I love the
confidence in a good story.
There’s
something so satisfying
watching,
listening, to someone
tell a story
about a memory or
their life; they’ve
told it
a hundred
times but have a
sure knowledge
that the story
will kill
every time they tell it.
It’s amazing
to see their eyes
dance with
such surety. The
disco-ball
of confidence, twirling
in their
iris as they get to the part that
always gets
the laugh yet only begs
for more
details. The part that leaves
the listener
wanting more. That one,
awesome part
that baits everyone’s attention.
It’s marvelous
to watch.
Even better
to be a part of it,
and even
more wonderful to be
the one
telling the story to that
small sea of
faces, eagerly
anticipating
each word, motion,
and epic sentence. To see the
light, reflected,
in their eyes.
A story told
well has a million
lives. It’s
re-told, embellished,
re-crafted,
and embarks on new
journeys to
new ears and eyes.
It’s no
wonder we, as a species,
are so
fascinated by a well told
story, tale,
anecdote. We love
them, we
love the tellers.
Let me tell
you about the time I…
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