Goodbye, Information Age
It's 1983, and I decide it's high time I learn how to operate a computer. After all, they've just become small enough to fit on a desk! Not one person on my 50,000-student college campus had owned a personal computer when I was there. Or a cell phone, for that matter.
Now people are buying computers from Radio Shack or splurging on an IBM PC. I figure the best way to learn is to get a job selling them. Never mind that I've never worked in sales or even used a computer. I land a job at a family-owned retail computer store in Atlanta and, to my surprise, exceed my sales quota every month. It isn't difficult. People are pouring into the store to buy their first computer, and all I have to do is show them how much better it is than a typewriter.
Remember the promise of the paperless office? What a concept! No more bulky filing cabinets or stacks of paper on your desk. Information would be instantly accessible yet conveniently out of sight. (Don’t hold your breath.)
Years later, I own my own computer company. Our specialty is connecting one office computer to another so employees can share information. No internet. Just the astonishing ability to access information from another computer without leaving your desk. I sell boatloads of IBM PC clones with Novell Networking.
I had a front-row seat to the Information Age, and I loved every minute of it.
Fast-forward several decades. I co-founded a book publishing company, and for the past 15 years I've been helping first-time authors write and publish their books. But now I must admit something to every nonfiction author, including myself.
No matter how awesome your book is, the information in it has depreciated in value like a brand-new Porsche you just drove off the lot.
Ouch.
The Information Age, which began taking shape in the mid-20th century and accelerated with personal computers and the internet, made access to knowledge super easy and more affordable. Before then, specialized information was often difficult, expensive, or time-consuming to obtain. If you possessed knowledge others needed, you had something really valuable.
Today, information is everywhere, much of it free. You can ask your phone practically anything and get an answer in seconds. With AI, you can get a summary, an explanation, a comparison, or an entire report before you've finished your coffee.
It's extraordinary, and I wouldn't want to give it up. But something fundamental has changed. When something becomes abundant, simply having it or sharing it doesn't make you particularly valuable.
Consider a leadership expert who teaches five principles of servant leadership. Good, perhaps even excellent information. But you can find those same principles in hundreds of books, articles, videos, and AI-generated summaries. Why should you listen to this particular expert?
Now suppose that expert tells you about the Friday afternoon when his business was struggling, and he had to choose between paying his employees or taking home his own paycheck. He tells you what he feared, what he decided, and what happened next.
Suddenly, you're not just learning about servant leadership. You're seeing it through the eyes of someone who lived it. You may even recognize yourself in his struggle. And you're far more likely to remember the lesson.
That's the power of a personal story. It doesn't merely communicate information. It creates a connection between human beings. What engages your audience is not your spectacular presentation of information: they want to hear your experience, your mistakes, your creative solutions, and the lessons you used to build success.
Goodbye, Information Age. Hello, Age of Meaningful Connection
I was recently asked how vulnerable I was willing to be with an audience. This means a willingness to reveal a mistake, a fear, or an embarrassing moment. It’s true that when you’re vulnerable, something wonderful can happen. The reader stops seeing an expert on a pedestal and starts seeing a fellow human being. That vulnerability can create the trust that a hundred impressive credentials cannot. That’s the power of a personal story.
Of course, we still need information. Accurate information, especially. It's the foundation for learning, decision-making, and problem-solving. But we're entering an era when information alone is no longer enough.
I like to think of what's coming as The Age of Meaningful Connection.
Think about it. We have more ways to communicate than at any time in history, yet that doesn't necessarily mean we understand one another better. We can exchange information all day long without ever making a meaningful connection.
What we hunger for isn't just another fact, another tip, or another clever answer. We want to be understood. We want to know whom we can trust. We want to learn from people who have actually walked the road they're describing.
And stories are one of the oldest, most natural ways we do that.
So the next time you're preparing to teach something, give a presentation, write an article, or even offer advice to a friend, consider this: Instead of starting with what you know, could you start with something you've experienced?
A decision you regret. A lesson you learned the hard way. A moment that changed your mind.
Tell the story, and let the meaning emerge.
We've mastered the art of exchanging information. Now let's rediscover the art of connecting with one another.
I created a framework to turn ordinary life experiences into gold: THE ALCHEMY OF STORY. I’d love to share it with you.
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