Gaining the courage to tell my story

Lately I've been attending First Person Arts Story Slams. I love the mission of this organization; to connect people through stories. The concept of a Story Slam is pure genius: if you so desire, you put your name in a bucket, and ten names get chosen at random. If picked, you tell a true story that happened to you, that relates to the theme, and that's five minutes or less (without notes) up in front of a very supportive audience. Each time before last night, I haven't put my name in the bucket. I kept thinking I wasn't ready to share a story.

(Image created by First Person Arts).

Last night's theme was "shock". I was looking forward to the stories as usual, and also didn't think that I even had a story in which I was all that shocked, at least not Story Slam level worthy shock. My friend even asked me what my shock story would be, and I said I didn't know. I happily settled in for another night of storytelling without the added pressure of wondering whether my name would be called next.

(Image by pixshark.com).

Yet as soon as the second person started telling their story, I immediately remembered that I had a great shock story. My first year of teaching in a Philly public school, I was mooned by a student during an after-school club. If that's not shocking, I'm not sure what is! Yet my story wasn't just about that moment in which an 8th grader pulled his pants down (yikes!) and I wasn't sure how to respond. It was about how much I was a fish out of water my first year teaching, and how now looking back on it, it's so much fun to laugh at the vast difference between what I expected and the reality. It was about how certain mentors took me under their wing and helped me navigate a situation that was so much more complex than the actual teaching. It was about these crazy little things that happen can really shape a person.

(I cannot find who created this image - if someone can, please let me know!).

Now, during the Story Slam, you can put your name in the bucket at the beginning of the night, or at intermission (after five people share their story). So there I was, listening to incredible stories and feeling like I just had to tell my own. I've never felt so much of a need to tell a story. I also knew that if I didn't put my name in that darn bucket I might never get up the courage to do it again. So, I hastily jotted down some notes (even though I lived the story, I had to think about how I was going to tell it), gathered every bit of courage and put my name in the bucket. Even if I wasn't called, I reasoned, I would be proud of myself for entering.

Of course, my name was the first to be called after the intermission, and my body went into shock. I'm not even sure how I moved from my chair to the stage, but somehow I got up there and started telling my story. It was truly an out of body experience. I was amazed that on one level I could be literally shaking and on another level I could be actively telling my story (let's not forget, I couldn't use notes), seeking connection with the audience, poking fun at my situation, making the audience laugh (who knew I could be funny? :), and having an amazing time. I don't remember exactly what I said (I'm waiting for the video to be posted to find out exactly how I did), but I remember how I felt. Up on stage, I felt this incredible rush that I could share a story honestly with people and receive such support.

On a side note, my students always used to make fun of me for talking with my hands. I now see what they meant :)!

I'm still on a high from sharing my story. If you have any forum to share a story (even a silly story like a kid mooning you) in public, up in front of people, I highly recommend it.

Have any of you gotten up the courage to share a story? How was it? Tell us about it in the comments below.

"You've passed the hardest part!" "No, now I'm at the hardest part!"

Yesterday, I went rock climbing with friends (in an indoor gym in case you were wondering - it's COLD in Philly right now). We took turns climbing, encouraging each other as we scrambled or in my case hoisted quite ungracefully up the walls.

When you're watching someone climb from the ground, it suddenly becomes very clear what move they should make next. You have the vision to see where the easy footholds and handholds are. If you've climbed the same course beforehand, you know exactly what sequence would be best for them to get to the top without tiring out. You're the expert. Or so you think.

When you're climbing, however, it's a whole different story. Your body is fatigued, you are right up against the wall so it's difficult to see where the rocks are, and you're trying not to look down, lest you see how far you've come and how far it would be to drop to the floor. The course that from the ground seemed so straightforward can take a completely different turn with each person that climbs it.

At one point, when I was frantically searching for my next handhold, my friend shouted up from the ground, "You've passed the hardest part! You've got this!" Out of breath, I laughingly shouted back, "No, now I'm at the hardest part!" 

Afterwards, my arms shaking as I gave my friends a high-five, I realized that half of my motivation to get up that wall (or 3/4 of the way up that wall if we're being honest) was my friends' encouragement. Having them point out a foothold that I wouldn't have seen otherwise was a huge help. I couldn't see it, because I was too close to my own story. 

There's a balance needed of course, as there is so often in life. We think we see exactly where someone else should go next, especially if we've been in a similar situation. We think since our story turned out this way, the next person's story should as well. It comes from a place of such support, yet each person's story is so unique. The hardest part to you may be only the calm before the hardest part of the storm to someone else. 

I'm so lucky I have friends to let me know where my next foothold is should I want to pursue it, and that I also have the ability to figure out my next move in my own story myself.

The Tale of Oscar and Felix

A brief account of the tale of Oscar and Felix, in slightly poetic form:

'Twas a wintry day in early February in ye old city of Philly;
Julie and her paramour L were desiring feline companionship (it had gotten quite chilly).

So they traveled to PAWS, a place that housed animals, a brief yet harrowing feat.

And swore to the shopkeeper they would be amazing caretakers (making sure the cats had enough to eat.)

"Very well," said the shopkeeper, "We have a large selection, and all of them have their knees." (?)

Said Julie and L, "Excellent, we want two of them if you please."

The shopkeeper hesitated before saying...

"We have quite an unusual case. Two cats were found together, and they are a pair...but they are quite an odd pair...an odd couple just like that movie that at one time was playing."

"They were found together, Oscar and Felix, outside in the bitter cold."

"Felix is just short of 6 months and at 6 years Oscar is well...a bit old." 

"An odd couple?" Julie and L exclaimed. "Well this is quite unexpected! Are they father and son?" The shopkeeper could not say. 

"They must stay together, that's all that I know, can you make a decision today?"

Oscar climbed into Julie's lap, curled up, started purring and emitted some drool.

At that point Julie was a done deal, when it came to Oscar, she was a fool!

Felix was scared, but blinked a few times, which the shopkeeper said was a good sign.

"He's been on the streets his entire life," said the shopkeeper, "Just give him a bit of time."

L and Julie said, "We would love to give these cats a home!"

The shopkeeper said, "Let us know of their progress by phone!"

Only a week has past yet it seems like Oscar and Felix have lived with Julie and L for much longer.

Oscar feels pretty much at home....

While the bond between Felix and his human companions (and DaBird) with each day grows a wee bit stronger.

Oscar spends most of his days waiting for food, while Felix plays hard to get.

While Julie and L haven't quite become those people who are super obsessed with their cats.....at least, not yet.

The End