In the last couple years I have actively been trying to pursue storytelling. It’s a great medium for writers who like to perform, but aren’t necessarily actors, which is something my mother might contest to having had to raise a very dramatic child.
Storytelling is scary! You have to get up in front of strangers and tell/remember all the words to a very personal and true story.
It’s even more nerve-wracking when you try to do The Moth, a monthly live storytelling event in multiple cities that’s also an NPR radio show. It’s so anxiety inducing because you basically have to come fully prepared to tell a five minute story on the selected topic, but you might not get to go. The 10 Moth storytellers are chosen from a bag, where you have to put your name in for a chance at the spotlight.
The first time I tried to get up, I did, because you know beginners luck. I have gone several times, since seeking that high I achieved the first time. In fact, I came ready to spill my guts three times with no dice. Even though I left feeling disappointed, I also felt a little relieved. Hey, I tried, ya know?
This past Tuesday, I tried for the fourth time in a row, and finally got up for my second time, six months after the first.
I told a story about almost getting bed bugs just two months after moving in with my boyfriend, but really it was about how hard it was for me to give up my independence and move in with a boy. And how even though it caused me to pretty much have a mental breakdown, ultimately, through the process of fighting off bed bugs, I was better off with him.
I went to the event by myself Tuesday night. Usually I go with a few friends, some of whom also put their name in the bag to be chosen. But, this week, no one was available, but I still wanted to go. My boyfriend said that he might be able to come late, but wasn’t feeling well, so he didn’t know.
I spent the first half standing in the back, with all the seats already taken, picking the hell out of my manicure, my heart gripped every time they unfolded a piece of paper to reveal who would be telling a story next. During intermission, my boyfriend showed up. I was chosen storytellers later, and I stood on stage, with a bright light in my face, and I told a very abridged version of our bed bug run-in from last year.
The next day, before leaving for work, my boyfriend stopped and said, “Hey, I’m really proud of you.”
“Why?”
“Because you went to The Moth by yourself. You didn’t know if I was going to make it, but you want to be a storyteller so you went anyway. That’s really brave and cool that you did that.”
He kissed my head and left.
It really was a great thing that I decided to move in with him.
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