“Why storytelling?” It’s a question I’ve been asked many times, often preceded by the phrase, “Out of all the career paths you could have pursued.” The standard answer has always been, “Because it matters, because it expresses our humanity, because it can change the world.”
For me, it’s something that I have witnessed in my own life, and in the lives of many others. An accumulation of experiences over many years that led to a profound understanding, built like the pyramids, one block at a time. Though it’s a reality constantly evolving, never finished.
I would venture to say that Patrick Moreau‘s experience is similar in that he has spent many years honing his own craft of storytelling as the founder of Muse Storytelling, but in his case there was a pivotal moment when the telling of stories took on new meaning and purpose.
Every story is the opportunity of a lifetime and we just rarely realize it.
Many personal stories involve tragic events or circumstances that cause a shift in perspective about the world and our place in it. We come away changed, as well as conflicted and confused, yet clarity can also manifest. Take a few minutes to watch this video about Patrick’s journey, then reflect on your desire, and maybe reluctance, to share your story with others.
Transcript (with minor edits for readability)
Amina Moreau: So, I just came back from interviewing Patrick for our launch film, and I’ve got to say, we had a really great plan going into this thing. We knew exactly what we wanted our story to be. But every so often, when you’re in an interview, something so amazing, or so unexpected happens that you know you’ve got to pivot your story.
Here’s what happened:
Why does it matter to you so much that you live a life of purpose?
Patrick Moreau: That was my mom. She took her own life, and my sister and I had to go back to Midland and pack up her apartment.
I mean, for over a decade my mom struggled with bipolar, which means she’d have these manic phases where she’d fly to places like Turkey, Lebanon or Jordan and then would often come crashing down into a depression and somebody’d have to go and try and bring her back.
I went to Lebanon to try and bring her back when she became depressed, and I’ve sat on an airplane next to her for eight hours and she pretends to read, you know, because then it looks like you’re normal.
I can’t imagine the reality of somebody going through their life trying to hide their pain so that people don’t try and bother them, you know? And so, it just came to a point where she felt like she was more of a burden.
A lot of people would probably tell you that the depression killed her, but it was not having purpose anymore. It was not being able to follow her purpose. It was not being able to find it in herself to do anything that she felt would really make a difference for anybody.
It’s incredibly hard to lose somebody you’re that close to, but what allowed me to survive was having a purpose, was believing that what we’re actually doing really does matter and makes a difference.
So it’s a very deep-seated sense that purpose not only matters, it not only drives you forward, but it also keeps you going, and it also will help see you through, and it is one of the most fulfilling things that you can have. You know?
I don’t think a lot of us realize that being a storyteller truly is the greatest job out there, because not only do we get to do something, it can really make a positive difference, that we can really take things and share them with people in a way that’s gonna open their minds, let them see something different. But that we are also changed by those things.
If I have the ability to extract something from our experience and to bring together an incredible team of people who can come up with a repeatable way that different people, wherever they are in the world, can use this structure and these ideas to do what they do better and to love it more, I mean, it feels like a crime not to.
How do you not share that? How do you not take the opportunity to try and do that? I don’t know, I guess it seems bizarre ‘cuz people come up to you all the time and they go, like, why are you sharing this?
Like, why do you just give away everything you know? And I have such a hard time understanding that question. Why would I keep it? Are you gonna go and tell your best story and then go lock it in your bedroom and go, “No, no, this is for me!”
No, you share it with people. You want it to make an impact. Well, you know what? Muse is my story. It is something that I believe in that deeply, that it can be your journey, that can help you actually make a difference and that’s all it is. And so of course, I want to share that with as many people as I can. And I want them to be able to use it and take it and take whatever works for you and just do what you do a little bit better and I’m happy.
Every story is the opportunity of a lifetime and we just rarely realize it. You rarely realize that we have an opportunity to really let somebody be heard, to allow them to see themselves in a different way, and to share something with other people that could make a difference for them.
One of the last things that my mom really wanted was to share her story. It was to have it matter to somebody else other than her. For people to take her pain in her experience with bipolar and to learn something from it, to be able to live their own lives a little bit better.
And I will one day tell that story in a bigger way. And when I do, I want it to be the best damn story I’ve ever told. You know, I want to make sure that I’m not missing anything, I haven’t left anything on the table, and that’s why we’re building this. You know? Because that’s what matters to me, this story.
But everybody else, they have something that matters to them, and it’s just about creating something that allows us all to make the most of every story we tell.
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The Country Doctor on Snap Judgement
/in Discrimination, Health, Podcast, Storylistening, Truth/by Mark LovettAmerica has had problems with discrimination from day one. Look no further than the death toll of Native Americans, often deemed to be heathens, as settlers pushed onward from sea to shining sea. And with the invention of the cotton gin, wealthy landowners sanctified an increase in slavery, economically justifying the practice of kidnapping, shackling, and selling Africans to the highest bidder.
Then we have the egregious treatment of Mexican citizens. You know, the folks who owned a significant chunk of the Western U.S. until they exited south at gunpoint. And let’s not forget about the treatment of immigrants from China, South America and the Middle East. These are not simple histories. In fact, quite the opposite, as there have always been Americans who were welcoming to people of any country, ethnicity or religion. But discrimination has been, and continues to be, a shameful truth in the land of freedom and justice for all.
It was encouraging to see America make progress on this front during the late 60s into the 70s and 80s, but backsliding on the ideal of equality was evident from the 1990s onward. Slowly at first, but rapidly accelerating over the past 3+ years with public displays of hate and prejudice seen in many parts of the country. Displays without remorse of apology.
But all is not lost. Hearts can soften and open with grace whenever people resist stereotyping and instead rely on the power of human connection to speak truth to hate. Whenever we remove the wall of discrimination long enough to forge meaningful relationships, a space for the miraculous appears. A space where healing and justice coexist alongside internal struggle.
Snap Judgement recently broadcast a story that I highly recommend listening to. It was one of those rare podcast episodes that stopped me in my tracks, as I needed to hear the story of Dr. Ayaz Virji until the very end. Give it a listen.
Artwork by Teo Ducot | Snap Judgment | WNYC Studios
Dr. Ayaz Virji was aware of the positive impact he could have on a small rural town serving as a clinic medical director and chief of staff. And while the community embraced his family upon their arrival, and he enjoyed working with his patients, an abrupt change in the national political climate upset his view of the world, and his place in it.
The narrative follows Dr. Virji’s journey of self-discovery and reflection, of confrontation and conversation within the town after the 2016 election. As you listen to his story, think about the decisions made along the way, by all parties, but especially by Dr. Virji. How did each decision alter the plot of the story? How would you have reacted?
With my white, middle class background, living a life free from discrimination, it’s hard for me to wear his shoes (or anyone else in similar circumstances), to understand his decisions, to feel the pain and frustration that I clearly hear in his voice. What would I have done?
I continue to struggle with recognizing and dealing with the rifts of hate and discrimination in society, but as all impactful stories do, this podcast has altered my frame of reference, and I now view my own story through a new lens. And hopefully it will also make me a better storylistener.
Image credit: Snap Judgment | WNYC Studios
Nancy López is a senior producer at Snap Judgment. She started in radio in 2006 when she joined Soul Rebel Radio, a collective of novice storytellers in Los Angeles. Since then, she’s worked as a producer for Radio Ambulante and Making Contact. Her stories have been featured on PRI’s The World, KALW in San Francisco, and Radio Bilingue.
The Country Doctor – Season 11 – Episode 18 – Produced by Nancy Lopez, Original score by Renzo Gorrio, Artwork by Teo Ducot – Snap Judgement founded by Glynn Washington.
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Behind the Scenes of The Memory Palace
/in Art, History, Humanity, Narrative, Podcast/by Mark LovettI’ve been a podcast listener for many years, and at the beginning of my daily walk I’ll open the PocketCasts app on my phone to find an episode that will indulge my storytelling addiction. There are podcasts which live there temporarily – I’ll add and delete as my desires change – but several of them have a permanent slot in my listening rotation.
The Moth, This American Life, 99% Invisible, Radio Diaries, Ear Hustle, The Kitchen Sisters, Longform Podcast and Unfictional are on a brief list of shows that have become long-time audio companions, friends I can trust to expand and challenge my perceptions. Another member of that illustrious list is The Memory Palace, a podcast I fell in love with day one.
Created by storytelling genius Nate DiMeo in 2008, you could say it’s been around the digital block a few times. Nate’s no stranger to audio, having spent a decade plus in public radio and heard on landmark shows such as All Things Considered, Morning Edition, and Marketplace.
The Memory Palace is not unusual in one sense, as it simply presents historical vignettes about people, places and past events. Its uniqueness comes from DiMeo’s ability to pull a single thread from a complex tapestry of facts and feelings, then offer it to us as a bespoke narrative. Like a wandering medieval minstrel, he takes his audience on a magical exposition of the past, somehow condensing hours of exposition into mere minutes.
As much as I love the well-polished episodes that he produces, it was a special treat to hear this behind-the-scenes conversation with Radiolab’s Robert Krulwich on storytelling and life. It’s a conversation that revealed pivotal moments early in his career, alongside his passion for, and approach to, crafting stories that can touch people.
Whether you’re a professional storyteller or just aspire to gain a greater mastery of the art, DiMeo’s journey from nearly clueless to consummate creator will change your perspective on telling stories in the digital age.
A Conversation About the Memory Palace with Robert Krulwich
Learn more about Nate DiMeo in this beautiful article by Sarah Larson in The New Yorker, and this insightful piece by Joshua Barone in the New York Times.
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The Modern Story of Strange Fruit, with Dianne Reeves and John Beasley
/in History, Humanity, Justice, Slavery, Trauma/by Mark LovettRacial discrimination is a sad reality throughout the world, and sadly, still a significant aspect of American culture. From the advent of slavery in the South, to fighting a Civil War in hopes of bringing the practice to a close, and the current state of affairs after many centuries. It is a story we wish had never been written. A story whose narrative arc still requires a remedy.
“Strange Fruit” was written 80 years ago describing the horrific practice of lynching innocent African-Americans by white people. It’s unconscionable and unacceptable that lynching is still happening today and also that the justice system failed Ahmaud Arbery. It was only after public widespread outrage followed the release of the horrific video which showed evidence of a racist father-and-son team shooting an unarmed Arbery to death.
John Beasley and Dianne Reeves collaborated on this video as a way to protest the continuing brutality and racism against African-Americans.
Directed & Edited by Anthony C. Santagati
Executive Produced by Aja Burrell Wood
Music Produced and Arranged by Dianne Reeves (vocals) and John Beasley (keyboards)
Nicolas Payton – trumpet
Terreon Gully – drums
Alex Al – bass
Composer: Abel Metropol
Black people are so tired.
They can’t go jogging (#AmaudArbery).
They can’t sleep (#Breonna Taylor+#AiyanaJones)
They can’t walk home with Skittles (#TrayvonMartin).
They can’t relax in the comfort of their own homes (#BothemSean and #AtatianaJefferson).
They can’t ask for help after being in a car crash (#JonathanFerrell and #RenishaMcBride).
They can’t have a cellphone (#StephonClark).
They can’t leave a party to get to safety (#JordanEdwards).
They can’t play loud music (#JordanDavis).
They can’t sell CDs (#AltonSterling).
They can’t walk from the corner store (#MikeBrown).
They can’t play cops and robbers (#TamirRice).
They can’t go to church (#Charleston9).
They can’t hold a hair brush while leaving their own bachelor party (#SeanBell).
They can’t party on New Years (#OscarGrant).
They can’t get a normal traffic ticket (#SandraBland).
They can’t lawfully carry a weapon (#PhilandoCastile).
They can’t break down on a public road with car problems (#CoreyJones).
They can’t shop at Walmart (#JohnCrawford)
They can’t have a disabled vehicle (#TerrenceCrutcher).
They can’t read a book in their own car (#KeithScott).
They can’t be a 10yr old walking with their grandfather (#CliffordGlover).
They can’t decorate for a party (#ClaudeReese).
They can’t ask a cop a question (#RandyEvans).
They can’t cash their check in peace (#YvonneSmallwood).
They can’t take out their wallet (#AmadouDiallo).
They can’t run (#WalterScott).
They can’t breathe (#EricGarner).
They can’t live (#FreddieGray).
They’re tired.
Tired of making hashtags.
Tired of trying to convince you that #BlackLivesMatter too.
Tired of dying.
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The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but?
/in Narrative, Public Speaking, Storytelling, Truth/by Mark LovettDo you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?
We’ve all heard this question, or something similar, asked of witnesses in television or movie courtroom scenes. And for anyone who has served on a jury, you have heard it first hand. But what does this question really mean, is it a reasonable expectation, and if so, how does it pertain to the practice of telling personal stories?
While it’s true that we tell personal stories to each other all the time – every conversation can be thought of as a story – in this article I’m referring to stories that we plan to share in public; in print, on stage, radio shows or podcasts, and thinking about the nature of truth when we’re telling these stories.
Although the practice of telling such stories has been around for millennia, the desire to hear them, and the opportunities to do so, have increased dramatically in recent years. As we’ve become more connected, and technologically savvy, we’ve developed a thirst for story that seems to be unquenchable.
Millions tune into broadcasts, view videos, or attend live events with a desire to hear stories about our shared human experience. Stories about who we are and where we have been, stories about the struggles we’ve endured, and the universal hope for a better future.
In my coaching practice I’ve had the pleasure of working with hundreds of folks who want to tell impactful personal stories; professional speakers and novices, students and academics, entrepreneurs and CEOs, prison inmates and special forces, scientists and creatives.
During the process of developing their storylines the topic of truth often comes up when many say, “It’s impossible to remember every detail. How truthful does my story need to be?” And their difficulty in remembering the truth is especially troublesome for experiences and conversations that happened a long time ago. Our memory can be rather permeable.
That’s when I’ll bring up the The Moth. I listen to a long list of podcasts each week for story inspiration, and The Moth remains at the top of the list. I never miss an episode. They host live storytelling events, and feature the best ones on The Moth Radio Hour. When it comes to truth, they address the issue best, in my opinion, by announcing during each broadcast:
With this in mind I encourage speakers to do their homework and verify everything they can, especially any statistics, research data or historical references. When it comes to the topic of personal experience, they should reach out to anyone mentioned in their story to verify the facts, or at least hear their side of the story to be sure the essence of the narrative is true.
The reason is straightforward. If any aspect of a story is untrue, the entire narrative becomes suspect. One bad apple can, in this situation, spoil your story’s impact. When trust is broken between the storyteller and their audience it becomes difficult to repair. You need to connect with your audience from a place of honesty and integrity.
Should you ever have a desire to embellish your story as a way to make it stronger, I would counter that you don’t need to make things up in order to make a point, and if you feel you do, there’s something fundamentally lacking in your story to begin with, something that lying won’t/can’t solve. Instead, rethink your premise, and dig deeper into your narrative in order to find experiences or related information that supports the meaning of your story.
But there are other elements in personal storytelling – ideas, insights, beliefs and opinions. This part of your narrative is not based on empirical facts, but rather your view of the world, how you see things, what is true for you, which is subjective rather than objective.
An audience wants to hear your opinion – it’s how they connect to you as a person and come to understand the meaning of your story. But there should never be any confusion as to whether your words are presented as fact or opinion. Expressions such as, “It seemed to me“, “The way I see it“, “The way I felt was“, can let the audience know that you’re shifting from fact to opinion. Done well, they will come to better understand the journey you’ve been on.
You must be the guardian of truth within your story, as it becomes a reflection of you.
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Why Storytelling Matters via Patrick Moreau
/in Emotions, Health, Patrick Moreau, Storytelling, Trauma/by Mark Lovett“Why storytelling?” It’s a question I’ve been asked many times, often preceded by the phrase, “Out of all the career paths you could have pursued.” The standard answer has always been, “Because it matters, because it expresses our humanity, because it can change the world.”
For me, it’s something that I have witnessed in my own life, and in the lives of many others. An accumulation of experiences over many years that led to a profound understanding, built like the pyramids, one block at a time. Though it’s a reality constantly evolving, never finished.
I would venture to say that Patrick Moreau‘s experience is similar in that he has spent many years honing his own craft of storytelling as the founder of Muse Storytelling, but in his case there was a pivotal moment when the telling of stories took on new meaning and purpose.
Many personal stories involve tragic events or circumstances that cause a shift in perspective about the world and our place in it. We come away changed, as well as conflicted and confused, yet clarity can also manifest. Take a few minutes to watch this video about Patrick’s journey, then reflect on your desire, and maybe reluctance, to share your story with others.
Transcript (with minor edits for readability)
Amina Moreau: So, I just came back from interviewing Patrick for our launch film, and I’ve got to say, we had a really great plan going into this thing. We knew exactly what we wanted our story to be. But every so often, when you’re in an interview, something so amazing, or so unexpected happens that you know you’ve got to pivot your story.
Here’s what happened:
Why does it matter to you so much that you live a life of purpose?
Patrick Moreau: That was my mom. She took her own life, and my sister and I had to go back to Midland and pack up her apartment.
I mean, for over a decade my mom struggled with bipolar, which means she’d have these manic phases where she’d fly to places like Turkey, Lebanon or Jordan and then would often come crashing down into a depression and somebody’d have to go and try and bring her back.
I went to Lebanon to try and bring her back when she became depressed, and I’ve sat on an airplane next to her for eight hours and she pretends to read, you know, because then it looks like you’re normal.
I can’t imagine the reality of somebody going through their life trying to hide their pain so that people don’t try and bother them, you know? And so, it just came to a point where she felt like she was more of a burden.
A lot of people would probably tell you that the depression killed her, but it was not having purpose anymore. It was not being able to follow her purpose. It was not being able to find it in herself to do anything that she felt would really make a difference for anybody.
It’s incredibly hard to lose somebody you’re that close to, but what allowed me to survive was having a purpose, was believing that what we’re actually doing really does matter and makes a difference.
So it’s a very deep-seated sense that purpose not only matters, it not only drives you forward, but it also keeps you going, and it also will help see you through, and it is one of the most fulfilling things that you can have. You know?
I don’t think a lot of us realize that being a storyteller truly is the greatest job out there, because not only do we get to do something, it can really make a positive difference, that we can really take things and share them with people in a way that’s gonna open their minds, let them see something different. But that we are also changed by those things.
If I have the ability to extract something from our experience and to bring together an incredible team of people who can come up with a repeatable way that different people, wherever they are in the world, can use this structure and these ideas to do what they do better and to love it more, I mean, it feels like a crime not to.
How do you not share that? How do you not take the opportunity to try and do that? I don’t know, I guess it seems bizarre ‘cuz people come up to you all the time and they go, like, why are you sharing this?
Like, why do you just give away everything you know? And I have such a hard time understanding that question. Why would I keep it? Are you gonna go and tell your best story and then go lock it in your bedroom and go, “No, no, this is for me!”
No, you share it with people. You want it to make an impact. Well, you know what? Muse is my story. It is something that I believe in that deeply, that it can be your journey, that can help you actually make a difference and that’s all it is. And so of course, I want to share that with as many people as I can. And I want them to be able to use it and take it and take whatever works for you and just do what you do a little bit better and I’m happy.
Every story is the opportunity of a lifetime and we just rarely realize it. You rarely realize that we have an opportunity to really let somebody be heard, to allow them to see themselves in a different way, and to share something with other people that could make a difference for them.
One of the last things that my mom really wanted was to share her story. It was to have it matter to somebody else other than her. For people to take her pain in her experience with bipolar and to learn something from it, to be able to live their own lives a little bit better.
And I will one day tell that story in a bigger way. And when I do, I want it to be the best damn story I’ve ever told. You know, I want to make sure that I’m not missing anything, I haven’t left anything on the table, and that’s why we’re building this. You know? Because that’s what matters to me, this story.
But everybody else, they have something that matters to them, and it’s just about creating something that allows us all to make the most of every story we tell.
contact me to discuss your storytelling goals!
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