Moths to the Flame

It has long been said that for most people, fear of public speaking is greater than the fear of death. For whatever reason, not for me. So when my daughter invited my wife and I to accompany her and her boyfriend Matt to a storytelling event called The Moth, it sounded interesting. Especially since he had already told stories at a few and hoped to do so again this night. 

 

A brief background: The Moth is both a podcast and a live event once a month in various places. The idea is simple: Everyone has a story to tell. Why not give people a chance to tell it? And gather others around to listen, attracted as we are to each other’s stories like moths to the flame.

 

Each event has a particular theme—like Friends or Pets or Regrets. This one was “Oblivious”— something that happened that you didn’t see coming. For those up for the invitation, you simply go up to the host beforehand, write your name and address and add the paper to the hat. 10 people are then randomly chosen. The rules are clear and again, simple:

1)   No story longer than six minutes. 

2)   No notes to read from. Tell the story.

3)   No hate speech or obviously bigoted material. 

4)   Three different groups of pre-selected judges will give you a number rating from 1 to 10. The “winner” gets to go on to a later “Grand Slam” event. 

 

We arrived and the place was packed to the max, about 150 people or so. While waiting for it to start, it occurred to me that I had a story I could tell. My daughter discouraged me, reminding me that most people had thoroughly prepared and practiced their stories, especially to meet the 6-minute deadline. And I was worried that one more name in the hat would slightly affect Matt’s chances of being chosen. Nevertheless, I persisted and put my name in.

 

Then, I confess, I felt just a little bit nervous. So in the five minutes before starting, I came up with an enticing beginning and what I thought might be a satisfying end, confident that the middle would take care of itself. The lights went down, the first speaker stepped up and he was quite good. My nervousness amped up an inch. The second speaker not quite as engaging, but also good. And then, lo and behold, I hear my name being called for the third!

 

Once on stage, all nerves settled, back in a familiar territory to speaking to a group. The audience seemed to sincerely enjoy it and my judge’s score was just below the 1^st speaker and above the second’s. And then, hand to heart that this is true, I put my hand in the hat to pull out the paper for the next speaker and…drum roll here, it was Matt!!!! What were the chances?

 

What’s more, his story was great and his delivery great and his score the highest so far. Two hours later, when all 10 speakers had delivered, he “won” the event! And I was 3^rd! Of course, that wasn’t even close to the point of it, but still very satisfying for both of us. 

 

The host, with his spirited and funny banter, was very good and at some point he asked if anyone had any questions. One asked, “How do we save Democracy?” His instant reply was, “Doing things like this. Gathering together, sharing our stories, listening to each other and realizing that we’re all in this together, all to be equally valued, all with so much more in common than the politicians would have us believe.” 

 

And he’s right.