On July 12, I went to Boston with a friend to complete in a Moth StorySLAM. I told a story about taking Clara to her first New England Patriots game and a moment shared in the gloaming.
It marked my eleven-year anniversary in storytelling.
On July 12, 2011, I went to New York City to tell a story on a Moth stage at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.
The Moth is a nonprofit organization dedicated to the art of storytelling. They produce shows around the world in which people stand on stages and tell true stories live without notes.
My friends initially directed me to The Moth and its podcast and suggested that I become a storyteller. “You’ve had the worst life of anyone I know,” one friend said. “You’ll make a great storyteller!”
It hasn’t been the worst life by far, but it hasn’t always been easy.
So after some hemming and hawing, Elysha, and I made out way into New York City so I could tell what I thought would be the one and only story of my life. I told a story about pole vaulting in high school.
Happily, miraculously, I won the StorySLAM.
In truth, a lot of things came together for me that night, though I didn’t realize it at the time.
For decades, I had been writing stories – both fiction and memoir. I had already published my first two novels, and I’d been blogging about my life for nearly a decade when I took that stage. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I had a deep and fundamental understanding of story when I took that stage.
For more than a decade, I had also been working as a wedding DJ, speaking extemporaneously to hundreds of strangers at a time every weekend. I understood how to use a microphone and my voice to command attention, and I had absolutely no fear of public speaking, which allowed me to speak with confidence and adjust my story on the fly in response to audience reaction.
I’d also been teaching for more than a decade, telling stories and desperately trying to hold the attention of the worst audience in the world:
Children.
My teaching career is predicated on deep and lasting connections with students. One of the primary ways I do that is through story.
I had also been on stage many times before. As a Boy Scout, I was often the one onstage at meetings and camp, delivering announcements, entertaining my fellow Scouts with skits and jokes, and filling silences with amusement. My primary means of garnering a girl’s attention was through story. I learned early on that speaking about my embarrassments, failures, and stupidity made people – including girls – like me, so I did it a lot.
I didn’t understand any of this until years later, but in many ways, I had been training for that night all my life.
The next day, I wrote a blog post about my experience, which included these words:
“I know it sounds a little silly, but in the grand scheme of things, the birth of my daughter was probably the most important day of my life. Next comes the marriage to my wife, and then the sale of my first book, and then maybe this. It was that big for me.
Perhaps I’ll tell more stories in the future, and The Moth will become old hat for me, but on this day, at this moment, I couldn’t be happier.”
I was remarkably prescient while writing that post. It seems as if I already knew that I had found something special.
And I was right. It was a big night for me. Since that night:
- I have competed in 97 Moth StorySLAMs, winning 56 of them.
- I’ve competed in 31 GrandSLAM championships, winning 9 of them.
- I’ve told stories for The Moth and many others shows in cities around the world to audiences big and small.
In 2013, Elysha and I launched Speak Up, our own storytelling organization. We’ve produced more than 100 shows since our inception, in theaters, museums, libraries, synagogues, outdoor venues, and last night on the lawn of the Hill-stead to an audience of more than 220 people. During the pandemic, we produced our shows virtually, finding an audience around the world. We produce a podcast. Partner with companies and nonprofits to help them share their visions with the world.
The craziest thing of all is how storytelling has allowed me to build a career in consulting and coaching. Today I spend my days working with Fortune 100 companies, small businesses, hospitals, attorneys, the clergy, photographers, entertainers, and many more. I help these people and organizations with storytelling, marketing, advertising, corporate communications, and public speaking. I’ve had opportunities to teach at Yale, Harvard, MIT, Boston College, Brown University, and so many more. I’ve worked as a substitute minister for church services. Taught storytelling at yoga and retreat centers. Helped members of the Mohawk nation tell better stories in their native language. Taught Santa Clauses to tell better stories to children on their laps. Taught storytelling for dating.
None of it was expected. I could have never predicted what might happen eleven years ago when I drove to New York City to tell that first story.
That is the most important thing to remember.
You never know how your life can change when you try something new. Exiting your comfort zone and doing something hard or scary or uncertain or terrifying or seemingly ridiculous is oftentimes the very best thing you can do for yourself.
Comfort produces complacency.
Fear limits our horizons.
Assuming that you can foresee your future or chart a definitive path for your life is an assumption filled with ignorance and hubris. You cannot possibly know what you are capable of doing or achieving without venturing into strange and uncharted territory.
My plan was to tell one story. As a result of that decision, doors opened to me that I could’ve never imagined. My life changed forever.
I hope it happens again.
I hope it happens for you.
