

It began during a difficult season at work. My team was great, but my boss was beyond awful. I could do the work, but I didn’t love it. I wanted to stay with the company—just not in that role. And for the life of me, I couldn’t see a way out.

So, the day after New Year’s, I followed some advice I had come across in a self-help book: I wrote a story about a better future.

At the time, it felt like pure fantasy. I imagined myself in my dream job. I wrote about doing meaningful work that I loved. I described a wonderful team around me. And, to stretch things even further, I wrote about the exciting travel my job would allow.

Then, feeling a little sheepish, I tucked the journal away and forgot about it—dismissing it as silly.

That fall, I came across the journal again. It opened to my New Year’s entry, and I sat there in disbelief.

As I reread what I had written ten months earlier, I realized something remarkable: the unimaginable had happened.

An unexpected opportunity had emerged at work. It wasn’t full-time—just a quarter-time assignment—but it involved travel, both domestic and international. I was doing work I loved with a team that felt like a perfect fit.

Back in January, there had been no conceivable way this could happen. And yet, somehow, it had.

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A Practice That Evolves

Over time, I’ve repeated and refined this process. I’ve learned more about how it works—and why. I’ve also shared it with others: university students, mentees, and participants in retreats I’ve led.

Like the colleague who encouraged me to share this, I’ve seen again and again the power of imagining and describing an ideal future in story form—and then watching life begin to move in that direction.

This practice is rooted in both ancient wisdom and modern neuroscience. In what follows, I’ll share both the “how-to” and a bit of insight into why it works so well.

Let’s begin with the how-to.

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Writing Your Ideal Future Story

Find a quiet place where you can spend an uninterrupted hour. Bring a notebook or journal and a pen.

I strongly encourage handwriting rather than typing. The physical act of writing by hand tends to make ideas more memorable and emotionally “sticky.”

Take a few slow breaths. Give yourself a moment to settle.

Choose a future date—typically six months to a year from now—and write it at the top of the page. For example, if today is March 15, 2026, you would write: March 15, 2027

Begin your story with:

“It is March 15, 2027…”

Then, in the first person and present tense, describe your ideal future.

It might sound like:

“It’s been an amazing year. The focus I’ve given to my health and well-being has paid off. I feel stronger, more energized, and happier than I have in a long time.”

Or:

“I look forward to my work each day. I’ve found a role that fits me. It allows me to use my strengths in meaningful ways, and I feel valued for what I bring.”

Or:

“My life feels balanced. I have time for work, family, and rest. I feel calm, focused, and present. I’m no longer constantly stressed or overextended.”

A few guidelines:

Suspend disbelief.

You don’t need to know how this future will come to be. Let yourself think expansively. Dream a little. There is no risk in imagining your best possible future.

Write in the present tense.

Imagine you’ve stepped into that future moment. Use clear, confident language:

“I am…”

“I have…”

“I feel…”

Avoid tentative phrasing like:

“I might…”

“I hope…”

“I wish…”

Add detail.

Set the scene. Where are you? What are you doing? Who is around you? Most importantly, how do you feel?

Focus on yourself.

This is your story. It rarely works to write about how others will change. Instead, focus on how you show up in your life and relationships.

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What I’ve Learned From This Practice

I’ve done this exercise numerous times since that first attempt over thirty years ago. More often than not, life begins to move in the direction of the story I’ve written.

Not always. And not always exactly as I imagined.

But again and again, elements of what I wrote—even the parts I doubted—began to take shape in unexpected ways.

Being naturally curious, I started exploring why this might be happening.

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Why Does It Work?

Its the Power of Story

Neuroscience shows that when we imagine detailed future experiences, the brain activates many of the same neural pathways as it does during real experiences.

Stories are powerful. We use them to make sense of both the world around us and the world within us.

The narratives we carry shape our daily actions—and those actions, over time, shape our lives.

When a story is vivid and sensory-rich, it becomes even more impactful:

Describe movement, and the motor cortex activates.

Describe taste or smell, and the sensory cortex responds.

Describe emotion, and the limbic system engages.

In other words, a well-imagined story becomes something your brain begins to recognize as meaningful—and possible.

Stories help us create meaning. And meaning shapes reality.

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The Power of the Positive

I’ve seen another pattern as well. Most of us are highly skilled at identifying what’s wrong—what frustrates us, what we don’t want.

Back then, I could easily list everything I disliked about my job and my boss. But if you had asked me what I did want, I might have struggled to answer.

This exercise shifts that. It asks us to define what we do want—not just what we’re trying to escape.

Because the story is set in the future, it naturally lifts our thinking to a more conceptual level.

For example, I didn’t specify a job title or salary. Instead, I described:

• the kind of work I was doing

• how meaningful it felt

• the kind of people I worked with

• the sense of energy and movement in my life

When we define our future this way, we open ourselves to multiple paths forward.

In my case, the change didn’t come through a brand-new job. It came through a part-time assignment—just 25% of my time. But it was enough to transform my experience from something I dreaded into something I loved.

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The Stories That Shape Our Lives

All of us carry stories about ourselves.

Some are conscious. Others are so ingrained we barely notice them.

Many begin in childhood:

“I’m the smart one.”

“I’m the class clown.”

“Trouble follows me.”

“I’m never enough.”

“I’m the dependable one.”

You may recognize versions of your own story here.

Some of these narratives serve us. Others limit us. Some were once true. Others were projections placed on us by others.

Even when they’re outdated, they continue to influence our choices.

Stories also shape how we interpret life events. Two people can experience the same situation and walk away with completely different meanings.

After a difficult relationship, one person might conclude: “I’m unlovable.” Another might say: “I learned something. I grew. I’ll choose differently next time.”

Stories help us process life—including hardship and trauma. They shape identity. And they shape what we believe is possible.

Which is why intentionally crafting a story about the future you want—even if it feels unlikely—can be so powerful.

You create a narrative that begins, quietly but steadily, to influence your beliefs, your perceptions, and your actions.

It opens the door to possibility.

And with small shifts, day by day, larger changes begin to take root.

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My Challenge to You

My invitation is simple:

Write the story of your ideal future.

Don’t wait for New Year’s Day or a milestone moment.

Write it this week.

Then nurture the story.

Want to boost the power of your story? You can create a vision board. Take small steps forward and then keep going.

And stay open to the possibility—perhaps even the surprise—of what begins to unfold.

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