Stories help us make sense of a vast, weird, and frequently overwhelming world. But stories aren’t just passive aids to understanding. The stories we tell each other — and especially the ones we tell ourselves — actively shape our decisions. They are alive.

In 2016, Apple made the call to drop the venerable 3.5mm headphone jack from the iPhone 7. To say this led to some pushback would be an understatement. Tech journalists fumed while droves of outraged customers signed doomed petitions. Somehow the option of buying a jack-restoration dongle ($29) did little to calm the discourse.

Another company might have looked at the response to the early rumours and had second thoughts. Apple doubled down, with then-marketing chief Phil Schiller invoking the c-word:

“[The decision to remove the headphone jack] comes down to one word. Courage. The courage to move on and do something better for all of us.”

The derision that followed showed that that courage was necessary. By removing a key aspect of how users interacted with their phones, Apple risked not just significant backlash to a key product launch but to the ‘it just works’ consumer narrative that they’d been nurturing with barely a hiccup for the better part of 15 years.

Interfering with their users’ headphones was no mere hiccup. Headphones are one of the few gadgets that can rival Apple’s lineup for raw affection, and suddenly the two were at war. Apple’s explanations for their decision — more space for cameras and batteries, improved water resistance — were fair enough, but also felt a little forced.

This is because they were. The death of the headphone jack wasn’t about engineering tradeoffs but was instead the flip side of the consumer narrative we discussed earlier. Because with every customer seduced into Apple fandom and every wildly successful product launch, their internal story was gaining momentum:

“We know what the future looks like, and we’re going to take you there.”

The lesson seems obvious. Over its period of unmatched success, Apple earned the confidence to placidly defy not just its critics but its own consumers. In retrospect they were obviously right. Wired headphones are more or less extinct, AirPods are ubiquitous, and absolutely nobody is clamouring for the return of the headphone jack. Apple made a bold call, stuck to their guns, and their bet paid off.

But what if it hadn’t? No matter how considered their decision-making process, every company makes mistakes. What interests me most about the launch of the iPhone 7 isn’t the success but the potential for failure. There must have been internal discussions about the signals that might tell them their call was wrong. What were they? What would it have taken to shake Apple’s supreme courage?

That the line between confidence and hubris is both fuzzy and dangerous is one of the oldest themes in storytelling. Trusting in your instincts and letting them propel you onwards is all well and good until you reach the point where that faith blinds you to other possibilities.

We’ve looked at the power of Apple’s internal and external stories, but as anyone unfortunate enough to have used a butterfly keyboard will tell you, even the most well-earned confidence can prove misplaced. Exploring the narratives of failure in parallel with those of success is what allows organisations to identify dangerous inflection points and reorient themselves in workable directions.

“Be willing to throw away your darlings.” Turns out that’s not just advice about writing.