Last night Elysha and I produced our first live Speak Up storytelling show since February of 2020. It was an outdoor show on the beautiful front lawn of The Hill-stead Museum in Farmington, Connecticut.
As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, our audience of more than 200 people listened to stories about birthing unicorns, epic romances, a complex negotiation in a Turkish rug shop, the tragic end to two Egyptian freedom fighters, an attempt by Chelsey “Sully” Sullenberger to save grandparents lost in a hurricane, and a spoon of power.
A fantastic collection of stories told by skills and amazing storytellers.
Elysha was, as always, brilliant. Funny, charming, and pitch perfect in what she said between stories. As we drove to the show, she told me that she was nervous because she’d been off stage for so long.
I knew her concerns were unwarranted.
It was also the first time we simulcast our show to audience members at home, which is something we may look to do again in the future. The pandemic expanded our audience nationwide and worldwide as we moved our shows online. It wasn’t unusual to see a people from a dozen different states and a handful of countries occupying those Zoom squares as we told stories from our dining room table.
We’d love to give those folks an opportunity to continue listening in the future, wherever they may be.
Earlier this year, as the pandemic receded a bit and before the rise of the delta variant, I competed in a story slam at the New Haven Arts and Ideas Festival, and more recently, I’ve competed in a couple of live Moth StorySLAMs in New York, but this was the first time in 19 months that I found myself standing in front of a live Speak Up audience.
I had forgotten how good it feels to just tell a story, absent any time limit, scoring, and the incessant, never-ending strategy that I employ in an attempt to win a slam.
I’m a competitive person. I love an opportunity to declared the best. For most of my storytelling career, my favorite stage has been a Moth StorySLAM and GrandSLAM. I’ve thrived on the opportunity to compete against the best in an attempt to be declared the winner.
But after 19 months of pandemic, I found myself so happy to simply stand in front of an audience, absent the ticking clock, the teams of judges, and the mental machinations that go into competing, and just tell a story. I had a tear in my eye before I even spoke a word of my story. Part of me didn’t want to speak at all. I just wanted to stand on that veranda, looking at people gathered to listen, and not let that moment ever end.
The challenges, heartache, and pain of the pandemic, it would seem, have managed to dampen my competitive spirit a bit and make me more appreciative of the opportunity to simply gather with others in a shared space and tell stories.
I think I might be a little less of a competitive jerk.
Shocking.
I’m sure it won’t last, but I have to admit, it’s not a bad place to be.
