Ten Ways to Use Storytelling to Improve Your Ability to Connect and Communicate

Posted on February 26, 2015August 2, 2015 by Sarah K Peck

Humans are born storytellers. The way we tell and share our stories about who we are, what we do, and what we want. This, in turn, affects who sees us, hears about us, and whether or not the right people connect with us.

When you want to learn how to describe yourself or your business, people look to storytelling as a way to improve their core message. But what is storytelling? And how do you actually get better at it? The word is vague and yet so appealing — but it can be difficult to know where to start, and how to use what you learn in your everyday practice.

This section will look at some of the core truths about stories and storytelling — and I’ll share a few tools that are practical and that you can implement quickly for many communication needs, ranging from a personal biography to the description of your company.

Storytelling is a fundamental human tool that we all do innately — but over time, we’ve been bombarded with terrible examples of storytelling that aren’t good models to look to. Our brains are wired for storytelling — because it helps us learn, explore, and retain information through second- and third-hand experiences.

What are stories and who tells them?

Stories are innately human: everyone is a born storyteller.

When you recount events that you’ve done — even the simple sentence as you walk through the door, “You won’t believe what just happened — first I went to the grocery store, then…” — your ears prick up. You’ve set up the most basic form of a story: do you know what it is?

Here’s another example — “The beach was dark and quiet. It was eerie — the moon was dark and someone had turned off all the lights on the boardwalk. Alison felt uneasy as she stepped nervously out into the dark. Who had turned out all the lights?”

Both of these examples use a very specific form of storytelling that we’re all hardwired to understand. Do you know what it is?

I’ll explain it today as we deconstruct storytelling. But first, I want to debunk a few myths about storytelling. Somehow we think that only an elite few can be storytellers, and it’s a skill that we don’t have.

Common storytelling principles:

#1: Everyone is a storyteller.

It’s sometimes thought that storytelling is limited to an elite few, or a professional clique. In reality, that’s not true—all humans are born storytellers, and we’re born to look for, hear, and describe our world in stories. Children are born telling stories — in fact, we play for exactly this reason. Play is our built-in mode of imagining the future and the past. In telling stories, and playing make-believe, we’re able to learn at a much faster pace than if we had to rely only on our own experience.

We are learning creatures. We learn by experience — and through our imagination. When something good happens to us, that’s a reward. When something bad happens, there’s a punishment. These incentives teach us over time. In stories, we get to pick up and enter into the landscape of someone else’s learning — and learn for ourselves, even though we may be sitting in one place, not moving. When someone comes back to us and says, “Avoid Atlantic avenue, it’s crazy full of traffic,” we select a different route because we got information — and a story – about someone else’s experience.

#2: We tell stories to connect, dream, and imagine.

We use storytelling to connect inwardly to ourselves, outwardly towards others, and to imagine futures. Humans spend up to four hours per day inside of imaginary landscapes — in daydreams, thoughts, visualizations, and places beyond the present. We live in a world of stories.

#3: Stories are how we are hardwired.

Prior to written language, we had to keep important information about the world around us, somehow. We’ve constructed melodies, songs, and other modes of storing information. Is it any coincidence that “storing” and “storytelling” are related? We are hardwired to remember cause and effect relationships — I saw a spider, that spider killed my friend, spiders are bad. “REMEMBER THIS!” Shouts your brain.

In research in The Storytelling Animal by Jonathan Gottfried, he talks about how we actually make up stories all the time, whenever we see two events happening. If we see a group of women and they’re all wearing tiny shorts, we might tell as story to ourselves about how they are all going to the beach. In research on people with their two brain hemispheres segmented or separated, they discover that our brains actually wire stories into our minds when presented two pieces of information. This brings us to idea #4.

#4: A story is what you take with you.

In any situation or setting, a story is what you take with you. When giving a presentation or sharing your brand or idea, what someone walks away with is the story. They’ve taken all the information they’ve been given and distilled it into the easiest parts to remember.

Bonus tip #1 — at conferences and in introductions. At a conference, if you babble and ramble when introducing yourself to people, they’ll forget most of what you said. If you string it into a story, and you keep it simple, people will be able to take that with you. You don’t need to get all the perfect information into one sentence; in fact, being imperfect can prompt likability and curiosity!

A quick and easy test for how good your story is is to listen in to what’s being said. Introduce yourself to someone, and then listen to when they introduce you. I’ll often keep it simple — I focus on writing and swimming, and I’ll say, “I work as a writer; I teach writing, and I’m also an open-water swimmer.”

When I’m being introduced, Clay leans over and grabs his friend and says, “You gotta meet Sarah, she’s a swimmer!” — I listen to what people hang on to.

A story is what you take with you. Listen to what people catch from your descriptions, and guide your story towards what people naturally keep bringing up!

#5: We are surrounded by far too many examples of bad storytelling — powerpoints, inadequacy marketing, and droll presentations have numbed our innate ability to tell stories.

Unfortunately, we’re surrounded by terrible examples of storytelling. In Story Wars, by Jonah Sachs, he talks about all the sins of modern storytelling — from Vanity to Authority and more. Basically, the last century of mass broadcasting let the leaders in charge of storytelling get lazy. There’s too much talking about yourself, not listening to the audience, and shouting lists. Technology (like powerpoint) even encourages bad storytelling by putting bullets and lists as the mode of operation.

#6: When you sell anything — yourself, a brand, a business — you tell a story.

When you sell things, you tell a story. It’s not about the thing at hand — lists are bad. Think about a toothbrush. You’re not selling a plastic stick with a bunch of flexible bristles on it. You’re selling the idea of a cleaner mouth. Why is that clean mouth important?

Think about Listerine: you’re not selling a bottle of alcohol, you’re selling … a date. The ability to be well-liked. Advertisements are stories about who you are and who you should be, and they want to capitalize on something deeper than the physical thing that they are selling. What do they believe about human nature? What story are they telling you, implied or otherwise?

How you can improve your storytelling today.

#7: Your English teacher was right — it is about “showing” versus “telling.”

Too often we jump straight to the point. “It was the hardest day of my life.” “The thing is, simplicity matters.” “Never underestimate the power of a good friend.”

Whatever your core philosophical statement, usually it’s often unsaid. Just like the toothbrush examples before, the point of your story isn’t to beat someone over the head with the idea, but rather to SHOW it through lots of vivid detail and an example that highlights your core philosophy. For example —

[It was the hardest day of my life.] vs: I’d just finished a fourteen hour shift in the cement factory. I had no idea what my dad did, so that summer I signed up to join him at work. Three days in, and I could barely lift my hands. My forearms burned, and my calves were shot from jumping in and out of the trucks. I’d probably lifted more than a hundred sacks of cement mix in and out of the truck.

[Never underestimate the power of a good friend.] vs: I’d just found out that my grandmother had passed, and I couldn’t make it home in time. My job had closed the week before, our office putting up the ‘for sale’ sign after more than 8 months in the red. On the bus ride home through the foggy drizzle of Portland’s grey fall days, I wondered how I could pay for groceries for the rest of the week. As I got off the bus, I saw someone sitting on my stoop. Probably another homeless person, I muttered, thinking I’d be one soon myself. As I got closer, I saw that it was Alex, holding two bags of Indian food takeout. He wrapped me in a big hug. “I thought that you could use this today,” he explained, pointing to the food. “Let’s eat.”

#8: Detail, detail, detail. The environment matters — because you’re telling someone about a world they’re imagining through your descriptions.

Great storytelling is about detail — but a specific kind of detail. How do you set the stage and the context for what’s happening? What does it feel like to be you? Stories immerse us in an event far away from where we are, catapulting us into a new time and space. Key descriptions anchor us into this new space through the use of all of the senses — smell, sight, touch, taste, sound, texture, even kinesthetics. Begin by describing the world around you, in vivid sensory detail. The English language has thousands of words to describe the subtle differences in texture and weight and material. Tell the story of what the world looks like. Great fiction books often begin with these details — take a look at 1984 or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for great opening scenes that write about detail.

With written narrative, all we have are words — versus in film, where we can show rich detail through visual imagery. In writing, all we have are words — and choosing words and describing the environment and scene, in detail, is what brings someone into your story.

#9: Introduce conflict — by using the “bait” method.

Here’s a secret about the human brain: we all like to be smart. We like to figure things out, and know the answers to things. Whenever we are presented with a puzzle, we like seeing if we can figure it out before someone else does.

In storytelling, a great way to engage your audience is to add a teaser at the beginning. By using a little bit of bait, you stoke the curiosity in your listener’s mind. Ira Glass talks about this often, and if you introduce a story with an underlying question (like “the house was eerily dark,” or “it was a different night than any other,”) the listener begins to wonder why it was so dark, or why the night was different.

This “curiosity gap” between a piece of information that asks a question, and the story that resolves the question, helps the reader stay engaged and curious about the story. A little bit of conflict introduces a puzzle to be fixed!

#10: Shorter is often better. Keep it simple!

At the end of the day, a story is what you take with you — and we don’t remember every detail of every story, but rather, the highlights real. When you’re presenting your idea, biography, or product, start with something short and sweet.

Conclusions and take-aways: journaling and practice.

What did you take away from this introduction to storytelling? How can you change your story to make it sweeter, simpler, and easier to understand?

Here are a few ways to take your work forward in your journal and practice:

Practice: how can you write a one-sentence description of who you are that’s super simple? What three keywords or nouns would you use to describe you? Think of it as a gift to your audience — the less you say, the more they can remember.
Writing exercise: describe your environment, in vivid detail. What is the shape of the space that you are in? What does it smell like, taste like, sound like?
Bookmark 10 great “About” pages that you love and highlight what stands out to you. What techniques and styles are used that you particularly admire?
Take a quick look at your email inbox (but don’t get lost in it!). Take a screen shot of your inbox and print it out. Highlight what’s already been read, and what you’ve skipped. Are there any themes? Look at what you click — which email titles are stories? Which ones are boring? What do you skip over? Your inbox is a great case-study for clues to how storytelling works in your everyday life. What can you learn?

PS: My new course on Content Marketing — how to grow your audience, understand your customers, and publish content that actually gets shared — goes live this Thursday, February 26th. We have 3,801 people signed up on the early-access list, and we’re opening up a limited number of spaces for 48 hours. If you want to join us, take a look and sign up for the early access list!

Have you changed your narrative lately?

Posted on October 21, 2014 by Sarah K Peck

As I wander through cities, one of the things I look for is evidence of fresh construction. Cities are living, breathing, pulsating organisms, and a great indicator of change is the number of cranes you can see dotting the skyline. In San Francisco, new construction emerges when the lack of residential units becomes absurd; in my new neighborhood in Brooklyn, new housing developments are popping up on vacant lots every few months.

Everything is always changing, even if we aren’t looking for it.

You have trillions of cells in your body, one of my yoga teachers reminds me. And your cells live, grow, and die and replace themselves every seven years. Every seven years we become an entirely new collection of cells. And in our personal and professional lives, metamorphoses happen even quicker. Your narrative changes every two, three, four years. You were a college student—then you weren’t. You were responsible for only yourself—and then you became a parent.

Every seven years our physical bodies completely regenerate. How often do we renew our stories of self?

Your narrative is always changing.

It’s easy to cling to a story, even if it doesn’t serve us anymore. It’s harder to shed the layers of past selves and emerge into a new narrative. The transition can be awkward, abrupt, or bumpy.

As things move and shift, you’re learning, iterating, growing, changing. You’re new to twitter and then, months later … you’re not. No one is listening to your blog, and then, some time later, people are listening. You’re embedded in the flush of a new job, thrilled to be working on your project, and then, a few years later, you’re tired. Ready for the next project, story, or idea.

Don’t cling too hard to your old narratives. Instead, build new ones. Grow into future ones.

When you’re a new employee, the biggest thing you don’t know yet is that you’re only in the entry level category for a short time before new faces come along and you’ve got to hand your bag of tricks over to the new staff. That management you’re secretly griping about? That’s you, really soon. Trying your best to do better, and learning the reasons why it’s so tough to implement your ideals. At the end of my twenties, just a brush away from my thirties, I realized with somewhat of a start that I graduated from college 9 years ago –

What? NINE years ago?

People were asking me questions that I had answers to — and many that I didn’t. I knew a lot, and yet there was so much more I wanted to learn.

You are, until you aren’t.

You aren’t, and then you are.

In my work with storytellers, educators, corporate leaders, and innovators, one of the things we do is unearth their current narratives — and watch people rebuild. Michael Margolis reminds me that “as you tell your story, your story moves.” When we take pen to paper, when we sit with friends, when we convene and collect and talk about what we’re doing — our story changes.

The act of expressing your story helps set your past narratives free. The act of imagining your future narrative helps you grow and transition into your next iteration of who you are.

We grow through story, and we grow into our story. Your narrative is changing.

What stories can you retire?

Who are you becoming next?

Writing exercise: get out a sheet of paper and write down as many stories and scripts that you carry around with you. Your age, what you believe in, how you explain who you are and what you do. Are there any that can be changed? Anything new emerging? Write down stories of your next, wiser, growing self. Who are you becoming?

PS: For everyone who’s interested in working on their writing and storytelling, I’ve got a surprise coming out in the next few weeks — if you’re on my mailing list, I’ll send you a note when my big surprise goes live!

The man at the grocery store.

Posted on October 7, 2014 by Sarah K Peck

The man in the grocery store is in love with me.

I can tell by the way that his eyes watch me, and the way he smiles at me from behind the counter. I pull my basket up around the edge of the aisle, glancing briefly at the pop tart magazines.

Mmm… chocolate. I grab one. Impulse buys.

The elderly couple in front of me tinkers with the credit card machine, pushing buttons. Their necks crane and squint a bit, staring at the box. Yes. Pay. No. No, we don’t want any money back. Yes again. Beep!

I catch his eye while I’m in line, and I see him staring at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. When he sees that I see him, his eyes squeeze and his face bursts into a grin. He ducks his head, shyly, and busies himself with packing bags and stacking the groceries as they come down the end of the conveyor belt.

I smile, too, and turn my head back to the cashier. She swipes each item past the barcode reader, tracking and recording my food purchases, automatically smiling at me and asking me about my day. I check in here almost every day, buying my lunch, sometime around noon, a creature of habit. The store is only 2 blocks from my office, and on the busy weeks I rush down here and buy a sandwich for a quick meal. There aren’t too many checkout lines and he’s always here, smiling.

His green store apron is slightly askew, his hands shaking as he picks each item up carefully off the belt to put it in a bag. I reach my hand over the counter to stop him, shaking my head slightly, reminding him again that I brought my bag.

See? I ask — and point to my big purse — I have my bag, I remind him. I don’t need another one. He quickly straightens up and arranges my items again, placing them each on the counter carefully and grinning back up at me once he’s done arranging the items.

He stutters a bit and starts talking to me, a pattern of words I’m used to from seeing him almost every day. His brown eyes open wide and take in every gesture of my being. I face him kindly and listen to his story, thanking him silently with my body for taking the time to tell me his thoughts. Today, he’s urgently and excitedly telling me about my sandwich, which, as he attests to, I will certainly enjoy.

“It’s – it’s – it’s a good, it’s a good- — good – sandwich.” He grins.

He has Down Syndrome, I guess, or some other difference, something that makes him seem unusual at first glance. I’m not sure which, nor do I feel the need to name it or identify it. His laughter is playful, childlike, eager. We are just people in a world, together. I am in joy knowing that he is here, able to participate, able to be, able to share his excitement about the world around. Maybe more people should wear smiles as frequently as he does.

Yesterday he saw me in line and his eyebrows burst up in semi-circles of recognition, and he turned around and walked away for a bit. I watched, bemused, wondering what he was up to, until I got distracted by the grocer’s cues to complete my payments. Suddenly he was there, by my side, both hands wrapped around a small flower pot with a long stemmed orchid in it. He extended both arms.

“H-H-Here,” he said. “A pretty, a pretty — a pretty —”

“A pretty flower for you.”

He blushed and turned shy when he realized what he said.

Thank you, I said.

Thank you so much. I love the flower. Today, maybe I don’t need the flower, but I love the flower. My eyes look at him, longing to understand, to try to feel what he feels and see what he sees and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to know the world as he knows it, if I’ll see it with his beauty, with his eyes, with his yearning. My mind flings to things far away from the present, lost in times far gone. And I think, too, if anyone will ever see the world as I see it, or if we’re both just lonely—lost in our own minds, not truly able to share our worlds completely with each other.

But they intersect, these moments, and his brief thoughts, his words, his gifts to me, his interest — they are the meat of it all. They are the reason we do these things. His smile makes me smile, and his words and ideas bridge a small gap between our minds.

Thank you.

Today, I pack my things in my bag and walk away and he waves, shyly. He waves, goodbye! and follows me with his eyes out of the store. I nod and smile, wave goodbye, and then watch him briefly.

His eyes turn around and they pop open, already smiling at the next customer. Each customer is a love, a treat, a friend in waiting. His love is effusive, gentle, patient and ready. If only love were always that easy.

Maybe love is that easy.

The Writer’s Workshop is now open for our summer session! Join us for the next class—and kickstart your writing into high gear.

Posted on May 5, 2014May 5, 2014 by Sarah K Peck

It’s baaaaack! The Writer’s Workshop will open up again this summer for a brand-new six-week session beginning June 30th.

The Writer’s Workshop is a live course focused on improving your storytelling, writing, and narrative abilities through eight masterful lectures and exercises — together with a community of co-writers to share the journey. We interview experts across the industry in marketing, communications, blogging, and book creation — and send YOU on a journey to dig into your own inner creative.

This time around, there are a few changes and additions:

Now that almost 100 people have taken the course, we’ve gotten excellent feedback, tips to make the program even stronger, and rave reviews from students. Here’s what you get—and what’s changing:

In the upcoming summer session, I’m adjusting the course to become a six-week program.

Also, the Writer’s Workshop will be available at three access points—to make it both more affordable for more people. There is a self-paced budget option for people who want to do the course on their own; a live class where we get to meet each other and join forces with all the alumni in the program (my favorite part!), and a private, closed Writer’s Circle for just a small group of people to receive more personalized attention and coaching.

Both the Writer’s Workshop and Content Strategy will run again this summer, beginning June 30—check out the course pages for full details and how to register.

Who is this course for?

This course is perfect for people with aspiring creative writing dreams; professionals looking at improving their communication skills for a day job; bloggers who want to improve their craft; or people with an existing writing practice who want to meet other like-minded people.

“Improving your writing means you can improve your relationships, improve your work, and get more of what you want.”

We are all writers.

The idea that writing is a separate tool or skill from other skills is a myth that needs to be debunked. We should all be excellent communicators—because the more powerfully we can convey our ideas, the more we can achieve.

Improving your writing means you can improve your relationships (through better inter-personal communication), improve your work (by getting better at describing what you do), and get what you want (by better articulating what you want).

“Sarah combines her experience in athletics, writing, and design to teach in a relatable way that inspires growth. This course not only evolves the way you think and create, but helps you hone your sales and persuasion skills. So, you come away with a fresh set of tools and the know-how to apply them to your business, career, or creative projects. Two words: do it.” — Matt Hunckler

“Her content is always thought-provoking and will force you to confront the challenge of executing your best ideas. She studies where great ideas come from and helps individuals and businesses do great work.” — Cycle 1 participant.

What will you need?

You’ll need an inquisitive mind and a curiosity about how to improve your writing ability. The course works best if you bring an open-mind and a gentle countenance—behind the doors we like to create a warm, respectful atmosphere for collaboration and creation. You’ll need about three hours per week for coursework, an hour to watch videos, and anywhere from three to five hours to work on your writing projects. In the past, students have set up time in the evenings and on the weekends to do the course—it’s best to plan ahead and carve out a few hours for your work to get the most out of the class.

Limited pre-enrollment closes May 25th:

Class begins on June 30th — and early-bird enrollment closes May 25th. Early bird registrations get a $100 discount off of either the registration for the live class or the self-guided class.

Can’t wait to see the new class!

Want to be a better storyteller? Two new online workshops, April 24th and 29th.

Posted on April 18, 2014April 18, 2014 by Sarah K Peck

Humans are born storytellers. The way we tell and share our stories about who we are, what we do, and what we want affects who sees us, hears about us, and whether or not the right people connect with us.

If you want to learn how to describe yourself or your business (or both), join me at one of the following live storytelling workshops.

I’ve taught storytelling and narrative writing workshops live across the country—from the World Domination Summit to Bold Academy to General Assembly, and now I’m teaching two of these workshops as live online webinars that you can access from anywhere. Previously these workshops were only offered in person—if you’ve wanted to attend a class (or you’re curious about the upcoming writer’s workshops), join this one-day class.

Join me on Thursday, April 24 and Tuesday, April 29 for two 90-minute sessions on storytelling, narrative, and psychology.

“One of the best classes I’ve ever taken at General Assembly.” — Craig, General Assembly workshop participant

“Amazing class. I learned so much—left with pages packed full of notes.” — Joel, WDS workshop participant.

Storytelling 1.0: Crafting narratives for individuals and businesses. Thursday, April 24th, 1pm EST. $30.

WHAT YOU’LL LEARN: This introductory class will cover narrative form and storytelling tools that are practical and quickly implementable for many communication needs ranging from a personal biography to the description of your company. Understand the role of your audience; the psychology of your readership, and why asking certain questions will make storytelling much easier.

You’ll learn how to dissect the various mediums where messages are told, how to modify your story based on the place you’re telling it; how to identify your values and your audience’s values, and the power of lyrical descriptions in your story. We’ll also cover basic psychological principles of understanding and why this is important for how you craft your message.

HOW IT WORKS: This private online webinar will be hosted LIVE at 1PM EST. The webinar includes 90-minutes of lecture, visual, and presentation materials followed by 30-minutes of open question-and-answer sessions—ask anything you’d like and get feedback on your story + listen in to the questions of others!

Can’t make it live? The webinars will be recorded with a private link of the recording sent out to all participants.

PREPARATION: Bring pens, paper, and notebooks to write on. Bring a draft of your current biography and/or business description (you’ll be asked to re-write it during the webinar based on the key principles we cover).

Register here: Storytelling 1.0: Live Webinar, Thursday, April 24th 1—3pm EST. $30.

“Sarah goes over five different frameworks for how to tell stories — this was the first time the Hero’s Journey really made sense to me in a modern context.” —Anne S.

“I never thought about how important value systems were to storytelling—once she described it, it was a huge “Ah-ha” moment for me. Now I know which stories to tell when.” — Jeremy H.

“The simple idea that we all have many stories to tell took a lot of the pressure off—we don’t need to pick just one story. We can switch them out based on our audience and the medium.” — Leslie.

Storytelling 2.0: Leadership, sticky messages and the psychology of persuasion. Tuesday, April 29th 1pm EST. $30.

ABOUT THIS CLASS: This second session of the two-part storytelling series can be taken independently or in conjunction with Storytelling 1.0. In this class, we look at the stories that great leaders use to inspire; why (and how) to use emotion in your stories, and the persuasive benefits of a great story. This class includes a deeper dive into case studies of great stories (and not-so-great stories) to better grasp the concepts. In our time together, I’ll even show how Finding Nemo can teach us how to engage audiences from the beginning of your story with clever hooks and curiosity gaps.

Can’t make it live? The webinars will be recorded with a private link of the recording sent out to all participants.

Register here: Storytelling 2.0: Live Webinar, Tuesday, April 29 1—3pm EST. $30.

“It makes so much sense—leadership stories are different than other stories, because the objectives are different. Now I can see how people tell future-based stories and I realize how powerful they are.” — Sam

“This class takes a deep dive into your own personal Hero’s Journey narratives based on the work of Carol Pearson—I finally understood how I was living out my own Orphan narrative. This class was better than therapy.” —(Anonymous).

“Sarah is one of the warmest and kindest people I know. Work with her, she will be a change-maker and an incredibly valuable asset to your team or life.” — Jana Schuberth, Owner, Love Work Now

How do you talk about who you are?

Posted on March 14, 2014March 15, 2014 by Sarah K Peck

Cue the scene.

I’m standing in a big house party, feeling eerily like I’m in an episode of Animal House, red solo cups in hand, loud music, glittery females and dapper gentlemen draped over surfaces. My toes point inwards and my hips clench together a bit. My insides are crawling. Apparently my inner Extrovert refused to come out, and I feel as though I’ve been dumped in the noisiest, strangest, most over-stimulating environment with a whole bunch of people leering at me with bright, shiny grins plastered on their faces.

Excuse me, I mumble, and head awkwardly to the bathroom. I sit on the toilet, seat down, and put my hands in my head. Breathe, I remind myself. The slight muffling of the noise outside lets my brain modestly unscramble. I look at my face in the mirror for a while, not sure what I’m doing here.

I wash my hands under warm water, mostly because the methodical rhythm of washing my hands feels soothing, as does the warm water. It feels good to be doing something, perhaps if only to add some semblance of control. Otherwise, I’d be in a bathroom, well, hiding.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but my reverie is broken by a sharp jab on the bathroom door, someone yelling, asking if I’m okay in here. (Of course I’m okay. I’m GREAT. I’d rather be here than there!) Oops. I guess I should leave the locked cabin and find a way to meander through the throngs of people.

Outside, I walk slowly towards a corner and lean with my back against a wall. I tilt my elbow up and the wine glass forward, indulging in the slow stupor and slight buzz of red wine, sips washing over my body like a gentle release, a hum of relaxation taking over. The people around me start to look like various characters in a movie, typical postures and motions mirrored across many bodies; the human dance of flirtation and introduction a choreography of it’s own. I like this. I like watching, I like thinking.

And, oh, Hey there. The man stumbles into me with some champagne and his two friends look over, bemused. I smile briefly and we chat, exchanging pleasantries, my mind not quite fully focused, but able to engage. The dull roar has subsided. Fortunately for me, my counterpart is buzzed enough to not notice that I’m not entirely paying attention. I count the number of questions we chitter-chatter over. The perfectly-tousled-hair on the left stops, takes a breath, pauses and then turns to me abruptly in the midst of our monotone chatter.

SO, he exhales, jutting out his hip.

What do you do?

Oh dear.

He peers critically over me from his glasses, his arms crossed in front of him, his body still half facing his friend. Everything about his body language implies that this will be a one-snap judgment, information to bolster his already-formed opinion of me.

I’ve crafted so many responses to this query and I’m fairly deft at answering it—it’s a game of sorts, a social dance of tongues, a tit-for-tat information exchange. Yet somewhere along with my Extrovert, I also left my willingness to banter with stupidity at home.

We — I suppose “we” being my introvert and extrovert, and whatever other personalities I hold captive within my mind — have a certain rule for people who ask that question within the first two minutes. I like to call it a game, in my mind: how many questions does it take to ask this question? Sometimes I giggle at the predictability of both human stance as well as human conversation, because we follow so religiously the cultural norms of our social spheres and upbringing; only lately has it become more routine to ask gentler, more interesting questions of our fellow humans.

Oh lordy, THAT question. The pervasive question. Everyone asks it. It’s either “What do you do?” or “Where are you from?” It seems as though you can walk up to anyone, press play, and the question comes out.

Play.

First, though: it’s not an entirely terrible question.

To be fair, we ask these questions because we want to find out more information about the people around us. We want to know their stories, what makes them who they are, why they are sitting here, how they got here, and how we might be entangled in our mutual life plays.

In some regards, I love this question — if not because it’s a challenge to summarize yourself simply (a task that is psychologically painful, because we’re always more complicated that two sentences can hold), and also, because it’s an opportunity to tell a short and interesting story.

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck dev.sarahkpeck.com/talking”]It’s often best to begin simply.[/tweetable]

Again, this is because of psychology: we can’t remember too many rambles, so for the sake of your audience, begin with a phrase that’s short and sweet. If they can’t remember what you’ve said, they’re going to opt for more polite chitter, likely out of fear of embarrassing themselves in front of you.

A noun works very well, particularly one that’s familiar to others (Swimmer, writer, . Choose your two nouns, three if you’re feeling fancy. You’re doing this not for yourself, but for the person across from you—tell them enough of a hook, and then pause. The trick is to find something simple that people can hook on to, and also a way to explain yourself in as few words as possible. Make it something that people can remember:

I’m a swimmer and a writer.

I swim long distances in the open water, and I teach a writing class online as part of my own business.

When I’m feeling cheeky, I like to tell people that I do handstands and yoga, skipping my own career route in lieu of the activities I adore doing on weekends. Sometimes people get flummoxed and flustered and say, no, I mean, what do you do? — as though the answers I gave weren’t sufficient.

There are so many ways to begin:

I eat sandwiches. I’m an uncle. I draw diagrams of movement and exercise. I run long distances. I read an excessive amount of books. I stalk twitter. I make friends online. I stare awkwardly into silences. You get the picture.

Digging deeper: what’s beneath the question.

Is “what do you do?” a bad question to ask?

I love the topic of this question, but despite my poking at it, I don’t think that it’s necessarily a bad question.

Let’s look at the heart of why we ask it, and also, where it comes from. First, we ask the question because we want some way to find out — to hear — the stories of other people. [tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck dev.sarahkpeck.com/talking”]Most of the time, we’re all craving stories.[/tweetable] We want to connect with other people and find common shared experiences that tell us whether or not we can understand them, become friends with them, get along with them, etc.

Second, the reason that we predominantly ask the question “What do you do?” — comes from a century of focusing solely on work and security as our livelihood. For the last several decades (or more specifically, 1930 – 1960) it was very important that you find a stable job and you keep it. Pair that with a burgeoning corporate structure and a society embracing larger and larger businesses (and benefits, and corporate institutions), and the easiest and quickest way to figure out who someone was — was by asking what they did for a living.

We realize (and most people know) that asking “what do you do?” as the only question to probe into someone’s fascinating, interesting, complex set of stories is very superficial. There’s a lot more.

It’s time to ask better questions.

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck dev.sarahkpeck.com/talking”]We ask questions to begin a conversation. Guide the conversation with great questions.[/tweetable]

Each of us can ASK more interesting questions and learn, once again, how to tell our stories to each other in a way that lets us connect. Because we’re human, and we’re curious, and we want to know what the other humans around us are, well, doing.

Where are you coming from? What are you working on? What lights you up these days? How’s this event treating you? Are you enjoying yourself? Tell me about something you’re working on. Do you have any good stories to share?

For the people who think it’s a terrible question to ask:

First: I think we owe it to ourselves to come up with several more interesting questions. Also, it’s your responsibility to come up with more interesting responses, too, and not just flippantly reply. When someone asks what you do, you can respond with a thoughtful answer that dodges the underlying presumption of the question.

For example, I could answer:I’m a sister, I’m an aunt. I’m a swimmer. I’m a writer. I’m a designer. I go running. I’m building a number of projects.

The way you tell your story can bring into it a lot of layers without saying; “I work for this and this company or client …”

Sometimes, for clarity, I follow up with a slight teasing — “Oh, so you want to know who PAYS me? Well, that’s a different question.”

And if we unfold it a bit more, the question, “what do you do, (for a living)” is really asking you — “what are you valued for in this society?” Because money is one way of measuring things, that’s a framework that people understand. People are asking: who finds you useful? And would they find you useful or helpful to them, too? With this reframe, you can begin to consider: what values do I hold, and what usefulness do I provide? Is there a way to share this story in a meaningful way that will let me connect with others?

It’s all a chance for an experiment: try a split test.

There’s no right answer to the question. You can have several different responses, letting go of the need for a memorized reply. When I head to conferences, I like to try on several different introductions—it’s a way to split-test your description. The purpose of a great self-bio is to start a conversation, not end it, so your introduction should serve to open up the chatter around the table. Try a few on. How do people respond? Which ones garnered conversations (and people) you liked the best?

Because what you do, well, yes, that’s where we’ll begin. But that’s never enough – it starts to tell the story, but never fully explains who you are. The question is really the beginning.

So the question is, where do you start?

###

Back at the party, I paused to hold the gaze of the gentleman in front of me. I smiled at him, and—whether it was the event, my lack of a filter, or the glass of wine in my hand—I decide to engage.

“I enjoy dancing and moving,” I replied. “Also, sometimes I quite enjoy being invisible at parties.” I paused for a second, letting the confusion settle into his face, and then continued:

“But that’s not what I do to get paid—at least, not entirely.”

He was hooked. His feet adjusted so they faced mine. The jut in his hip softened.

“But there are a lot of stories in there. What about you? What brought you to this party?”

###

For more on how to talk about yourself and describe what you do—and why narratives can be a powerful source of inspiration for growing into your future self, check out my latest publication on 99U: “Answering the dreaded, ‘So, What Do You Do?’ question,” published earlier this week.

When your ego starts yelling at you… remember this:

Posted on February 27, 2014 by Sarah K Peck

Ever have those voices in your head, while you’re working or trying something new?

That ego. The voice that tells you, whispers softly, cruelly inside of your mind: “You aren’t good enough. This wasn’t very good. Why did you bother? You’re not in shape enough. You should go to yoga class, but it’s not going to help.”

We all have variations of these voices, this chamber orchestra that tells us what we’ve done wrong and harps on our inadequacies. Our inclination is to yell back at it, right? “Shut up! You might think.” And” God, I need to get better at controlling these voices.” We work harder to perfect our minds, to erase those voices, to quash them.

But there’s another way to think about it… what’s the light side of our ego? What’s the benefit? [tweetable hashtag=”@skooloflife @sarahkpeck”]Just as our light sides all have a shadow; our shadows sides might also have some light.[/tweetable]

Perhaps we don’t need to be so cruel to our ego. Perhaps our ego did what it needed to do—it got us started. It got us in the door. It brought us somewhere, and we grew. That pesky little voice spurred something, and while it wasn’t always kind, it brought us here.

Last week I had the honor of digging into these questions and conversations with Srini Rao as a guest on his podcast, The Unmistakeable Creative. This is a different interview than many I’ve done before—and whether it was the nine hours of yoga I did in advance, the glass of wine I had, or the fact that it was late at night, somehow we started digging into stories in a way that I haven’t shared before.

We talk about swimming, fear, why being miserable might actually be okay, and what it takes to make things happen.

I’m delighted to share it with you.

Take a listen over on The Unmistakeable Creative podcast.

What’s one big thing you can do to improve your business and your life?

Posted on January 6, 2014January 6, 2014 by Sarah K Peck

“Writing doesn’t just communicate ideas; it generates them. If you’re bad at writing and don’t like to do it, you’ll miss out on most of the ideas writing would have generated.” -Paul Graham

Kevin Kelly, founder of Wired magazine, wrote that “the new economy is about communication, deep and wide… Communication is the foundation of society, of our culture, of our humanity, of our individual identity, and of all economic systems.”

To put it simply, you can’t afford not to communicate well.

This Winter, people are heading back to college or taking night classes–all in the name of upping their game, learning new skills, and taking steps to create the life of their dreams.

It’s not always easy. It takes some hustle.

Across all industries, the best way to improve your business (and personal) life is to improve your ability to tell great stories. I teach the Writer’s Workshop specifically because I want people to learn how to improve their creative, storytelling, persuasion, and messaging skills. It’s a power-packed course over four weeks that will give you enough content to affect the next year of your life (and beyond).

We start with imagination, visualization, and unlocking your creative sides. Then, for the left-brained among us, we’ll look at templates, maps, and tools for making essay writing (and blog posts) much easier.

Paul Graham emphasizes the importance of writing as a tool for accessing your own ideas — “If you’re bad at writing,” he says, “you’ll miss out on most of the ideas writing would have generated.”

Improve your career. Improve your relationships. Improve your mind.

“If you want to improve your life, improve your ability to articulate what you think. There’s power in being able to tell your story. It’s the difference between being heard, and being ignored.”

This is the last week to sign up for the Writer’s Workshop–and while all the early bird registration spots have been snagged, there are still a few spaces left in regular enrollment.

If you want to make positive change in your life but feel stuck, join this course. Invest in yourself–and your growth. You won’t regret it.

Questions? Check out all the details. dev.sarahkpeck.com/writers-workshop

Ready to sign up? Join here: dev.sarahkpeck.com/writers-workshop

Registration closes Friday, January 10th. Course begins Monday, January 13th.

PS: In case you missed it, I covered great ways to improve your writing (and common mistakes everyone makes in email communication) over on Fast Company this week. I also shared ten ways to improve your writing and editing skills with Think Traffic in September.

Desire, Feelings, and Inner Softness: Why Is It So Hard To Feel Good? The Desire Map, by Danielle LaPorte

Posted on December 2, 2013January 6, 2016 by Sarah K Peck

1. A confession.

The first time I picked up my copy of Danielle LaPorte’s Desire Map I could hardly finish it. I watched as social posts flickered in my online vision, people talking about its brilliance and I wondered why I couldn’t handle it. Personally, I wanted to throw it against the wall. It took me a long time before I picked it up again.

Lost in the throes of a job I didn’t want and a life I didn’t love—coming out of a relationship that didn’t work, and a body that failed me, I couldn’t stand it. How did I want to feel?

How did I want to feel?

I wanted to feel anything but the way that I was feeling.

Desire lights the way home, but it asks you to do something important first: it asks you to look inside and examine your feelings.

And that, shit, that’s hard.

2. It can be easy.

Wait, what? But it’s hard.

Yes, it can be easy.

At first, this sentence will make you laugh. It might make you angry. It made me angry.

Because when you’re in the middle of it, when you’ve tried everything you can and you’re working 12-14 hour days and working a few more hours at the end and you still don’t have enough money, when your fat cells congeal in your ass from sitting too long, when you cry alone in a garage because it’s the only place you can afford to live, having someone tell you it can be easy can be maddening.

It’s not fucking easy! You sputter. You laugh. You reach, reach, reach for the thing that makes you feel better right now, because the truth of the matter is that she’s actually right, as are many of the philosophers that talk about the root of desire within our souls,– right about how what you want, what you desperately crave is to feel the feelings of desire, ambition, pleasure… you want to feel good again.

You want to feel what you want to feel. You crave it, want it, need it.

But then, I didn’t want what I had, and all I wanted was to feel less pain and less hurt and less dissatisfaction and so I did everything I could not to feel.

How did I want to feel?

3. A rant against feelings.

Hated it, I hated it, and I just
didn’t want what I had, so
I did everything in my power
To numb it, to stop it, to prevent it,
God-damn-it, I just don’t want to feel this way any more … I whispered,
tears falling on the outside of my
heart, drops dripping across my ribs, well,
I just don’t want to feel anything.

We’ll run from pain, run as fast as we can into the open arms of
Whatever’s waiting for us that
Tells us we’ll feel better,
Even if feeling better simply means
Not feeling anything at all.

The unbearable lightness of being
Or rather the weight,
the heaviness of wanting to disappear, and
What it felt like under the
Heavy oppressive fatigue
Of loans-bills-obligations-parental-expectations,
job application denials, denials, denials,
to-do lists layered all up in post-its,
tangible reminders of what I hadn’t done and
who I wasn’t and how
miserably I was failing;

Thoughts about what I could and should and would do
If I could only just escape
Escape this hell of daily
monotony, droll dissatisfaction, loss.

I called my coach, my listless voice tacking across the telephone into her ear,
goals rolling out at half speed,
Alarmed, she interrupted me and said,
Sarah, Sarah, Oh Sarah,
First, let’s get you to

Sleep;

You are chasing ambition that can’t serve you right now;
a list of things that won’t help,
Let’s pause, pause.
Sink into what your body needs.
We’ll get there, she murmured quietly,
You don’t have to prove anything today
First, let’s unwind. It’s okay
to let go. To be here, right now.

It’s okay to be here right now.

4. Pain is a teacher.

Pain is the corner of our soul, our own personal life coach,
Talking to us through the crannies of our bodies,
Squishing through our insides,
Reaching out, clawing at our skin from the inside,
ripping at our hearts and minds and
often shouting insistently,

HEY, HELLO, and HELP! And
I’M LOST INSIDE OF WHAT YOU’RE DOING,
and then, sitting back, depressed,
why won’t you listen?
This is not the way.

And these feelings are the only thing your soul’s got to
Tell you that something has to change.
Will you listen?

This feeling, this desire, this pain,
This cutting, terrible, thick block
wrapped up against your chest
It’s a voice, a chant, a prayer, a desire
From your soul.

Yes, here we are again,
Desire, it’s a funny thing.
Desire…

And this desire leads us home.

Yes, it really does.

5. The difference between mind-numbing and feeling.

It’s not easy, digging into this emotional work, but you have a choice: you can continue to build up defenses and safety nets, numbing yourself with security and short-term solutions,

OR,

You can FEEL. You can feel what’s going on, and sit into the turmoil and strangeness and discomfort that is, quite simply, your body telling you a story.

When we have pain, we often try to hide from it or run from it. The discomfort of a job that doesn’t fit, of a relationship that isn’t right–your body knows.

And when it starts to feel bad, that’s your soul, speaking up. It’s saying to you, “Hey, there’s more to me than this. I am so bright, and so full, and so capable, and I need to grow past this and bigger than this. We’ve got to leave what we’re currently in so I can be stronger and bigger and brighter.”

When the soul speaks up, it often looks like a scary story, so at first we try to avoid it, because it sounds like:

“Drop everything you know, and walk away.”

And so, when I first picked up the Desire Map, I hated it.

The hardest thing was the most simple: Danielle asked me to feel.

And in a world that’s so primed on not feeling and hiding our feelings and distractions and numbing and avoiding, I struggled. I was mad. I was really, really sad. Things hurt. Things weren’t working inside. Things weren’t working inside.

My crutches–alcohol, caffeine, mind-numbing television at night, running and running and running–were what I had to cope.

I didn’t know how I wanted to feel. I wanted not to feel. Asking me how I wanted to feel hurt. Burned. It felt terrible. When I picked up the book and had to confront an onslaught of feelings–to acknowledge feelings at all–I didn’t like it. (That’s the kind way of saying it.)

I cried under the covers and felt a raw ache in the center of my stomach. My eyes felt hollow and sunken in, my pants didn’t fit. I wore all black and barely made it to work on time, sometimes an hour late. I pulled sugar out of the cabinets and put as much of it as I could into my mouth while watching television late into the evening, impressive shows like The Biggest Loser and America’s Next Top Model. I drank entire bottles of wine and loved the feeling of being drunk. I put on glittery clothes and went to as many parties as I could go to. Sometimes I’d get home and sit on the bottom of the stairs and weep. Climbing them took too long.

What the fuck is this shit, I’m sure I said.

Feelings.

6. The process of getting to the good feelings.

For me and desire mapping, I’ve realized that there is a process to it all.

Sometimes the pre-requisite to getting to the great feelings is acknowledging all the shitty feelings that might currently be present. To get to the good ones, you gotta start where you are. You really can’t start anywhere else. And it can be a messy, painful, difficult unfolding process. It might not be easy right now.

I’m convinced, now, that this is part of the unfolding process.

To feel the root of desire, you first have to feel.

When you cut off the layers of plaque that hold you back, you can shine more brightly.

There’s plaque lining the outside of each of our souls. We build plaque and tartar through life’s wear and tear. We build resistance and protection.

But the current pain is temporary. It’s the space through. Lean into the fire, and walk into the fear, and embrace it. The shaking and stirring is part of the recipe for your greater truth.

There is love and kindness on the other side. Be brave. Love yourself. Be kind to yourself. Embrace this transformation.

Chip and chisel away at the armor that protected you in the past. You don’t need it anymore. You can be bigger and brighter. I know it. And somewhere inside, you know it, too.

7. Bringing desire to light: a roadmap for your soul.

I picked up the book again, the map, the program.

And begrudgingly wrote down what I wanted, what I wanted to feel.

There was a key distinction: not what I thought I wanted to feel. Words that I thought I should feel tumbled out, like intelligent and accomplished and satisfied.

Yet my soul whispered Sarah, I’m too tired, in reply.

I dug a little deeper. What did my mind and body and spirit and soul want, right now, in this exact moment? At this point last year, all I wanted to do was sink into a bed of restful bliss, sweet dreams, and a pile of cotton candy so high I’d be able to drift off into a beautiful rest. I dreamed of Mexico vacations and sandy beaches and warmth. My pulse jumped a little when I wandered by McDonald’s and I saw the kiddie grounds with piles of balls. Sinking in… I wanted to rest.

I wanted sleep. I wanted to feel peace.

I wanted freedom.

As I wrote, my ego started furiously correcting me,
Insisting that these little words weren’t
Torches enough to light the proper path,

I needed to be chasing things like Success and Prosperity and Wealth and Fame.

And I laughed,
As much as you can laugh from the belly of your bed buried under covers of tears,
Said, fuck it, you know, right now,
I gotta let go,

All I want right now is

Peace, freedom, quiet, and joy, rest,
And movement in my body.
Joy, I’d like a bit more joy.

These words became my torch for a terrible winter, a slow process to guide me through decisions, a wayfinding map out of the darkness of burnout and fatigue.

As the world swirled up around me, coaxing my cracked mind and ego with invitations, I used these words as sign-posts for decision making for the current period.

Rest, Joy, Movement, Freedom.

Those became the framework for my decisions for the six long, dark, cold winter months where I shielded myself from burnout and clung to the minimum scraps of what I could scrape together. Did it bring me rest? Then it was a no. Did it bring me joy? Then it was a no. Was it movement related? (Like the joy and freedom of dancing, and how a single dance class could bring me back to more rest?) Nope, not gonna. Did it help me on my path to freedom?

Then no, nope, and no.
No, no, no.

8. Fast forward to today (because it’s so much easier to move time in writing),

Desire, rooted desire, internal desire, internal fire—
The desire to change, to lean, to get closer to home,

The home inside of the self, inside of the soul,
That content, that peace, that
Conscious swell within,
That lets the voices go and the chatter fall
Softly to the wayside—

This desire tells a story. It tells a story of you, and tells you, through words and a language of its own, the shifts and places for change and growth.

My words today are slightly different—they are peace and freedom and light and movement and joy. Using the words of right now brings you closer to your desire, to yourself, to your light.

So that desire thing?

It’s a map to your soul. To your light. To your essence. Sometimes it’s a bit buried.

It’s okay to feel.

It’s okay to be you.

It’s okay to be where you are, right now.

XO.

Desire Map is a program and a book by Danielle LaPorte that’s been one of the many tools and processes instrumental in shifting my life over the past year. It’s one of many that I’ve come back to, time and time again, as I learn to listen to my soul. The new collection comes out tomorrow, December 3, along with a day planner, a workbook, and a journal. Also: I happen to know the designer who helped bring this collection to life, and I’m madly in love with him. Enjoy.

What’s in the trunk? A mysterious tunnel inside the house… and some of the things I’m so grateful for.

Posted on November 27, 2013November 27, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

What’s in the trunk?

My dad just moved to Colorado and I’m here for the week, visiting for the first time. The cold, snowy mountains outside of Denver are filled with deer, elk, and other creatures that wander up to the backyard and say hello. (There’s also a new dog in the family that’s a giant 1-year old puppy. I really mean giant. But I digress).

As they were showing me the house, we stopped and took a look at this trunk standing up against a wall in one of the bedrooms. My stepmom cracked up when she showed it to me–“Guess what’s in it!?”

When you open in up, the trunk is completely empty. So… what goes inside?

It turns out when you look at the bottom there’s just a hole in the floor. Or rather, it’s a verified secret chamber that they added to the house.

What the heck?

When they moved in, in addition to knocking walls and windows down and building new counters and cabinets (she’s an interior designer; she can’t help it)–she knocked a hole in the floor to create a laundry chute. When they lift the trunk lid, they drop laundry down to the room below. Rather than leave an unsightly hole, she put this trunk over the top of it.

But that’s not the best part: take a look at what’s stenciled across the entire outside of the trunk.

On the outside, she wrote all of the things she was thankful for. (You’ll see my name on there!) Every time she does laundry, she gets to use a small piece of furniture that reminds her just how much she has to be thankful for.

How cool is that?

It’s that time of year: what are you thankful for?

Gratitude is a practice and can take hundreds of different forms. You’re probably inundated with thoughts of kindness–and that’s one of the reasons this is one of my favorite times of the year. From the breath we take to closing our eyes and appreciating the simple gift of being alive–there is so much to be grateful for. We can practice gratitude in our appreciation of the small things, by adding little rituals into our lives, and by reaching out and telling someone that you’re thankful for them. (You can learn several of these inspiring tools in our upcoming Grace + Gratitude workshop, beginning December 1).

Through these little acts, we can literally reprogram our brains. Over time, they have a huge effect.

I am thankful.

I am thankful for courage, of which the latin root (cor–) doesn’t mean bravery, but rather it comes from the latin word for heart. As Brene Brown writes, courage originally meant “to speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.” Courage is the act of gratitude: of speaking your heart, and letting your voice be heard.

I am grateful for my imperfections, and the grace to be able to acknowledge them each time I goof up. I am grateful for mistakes, because they mean that we’re living and moving.

I am grateful for time, and for the present. For this delicious moment. For the wonder of being here at all. (It’s really crazy if you start to think about it.)

I am grateful for experience, because it is the best teacher, even if it’s mighty uncomfortable.

I am grateful for the internet, for connecting online, for meeting so many friends who can see me more fully through my writing than I’m sometimes able to explain in person.

I am grateful for my family, a rambunctious and boisterous bunch who likes to sit on top of each other, no matter how big the house. We’ll just pile on top of each other like a football stack, dogs and cats and kids and blankets and everything.

Every day, I’m thankful for the gift of life and for living. I am thankful for breathing, which is made particularly poignant when I’ve experienced losing my breath.

I am thankful for swimming, dancing, moving, and singing.

I’m thankful for my hands, because hands are so weird and wonderful and downright cool in their digits and bends and abilities to do what we command them to do so tirelessly.

I am grateful to teach and I am thankful for all of the studying I get to be a part of in order to become a better teacher.

I am grateful for you, reading this, building a community online, being a part of this space. I cherish you and I hear from so many of you. Through you, I’ve learned how important writing is, and how telling stories—my job in this world, in this time—is for showing various ways of thinking and being and becoming and doing. For that, I’m truly humbled and grateful.

There’s so much I’m thankful for this season.

What are you thankful for this season?

And if you have a gratitude post, link it up in the comments and I’ll read it this holiday–I love reading about what you’re doing!

sarah signature

Looking for a place of love and kindness? Join our upcoming Grace & Gratitude micro-workshop, a two-week journey to cultivate grace and gratitude in your life. Two weeks of daily stories and exercises designed to bring light, love, and joy into your life–one photograph, project, and quote at a time. Sign up here (or give as a gift this holiday). We begin December 1.