For those of us who have ever watched a movie, read a novel, or even listened to a bedtime story, Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey makes sense on a surface level. The hero starts out living their normal lives, is swept up into an adventure where they’re challenged to learn and grow, then returns to a relative status quo, forever changed by their experience.
There’s a reason this structure feels so familiar. Humans have been using stories as vehicles for abstract ideas for hundreds of thousands of years—just ask Gilgamesh, Beowulf, and the hell-conquering Sumerian heroine, Inanna. Story isn’t just part of our psyche. It’s ingrained in our DNA, which explains why the hero’s journey is so powerful on a primordial level. There’s something atavistic about it—something deeper, perhaps even sacred.
Any author who’s worked with me for more than five minutes knows I can go on for hours about storycraft, the monomyth, and how it relates to the collective consciousness. But after we hash out the basics, there’s always a pause—a figural record scratch—when I steer the conversation to that professional’s book, especially if that book is nonfiction.
“So,” I’ll say to the author, pausing before I drop the thousand-pound question: “What does all this mean for you?”
More often than not, the author recalls their own hero’s journey—the mythic origins behind why they do what they do as a professional, how they came around to their vocation, and how that adventure has shaped their destiny. And as important as this seminal quest may be (After all, how are you supposed to guide anyone on a journey you’ve never undertaken yourself?), this is usually where I nod, smile, and lean closer over the table.
“Beautiful,” I’ll say. “But there’s just one problem. You’re not the hero.”
It’s a jarring reframe—the seed of understanding that blossoms into the difference between talking at your client and engaging with them. As a counselor, advisor, and subject matter expert (SME), your own personal journey absolutely matters. But when it comes to getting results, your client needs to be the one to step into the hero’s shoes. You, counselor/advisor/SME, are venturing even deeper into this monomyth, into the role of the wise guide and mentor.
At this point, the author across from me usually sits up a little straighter. “All right, Hannah,” they say. “That makes sense. But what does that… look like? Is the call to adventure our initial discovery call? Is their lunch with their boss the ‘meeting with the goddess?’ Or would that be more ‘belly of the beast?’”
Having studied the hero’s journey for over a decade, I’ll be the first to tell you there are infinite ways to break down these concepts. You could look at Campbell’s story circle as a metaphor or even a play-by-play allegory, puzzling each individual beat into a particular circumstance in your client’s life. The Hero with a Thousand faces has been reincarnated thousands of times through religion, screenwriting, mysticism, and even psychology. This journey is indeed a sacred one—a shorthand of both the physical and spiritual transformations humans undergo in the quest for the soul.
Before I lose myself and wax poetic for seventeen more pages, let’s go back to the pressing conundrum of our nonfiction practitioner, that is, the professional who’s working to guide their very real client through a very real transformation in a very real way. Yes, the hero’s journey is great for novelists and fairytales. But what does it mean in real life? How do we use it? What real difference can it make in your professional practice?
To tackle these questions, let’s start by introducing the three-act structure, championed by screenwriter Blake Snyder’s masterpiece, Save the Cat! In Snyder’s feline-friendly model, he takes the main beats of Campbell’s circle and breaks them down into three acts:
- Act 1: opening image (hero’s status quo) → accepting the call to adventure
- Act II: induction to the upside-down/new world → all is lost (rock bottom, the belly of the beast)
- Act III: epic villain showdown → final image (the hero’s new status quo)
But let’s break it down even further. These three acts are the three distinct stages of your clients’ experience: Elucidation, Equipage, and Execution.
Act I: Elucidation
We often take it for granted that we don’t know what we don’t know. More often than not, we acknowledge the symptoms of the problem rather than the root of the problem itself. After all, I don’t call a plumber because I’ve expertly identified a clog in the j-bend of my kitchen sink. I call because everything I stuffed down the garbage disposal is bubbling back up.
This is another wonderful, glorious part of human evolution. When our ancestors gathered in communities, we gained the ability to specialize. And you, mentoring professional, are the expert at what you do. You may know from years of diligent study and hard-earned experience what your client’s problem might be, but they don’t have that insight or understanding. All they feel are the pain points.
That’s why, as a mentor, your job in the first act is to elucidate. When Ben Kenobi visits a young Luke Skywalker in A New Hope, one of the first things Ben does is sit down and explain to the sheltered farm boy that his world is much bigger and more dangerous than he realizes. In The Matrix, Neo finds himself trapped in a bureaucrat’s office, worried that he’s about to be hauled off to federal prison, only to be rescued by the enigmatic Morpheus who explains that Neo’s real problem is being imprisoned in a false reality.
Your clients experience symptoms of the real problem. They know what they want (emotional peace, confidence in the future of their family firm, etc.), but they lack the insight and perspective to understand what they truly need to achieve their goal and/or alleviate that pain point. Even if they have a deeper understanding of the nature of their problem, they’re coming to you because they’ve been unable to solve it. The solution may be apparent to you, but you as a mentor need to explain what’s happening, why it’s happening, then invite your client on a transformational journey to meet their need, thereby addressing their want.
Essentially, you’re initiating your client into the upside-down world—a new way of thinking, seeing, and acting that will leave them forever changed. There’s a reason Act I always ends with a choice: venture into the unknown or return to the status quo. But once you pull back the curtain on the real issue (the difference between what your client wants to accomplish and what they need to do to accomplish it), there’s no unseeing what’s been seen. Not only have they glimpsed the road ahead; they understand why you’re the perfect person to guide them.
If you’re worried that explaining all this will render your expertise useless (“give away the farm,” so to speak), don’t be. Chances are, your client already knows a lot of what you’re going to say deep down in their subconscious. They’re coming to you because they haven’t been able to make the journey on their own. They need mentorship. They need guidance. They need you.
Act II: Equipage
Your client has answered the call, and together, you’re blazing your path into the upside-down world. Now, you’re in Wonderland, unplugged from the Matrix—a brand-new perspective with a brand-new way of thinking and doing. But what will you find in this new world? What’s the point of wandering, anyway? Many story breakdowns call this the “fun and games” phase, or “allies, enemies, and rivals.”
Now that your client knows what they’re up against, this is where you teach them what needs to be taught. What sorts of tools and techniques do they need to add to their arsenal? How will they hone these new skills? Who is going to be a help to them along this journey, and who will be a hinderance?
In a cinematic story, this is where the hero learns karate (Neo), gets a sweet new sword (or lightsaber, in Skywalker’s case), or convinces a sassy art designer to show them the ropes of Runway Magazine’s bloodthirsty corporate hierarchy (The Devil Wears Prada). It’s also when the hero meets rogue space smugglers, sky-faring freedom fighters, and rebel princesses carrying around super-secret military schematics on a thumb drive. This isn’t just about the tips and tools of the trade. It’s also about the other characters in your client’s story: good guys, bad guys, and everyone in-between.
But equipage from without isn’t enough. One of the most famous, character-defining moments in Act II is the belly of the beast, also known as the “all is lost” beat in the story. This is Dante’s ninth circle of Hell—the point where your client is going to have to reach deep down in the shadowed realm of their psyche to make the inner change they’ve been avoiding.It’s not enough to have weapons, skills, and allies. The hero must reach deep inside and finally embrace transformational truth, which also means letting go of whatever lie or limiting belief has been holding them back.
There’s a reason Excalibur—King Arthur’s legendary sword of truth, identity, and authority—lies at the bottom of a murky lake, the mythological depths of subconsciousness. You can give your client all the tips, tricks, and treasures at your disposal, but if they can’t wield Excalibur for themselves, their journey will end in failure. As an SME, mentor, and guide, your job isn’t to “fix” the hero’s problem. It’s to help them acquire the resources they need to face down their own dragon.
Act III: Execution
My most pressing personal pet peeve when it comes to professional nonfiction is that most authors cut off the journey at the end of Act II.
I’ve given the client all the tips, tools, and treasures, says the stalwart voice of reason. I’ve given them what they need, I’ve shown them how to use it, and I’ve empowered them to overcome the block that was holding them back.
But if the story stops here, we’re missing one crucial piece. Yes, the hero may have everything they need. But how are they supposed to use it now that they’re back to their normal, right-side-up world?
A good mentor doesn’t just address a client’s wants and needs. A truly effective guide equips their mentee for the world beyond. Act III is all about taking everything we learned about Act I (the scope of the problem, the difference between wants and needs) and combining that knowledge with the equipage of Act II. Simply put, the hero now knows the problem and has the resources to address that problem. So what does that ultimate showdown look like?
In a cinematic story, this is the finale—the point where your character faces down the big bad evil force. It’s Neo taking on Agent Smith, Luke using the Force to blow up the Death Star, and Andrea finally walking away from her nightmare boss.
Acts I and II tell us what the client has learned. Act III shows us how they’ve grown. What’s the good of this knowledge if it can’t be used to enact a real, lasting difference in their lives? Why does the journey matter if they don’t come back changed?
A good mentor also shows the hero why and how this journey matters beyond the scope of their original quest. Sure, you may have guided your client to a solution that addresses their current need, but how can they apply what they’ve learned to future needs? How do they bring this Elixir of Knowledge back to their offices? Their families? Their communities? And the most beautiful, synchronistic irony of all: How can this new hero metamorphosize into a mentor for the next generation?
What does this mean for mentoring professionals?
You can’t fight a dragon if you don’t know it exists. The greatest sword is useless if you don’t know how to wield it. And even if your client sticks with you through the entire perilous journey, their quest won’t matter unless they themselves change internally and understand how to use their hard-earned knowledge to gain a new mastery of the world around them.
It’s easy to get lost in the endless iterations of the hero’s journey (Trust me—it’s how I spend most of my day.), but a skillful guide can always stay grounded by panning back to the three essential parts of their client’s journey:
Execution: How can the hero apply what they’ve gained to what they’ve learned to not just solve their problem, but leave a legacy for others?
Elucidation: What’s the real scope of the problem, the difference between wants and needs?
Equipage: What does the hero need to gain, both without and within?
Want to learn more about writing compelling nonfiction using the arcane art of storycraft? Schedule a complimentary editing call.
Photo credit: The New York Public Library.