-Client uses story, I have an “aha” —>
“Yes, I have dozens of patents so people say, ‘wow, you must be really smart.’ And then I say, not all that smart, my brain just works differently.”
“What do you mean, ‘differently’?” I ask.
“Well, for example, I can’t spell. But the truth is, I like to write, and I can spell any word I need to spell. I do it by figuring it out.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, since you just said you can’t spell.”
“My third-grade teacher called me up to get my paper she’d decorated with red ink. She told me that not only was I spelling words incorrectly, but in one paragraph, I had spelled the same word four different ways.”
I ponder this and realize, wow….he’s so present “in the moment” that when he needs to reach for letters to construct a word, he builds it to match the sound in his head, but there are more ways than one to skin a cat, as they say. To write a word he has not memorized how to spell, he sees it as a new problem to solve. He reaches into his brain’s Scrabble bag full of letters and begins building a word—starting from scratch, even if he constructed that word a minute earlier.
That’s not just a “problem-solver” type person, that is an innovator’s mind. Aha! That is why he wants to emphasize in his book that the “inventor’s brain” does work differently.
His story about “I can’t spell” will be at the beginning of the book, helping to illustrate something he thinks is important to share with his readers.
That Story’s Lived 60+ Years So Far…Why?
Life offers us countless fleeting moments. The ones we choose to notice—and shape into stories—become the ones that define us. Yes, define us to ourselves and to others.
Most of life passes unnoticed. We rush through mornings, autopilot through conversations, and scroll past sunsets. Yet buried in the ordinary are moments of extraordinary significance—if only we slow down enough to see them. A child's question that reveals unexpected wisdom. A stranger's kindness that restores your faith. A teacher’s observation about our unusual way of thinking.
The way a rainbow appeared just as you finished a prayer, turning the moment into something even more sacred.
These are the human experiences that make a life. Not the promotions, not the vacations, not the carefully curated highlights we post online—but the small things that change us in ways we don't fully understand until much later.
The Practice of Paying Attention
Noticing is a muscle. Like any discipline, it atrophies without use and strengthens with practice. The writer Mary Oliver spent her entire life cultivating this skill—walking through woods with nothing but a notebook, recording the texture of bark, the pitch of birdsong, the particular shade of green that appears only in early April.
But you don't need to be a poet to practice attention. You only need to decide that the present moment is worth inhabiting fully. That the person in front of you is worth truly seeing. That the story unfolding in your daily life—however ordinary it may seem—contains something worth preserving.
Preserving? Goodness, yes. One source I read said that humans first began telling stories as far back as…500,000 years ago! Let’s not let that “oral tradition” become extinct. (It’s going to take our intentionality, because the digits are an aggressive, strong-swimming invasive species.)
My focus is not on getting you to speak up and tell a story on stage or at Thanksgiving dinner (although we all love the person who does). My passion is to persuade you to create a tale in story form that can be shared in any number of ways.
From Moment to Story
Noticing a moment is the first act. The second — and arguably more important—is shaping it into a story with a point. Not a lecture, not a moral lesson wrapped in thin narrative, but a genuine human experience distilled into something transferable. Something that makes the listener think, "Yes—I've felt that too, but I never had the words for it."
A good story does three things: it draws you in, it takes you somewhere unexpected, and it leaves you changed—even if just slightly. The "point" of a story isn't a thesis statement. It's the emotional truth that resonates after the details fade. It's the reason someone remembers your story three years later while standing at their own kitchen window, watching their own rainbow appear in the sky.
Why Sharing Stories Is Both Generous and Self-Serving
When you share a story—a real one, with texture and honesty and a point—you're offering someone else permission to slow down. To listen. To feel something. And in that shared feeling, we find the thing we've been looking for all along: connection.
I don’t have to tell you that human connection is on the decline. Interestingly, this means personal storytelling’s value is on the rise. As expert Joe Lazer writes, “We’re entering an era in which AI can do many technical tasks faster and better than us…Increasingly, success at work will mean mastering soft skills like communication, leadership, and empathy. Stories, not spreadsheets, are how you build strong relationships with other human beings.”
Begin Today
You don't need to wait for something dramatic to happen. The moment worth noticing is already here. Notice it. Write it down. Shape it into something. Give it a point—even if the point is simply: this mattered, and I was here for it.
A Small Practice
Notice — Today, catch one moment that would normally slip by. Feel its weight.
Record — Jot it down. A few words or a sentence can capture it. Add to your list every day.
Shape — Carve out a time to write a story, choosing one experience from your list. Ask yourself: what's the point? What truth does this moment hold?
Share — Tell someone. A friend, a journal, a stranger on the internet. Let it live outside of you. (I’m always eager to hear a story from you!)
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