You rarely get to witness someone’s journey from humble beginnings to their crowning achievement.
I had the honor and privilege of witnessing it last night.
I met Jeni Bonaldo in the spring of 2014 when I visited the high school where she teaches in Bethany, Connecticut, to discuss my latest book and share stories.
Actually, Jeni and I unofficially met back in 1998 when she attended her cousin’s wedding, and I worked as a DJ. She was 19 years old that day, so we didn’t know each other or even speak, but we shared a space for about six hours, never realizing that someday we would become great friends and storytelling partners.
Jeni did not know that storytelling was something people did, but when she watched me perform for her students, she thought she wanted to tell stories.
Soon, she was performing for Speak Up — Elysha and my storytelling organization — and quickly became a fan favorite.
Then, I took Jeni to her first Moth StorySLAM in New York City. Since then, Jeni has been competing in Moth StorySLAMs in NYC and Boston — often alongside me and occasionally with friends — so much so that last night, in New Rochelle, NY, as Jeni and I were getting drinks during intermission, someone referred to us as a “storytelling power couple.”
Despite many attempts, Jeni had yet to win a Moth StorySLAM. Part of this was bad luck—being chosen early in the evening (when it’s much harder to win), competing against annoying me, and coming exceptionally close to victory on a handful of occasions.
On the way to New Rochelle, Jeni told me, “I’d like to win just once.”
She told me it was her dream.
Honestly, it was my dream, too. I’ve won 61 Moth StorySLAMs, but every victory still feels amazing. I’m also as competitive as anyone I’ve ever known. But in recent competitions, I’ve found myself rooting more for Jeni than myself. She’s an extraordinary storyteller. I trust her above all others to deliver an outstanding performance every time.
She and I perform “Matt and Jeni Are Unprepared — a storytelling improv show, and I wouldn’t perform it alongside any other storyteller in the world.
She’s that good.
She deserved to win.
I wanted to see her win.
I wanted her dream to come true.
Jeni’s name was called sixth last night. She took the stage and performed brilliantly. I was so impressed.
Overwhelmed, really. She was hilarious, poignant, vulnerable, and technically superior.
When her scores were announced, with four storytellers still to go, she was in first place, but not nearly by the total I thought she deserved.
She was head and shoulders above the competition, but her scores placed her within striking distance of another good story.
I worried for the rest of the night. I worried that some injustice might occur.
I worried that a storyteller might tell a gem and steal her victory.
I actually worried that my name would emerge from the bag and I would be forced to tell my story after her, giving me the unfair but always present advantage of recency bias.
When two people tell great stories, the person who performs second often wins. I wanted to remain firmly in my seat.
I wanted Jeni to win so badly.
Then she did.
When her name was announced as the winner, I may have been as excited as she was.
It’s been such a privilege to witness someone discover storytelling ten years earlier in a high school library, then learn, hone, and perfect her craft better than most storytellers I know, and finally be recognized for her skill, talent, and hard work onstage before an adoring audience.
Last night, tears were in Jeni’s eyes as she took the stage to be recognized for her victory, but there were tears in mine, too.
I was so happy for my friend.
I can’t wait to see what she does next.
