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Confidence in Storytelling….It’s my tu...

Confidence in Storytelling….It’s my turn

file9731271451121He stood in the doorway of my office, his presence filled both the door and my office. He was a large imposing man, but his presence was much bigger than his physical body.

It was like a bird when you see the shadow of a bird flying overhead, the “presence” of the bird forces you to look up to verify there isn’t a pterodactyl in the sky. It’s just a feeling.

He was first in command, I was second – we had a great working relationship and generally saw eye to eye on most matters. Still, when he entered my office unannounced, I couldn’t help but wonder, what now? There’s got to be a fire to put out somewhere.

As a preemptive strike, I offered an apology for “monologuing” at a meeting we both had this morning with a large foundation. I’m lucky he appreciates my sense of humor. I had an ex-husband who used to call it monologuing.  It was if I had no control…If there were laughs, I couldn’t stop. My material was always what I knew best, my baggage.

Talking about painful things become less painful when there is laughter. Nobody really wants to hear the painful lamenting. It’s been a self defense mechanism for years!

My preemptive strike apology was met with an unexpected response. He said, “That’s why I’m here.”

Oh shit.

He said, “You need to write, this stuff down. You need to think about “Storytelling”,

He said, If you write, I’ll help you anyway I can – whatever you need. You just need to tell your stories.  Be your own Storyteller. Entertain & Educate.

I heard my mother’s voice…He just feels sorry for you. Nobody wants to hear about you.

The gestation period

That seed was planted almost 15 years ago, but failed to sprout for some time.

My husband and I moved on to another city, and my brain churned like it was making butter… what should I do now? Long walks with the dog listening to music wasn’t the answer.

Lyrics to my favorite songs would ring in my ears.  So much good advice.  So much motivation.  What to do…. A card unexpectedly arrives in the mail.

For god’s sake who sends cards for no occasion any more?

Scribbled inside the card, the note said, maybe it’s time to start writing.

It’s time to tell stories. We’ll talk later….


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