Reclaiming your voice through storytelling.
It'd been my fault. That much was clear. I remember feeling angry and upset. Then, just... sad.
I’d been flying to go speak at a conference and got stuck with an aisle seat. With my laptop open in front of me on the plane, I couldn’t quite comprehend what I was looking at. Furrowing my brow, I'd exhaled, grimaced, and started shaking my head all at once. Looking at the slides I was preparing to present, I’d actually felt physically disgusted.
In order to move myself up in the corporate world, I’d managed to erase my entire personality. I'd tried to remember when exactly it’d happened, but couldn't. Without warning, my style had completely evaporated and I hadn't noticed. The words on the screen sounded stale. Boring. Dry, like a plain bagel from the discounted, day-old's pile you find by the register.
After spending years as a wilderness guide, snowboard instructor, and writer I'd learned first-hand that stories—not instructions—are what help people navigate fear and uncertainty. I'd thought back to when I was 16, working as a ski and snowboard instructor at the local hill near my house. My boss had apparently seen something in me because I got assigned to teach adults while most of my peers were training to work with kids.
One of my first clients had been a dad who'd wanted to learn how to snowboard as a way to connect with his son and daughter; both of whom had started taking lessons the year prior. Dad wanted to fast-track his learning so he could catch up. Over the next 12 years of teaching, I'd learn that never works. But on that particular day, I'd thought I'd score some points with him by skipping through the basics and making up for it later in our lesson. After very shakily taking the rope-tow about half-way up the hill, I had him strap into his snowboard and began to explain the mechanics of turning.
I still remember the look on his face when I'd said "Alright, give it a shot." He'd glanced at me, then at the slope in front of us... then he'd looked me straight in the eye and said "No."
Um... what now?
"I'll fall. I'll get hurt... I can't be hurt, I have to work. Who would drive the kids to school? No way, I'm NOT doing that."
Shit.
Sitting on that plane and reviewing my notes, I felt about as stupid as I had at 16 with that snowboarding client. Explaining stuff seems logical. It's a super helpful way to organize your thoughts, but that's why it really only sounds good to the person doing the talking. Listeners need a way to picture it. Looking at the presentation I was set to give, it's like I'd completely forgotten that lesson. There was nothing for people to grab hold of... just facts, statements, and data points.
Yuck.
That realization on the plane is what led me to start my newsletter two years ago. I'd hoped it would help me find my voice again by forcing me to write regularly. At first, I remember it included a lot of sales-and-marketing speak. In watering myself down to try to fit in better at work, I'd fully clogged up my creativity. The only thing to do, I'd reasoned, was to open the valve and flush out the gunk.
A year and a half ago, I told my first story at The Moth. And then about a year ago, I took a swing and published a personal essay instead my usual newsletter. The response was incredible, so 10 months ago I launched a podcast to try sharing more of myself through conversation. Somehow, it ended up in the top 10% of shared shows on Spotify this year. Then three months ago I challenged myself to write a new story every day with these daily snippets. It helped reveal my ambition to get my master's and pursue a career as a therapist. And after all of that, it was one week ago that I got offered a completely unexpected opportunity...
Last night, in front of a live studio audience, I took the stage and shared my story on national TV. Keep an eye on your local PBS station to catch my episode of Stories From The Stage.
I mentioned wanting to let it rip in yesterday's edition of BUDS, and I think I did just that. And I just…um…I’ll be trying to wrap my head around that for a good long while.
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
102/365
Have you ever lost your voice? How'd you get it back?
onward.
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