I’m often asked how I forged my storytelling and consulting career.
It turns out a lot of people would like to do the same.
My responses vary, but they often center on the idea that none of this part of my life was planned. In the summer of 2011, I went to New York City to tell a story at The Moth after listening to a podcast and learning that it existed.
I stumbled upon something I loved and did well.
As Elysha rightly pointed out, I was also a wedding DJ for 28 years, so I had spent countless hours speaking to audiences of strangers on a microphone. I’ve also been an elementary school teacher for nearly as long, so I spend my days telling stories to the worst audience of all:
Ten-year-old children.
I’ve also written every day of my life since I was 17, published six novels and three nonfiction books, read obsessively, and studied creative writing and public speaking in college. I was also a two-time state debate champion.
I wrote to Stephen Spielberg when I was ten years old, complaining about a scene in “ET: The Extra-Terrestrial” that was so stupid that it nearly ruined the film. I offered to review all of his movies before he sent them to movie theaters to avoid mistakes like this in the future.
In other words, I’ve been steeped in story and public speaking for a very long time.
Not exactly a repeatable path.
Ultimately, I tell people that you need to become good at telling stories and become known for excellence before anyone will want your expert opinion, so get to work.
This is how all success stories happen:
When you get good at something, people will notice. But getting good at anything is hard. It requires effort, focus, and a long-term commitment to the craft, whether it’s storytelling, gardening, baking, or crocheting.
I was recently reminded of one other important element:
Sacrifice.
I live more than two hours from New York City and Boston, meaning that every time I go to The Moth to maybe tell a five-minute story if my name is chosen at random, I get into the car after work, drive into the city, and return home well after midnight.
In those early days, I often made this trip alone.
And I did all this for free.
Actually, it wasn’t even free. I purchase a ticket to every show I attend.
Since 2011, I’ve performed in about 160 Moth events, and I’ve attended at least another 75 more when my name wasn’t chosen. That’s about 235 afternoons, evenings, and late nights spent driving to New York City or Boston to sit in comedy clubs, bookstores, theaters, and museums, hoping to tell a story.
That doesn’t include the hundreds of times I’ve performed for other shows in these cities and beyond.
Many people have thought me a little crazy over the years to do what I do, and perhaps it was. Spending a total of five or six hours in a car to maybe tell a story for free sounds silly, but today, I perform all over the world. I’m paid to tell stories, deliver keynotes, consult with companies and nonprofits, coach executives, teach at universities, and perform solo shows.
Elysha and I have also launched Speak Up, and I own Storyworthy, a company that produces online storytelling courses.
I made a lot of sacrifices.
I meet a lot of people who are unwilling to make the sacrifice. They want to chase the dream, but they also want to be in bed at a reasonable hour. They want ease, convenience, and certainty.
Sadly, few things worth chasing are easy, convenient, or certain.
My sacrifices happily, thankfully, paid off. But I wasn’t planning any of it when I began this adventure. I was pursuing something I loved that I hoped might lead me somewhere someday.
I wasn’t sure where, but I was willing to work like hell to find out.
There are no magic pills, shortcuts, or paths to doing anything well that don’t require time, effort, and sacrifice.
Annoying, I know, but true.
