The Hero’s Journey vs A Human Journey

Does every story have to pull your heart in a million different ways just to be worth telling? 

I’ve sat through thousands of dollars and countless hours of mentally exhausting trainings, only to be told the hero’s story is the most powerful tool in marketing. If you want to succeed, you better have an “I lost it all and only through this one thing was I able to hit uncommon success and it can all be yours” story. Otherwise, you’re doomed. There is an intense lack of humanity in the world of marketing, and I think I’ve uncovered why.

I used to believe every good story had to have a horrible middle point, where the main character hit rock bottom and had a long, slow haul to the other side…where there was most likely a heart-throbbing and insanely positive ending. If you wanted to really be somebody, you would have a low point, because you needed it for the story. There was no outcome where your life wouldn’t need a huge pivot for a good story. 

I remember seeing this first in religion: baptist christianity to be specific. (We must specify baptist because there most certainly are a thousand types of christianity. And I refuse to capitalize either because baptist is merely irrelevant and this christianity isn’t to be praised.)

In the baptist church, I remember attending events where each seminar had presenters, making thousands of dollars from the night, telling their hero journey from rags to riches and how Jesus was their saving grace. You could buy their book to read more about the specific tactics these millionaires used to transform their lives through Jesus (because money has nothing to do with that), purchase merch, and even pay for VIP access to take a picture with them!!

Often the women in my family bought tickets to a sold-out women’s retreat, presentation, or show. One night in particular, I huddled into the backseat of my grandma’s expedition to head to Charlotte for a conference with my mom, grandma, aunt, and 3 ladies from church. The picture in your mind is painting is probably accurate: worship tunes for the 3-hour road trip, gas station snacks full of gluttony, and plenty of ‘bless your hearts’ (the southern women’s way of cussing without profanity). 

The adrenaline was fueling us as we pulled into our hotel parking lot. This was the first time I was able to attend a grown-up retreat…and it was the first time I remember questioning what the fuck was wrong with my life. 

Speaker after speaker, we listened to tragedy into triumph, shambles into millions. It seemed like every woman that stood up to present had the typical hero’s journey story we’re taught in marketing: Give them a pitiful, woe is me, soul-sucking bottom, and then carry the audience up with you to the highest high you’ve ever felt on the tallest mountain you’ve ever reached. It doesn’t matter if the audience you’re speaking to has trauma, discomfort, or confusion around your story. 

I leaned into my mom and whispered, “Sooooooooo. Do I have to hit rock bottom before I’m truly saved? Can God only find me in the pits of hell? Will my story ever be good enough if I don’t lose everything I have at some point?”

I was in this world by both nature and nurture: daughter of a deacon, church every Sunday and Wednesday, sacred Sundays that were more stressful than any other day and so many small-town baptist church functions. But it never felt like anything other than a concert, conference, or class session. I never viewed them with rose-colored glasses and my questions are what kept me in trouble. I pride myself on that. Still, I don’t have a coming-to-Jesus moment, where I had absolutely nowhere else to turn, so I turned to Jesus. (This is because I am privileged. I am so privileged; I know that and honor it, while also recognizing many aren’t. My life has only been difficult when I have self-sabotaged my luck and chances, and yet privilege allowed me to avoid irreparable destruction.) Regardless, I don’t have that necessary low point. I meet Jesus in the kitchen, washing dishes with sunshine coming through the window, at 8 on a Thursday morning with worship songs on. Or seeing my husband’s smile first thing in the morning as he kisses me goodbye. Or when I’m laying in the grass, sharing gratitude for the magic my day has been showered with.

But I have no hero story. Mine is in the everyday. 

Plus, I don’t want to be a hero, especially if it means there would have to be a tragedy.

I saw a similar marketing-fuelled message in school. From guest presenters, to assigned reading, to lectures, it didn’t matter what we were there to learn, the path to success was pretty clear: have a low (could be as simple as starting at the bottom and crawling your way to the wanted position or as harsh as dropping out and having a career pivot) and then this college came in and saved the day! This course! This job! They, too, sometimes have an additional book you can purchase, coaching to apply for, and apparel you can become an ambassador of–but only if you want success like they have, have the same privileges they’re presenting, and learn the same exact way they’re teaching.

Have you ever been to a college vendor event? You know, the big arena filled with small tables full of college picks, success stories, and applications. It’s not often that we see, “Hey! I actually finished high school at 18, began college and completed my undergrad, hustled, hustled, and hustled some more to find a job, finally got an offer for an alright-enough company, and here I am: making $50,000 a year and living a regular, normal, everyday life.”

Instead, I remember listening to a mansplanation of success: “If you go to this college, you’re bound for success! When I finished highschool, no one thought I would ever go to college. I was running the streets, chasing tail, and laying pipe. But then I saw a billboard for *insert college here* and my life instantly changed. In that moment, I knew I had to get my shit together. I applied, and of course couldn’t get in at first, but I kept pushing. I even had my dad (who is the dean’s gold buddy) call the school and put in a personal request. The next day, they accepted my application! It was like a breath of fresh air. Then, I half-assed my classes, because hey, c’s get degrees, and eventually graduated and took over my dad’s 20-year-old business. Now, I am the boss man and make $500,000 each year and barely have to attend meetings. YOU can have this, too! ALL you need is this college!”

I don’t think this is what I was supposed to retain from these events, but here we are. They probably hoped I’d remember the name of their business, book, or brand. Some may have even hoped I’d be working for them very soon! But now, I couldn’t tell you most of their names, none of their numbers, and only some of what a few of them looked like. 

What I remember the most from each personal lecture, speech, or event I attended, was that each one had a brief beginning, variously low middles, and a mediumly happy to fairly spectacular ending–which they assumed we also wanted and could attain in the same way.

My life story isn’t buried in the form of the “hero’s journey” that everything from marketing, to religion, to education have adopted as necessary. I went to college. I worked full-time. I lived with my parents. I had no car payment. I was healthy. I went to university. I quit my job. I got married. I started my career in writing because I had the time and security. I put myself in the right spaces for big-ticket opportunities, and got them. I stayed healthy. I still have a husband who gives me the world and asks for nothing but love and words in return.

My story is not “hero’s story” because, like everyone else, each story is different. And it’s okay if it’s not an extraordinary rags-to-riches tale worthy of being made into a movie.

I don’t have a hero’s story because I had a seemingly fair shot at life.

But I still want to tell my story to anyone who will listen.

The third place I find the hero’s journey immersed is standard copywriting. If you’re familiar with marketing, please don’t confuse my choice of ‘standard’ with ‘bro-marketing.’ While de-douchifying the world of sales should be every business’ goal, even standard, ethical and conscious copy pushes the hero’s journey in a not-so-human way. Instead of meeting people exactly where they’re at, we tell them where they are. Or where they may drop to if they don’t take action. We take them through a journey of their deepest fears (traumatizing) and bring them to the solution through our product, which–for whatever reason–they may or may not be able to attain. We tell them how transformative it will be, never acknowledging their uniquely human story.

We make up these hero stories, or at the very least embellish the hell out of testimonials (case studies), to relate in the most unrelatable ways. And then we wonder why our work stops feeling authentic, aligned, adaptable, or altruistic.

As a writer, my job is to write for my reader. Whoever stumbles upon a book, ad, email, blog post, or even social media post that I’ve had my hands in creating, my job is to meet them where they are, and to remind them that if this is the right time for them, and if they feel safe, they can indulge in this piece of writing + product. I don’t want an audience to need to relate to a drastic hero’s journey in fear and scarcity, because I’m not a good enough writer to speak to them where they are without pretending I have any clue to what has happened in their life that has led them to this divine moment. I don’t even know if this moment is divine for them. 

We have danced with the hero’s journey our entire lives, through religion, school, movies, books, television, music, and social media, even when it wasn’t necessarily needed. Even when it wasn’t at all relatable. And I rest my second case on the fact that my life is in no way a hero’s journey. I couldn’t write a hero’s journey post about my life if I wanted to because it would feel so inauthentic, my bones would be aching to crawl out of my skin. Also, most people I know aren’t heroes. Most people I know who use the hero journey framework aren’t heroes. Most people solving everyday problems aren’t heroes. Most people aren’t heroes.

So, as I accept this moment to level up my life and begin coming home to my true Self, I ask:

What if all of our stories aren’t meant to be extraordinary? What if we aren’t meant to be heroes?

What if…dare I say…we’re just meant to be normal? What if, each day, our small, normal lives were good enough?

What if we started finding Jesus through a blog post in the coffee shop on a Tuesday morning? What if success came through just showing up as individuals, in all our unique glory, at our local post offices, markets, and events to be a human first? What if marketing campaigns set out to meet people where they’re at without stabbing every pain point along the way so that soulmate clients finally felt safe enough to sign up?

The human story wasn’t made to be heroic.

We can’t be heroes.

We aren’t heroes.

We’re just humans.

So why are we relying on such an unrelatable marketing tool to build our ‘divine and authentic’ businesses? Why are we playing heroes when our souls crave humans first? 

If the human story didn’t originally matter first, the hero story would have never existed in the first place. Relate to your reader, audience, and friends. Stop trying to make a hero in situations that just need a human to be there for them.

– Jess Anders