“I don’t have time for this storytelling fluffy, poofy stuff. I have a lot to get done. I have too much on my plate. It’s faster to do the thing myself than try to “connect through a story.” – The Taskmaster.

Everyone talks about the impact stories have on the audience. But what about the intangible impact the story has on the teller?

Everyone is talking about your “why” story. But it’s more important to know their why.

There’s this little thing called the #Erastour happening, and I have been obsessed with Taylor Swift’s ability to connect so meaningfully and personally with, oh, millions and millions of people. Sure, it’s her brilliant storytelling – I don’t think that’s news to you, but I think it’s more than that.

One winter morning last December, P walked into the kitchen asking me when I planned to “start my stuff.” 

Usually, I’m a fan of brevity.

The satisfaction in replacing four or five words with one can be hard to beat. Some people like playing golf and hitting the ball just right, others like leveling up in video games, me – I just want to see how few words I can use to communicate something.

Why do stories make people lean in? Chad Littlefield was running a session teaching facilitators how to design for contribution.

There is a buffalo on a ranch I drive by almost every day. I’m not sure, but the buffalo looks sad and lonely. I wish it were free to roam around and that it had friends.

Why are we, as women (and it’s not always women, but let’s be real, I think more often than not it is), afraid to speak our minds? 

In Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey contemplated the lives of ancient cliff dwellers who made their homes far up above ground in caves in the rock of the Utah desert: