Click the below for me.
I tell stories because they’re the most powerful way I know to connect with people—strangers, friends, even myself. Stories are how we pass down wisdom, share laughter, explore what it means to be human. I don’t tell them just to entertain; I tell them because they help us see ourselves and each other more clearly.
When I tell a story, I’m not just offering a sequence of events—I’m offering a piece of me. It’s a way to say, “Here’s something that mattered to me. Maybe it’ll matter to you too.” Stories invite empathy. They slow us down in a world that’s always rushing. They’re a gentle reminder that life isn’t just about facts or headlines, but about moments—awkward ones, joyful ones, painful ones—that shape who we are.
I also tell stories because they make the truth easier to hear. Sometimes a direct message gets rejected, but wrapped in a story, it lands softer and lingers longer. A good story doesn’t preach—it shows. It lets people draw their own conclusions and, in doing so, makes the message more personal and powerful.
And to be honest, I also tell stories to make sense of things. Life doesn’t always come with a clear plot or resolution, but when I shape an experience into a story, it gives me a kind of clarity. I start to see patterns, meaning, even humor in things that once felt confusing or chaotic. It helps me heal. It helps me grow.
Why 400 words? Because it’s long enough to say something that matters, but short enough to keep someone’s attention. It forces me to be intentional with every sentence. No room for fluff—just the essence. It’s a creative boundary that sharpens my voice.
So when I tell stories, especially in this compact way, I’m not just talking—I’m offering a window, a mirror, sometimes even a lifeline. I tell them in hopes that someone listening might laugh, or think, or feel less alone. Maybe even all three.
That’s why I tell stories. And that’s why I’ll probably never stop.
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