Out of the story, into the storyteller

I enjoy telling stories and have for a very long time. Perhaps it’s the attention or the connection with an audience—but sometimes, unexpected moments of clarity appear while I’m telling a story. My first attempt at stand-up comedy comes to mind.

During that performance, I experienced a moment where I observed myself from the outside, noticing my tone, inflection, and physical mannerisms as if I were in the audience. Internally, I had “checked out” — I was gone. Vacant.

Retrospectively, I can say, ah yes, my body was signaling this experience was far too emotionally vulnerable, and I happily disassociated, stepping away from my own experience. That wasn’t the painful part; the harder moment came from continuing the set while disconnected, and noticing the quiet when I finished.

I learned something important during that performance: I abandoned my own experience in order to complete the story. What my body wanted and needed was for me to drop the story. Read the room. Pause. Adjust. Connect with myself. And I ignored it all because the story felt more important than me.

My dear reader, this is not uncommon. Many of us spend time caught in our own stories, seeking solutions or outcomes quickly. And while meaningful insight can happen in many places — a shower, a walk in nature, meditation, dance, ceremony, or conversation — a single experience doesn’t automatically reshape everything.

Moments can feel powerful. They can linger. But without time and space to sit with them, they often remain just that — moments.

Sometimes, tuning into what’s happening inside us can be challenging. It requires noticing without expectation, and being willing to be present even when silence or stillness is uncomfortable. This is a skill we can practice, slowly and attentively, in ways that feel accessible rather than forced.

For some, this comes easily. For others, it feels unfamiliar or even frustrating. I’ve found that having a steady witness alongside you — someone not trying to fix or manage your experience — can make that process feel more accessible.

This work is a practice.

If you find yourself struggling to actively listen or to notice what’s happening within you, you’re not alone. There’s no required timeline and no prescribed outcome. Sometimes what we notice feels significant; often it’s subtle. What matters is the willingness to pause and step out of the story long enough to notice the storyteller.