The Life of a Storyteller...
Some stories don’t begin with words.
They begin with awareness.
With watching people a little longer than necessary.
With noticing what goes unsaid.
With feeling deeply, even when the world moves quickly past feelings.
I’ve often thought about what makes someone a storyteller.
Is it the ability to write well?
To speak fluently?
To hold an audience?
I don’t think so.
I think a storyteller is someone who listens first.
Stage 1: The Spark
Every storyteller begins here — quietly.
In childhood memories.
In conversations overheard.
In moments that stay longer than they should.
In questions that don’t immediately find answers.
This stage is not loud.
It doesn’t demand attention.
It simply gathers.
It gathers emotions.
It gathers observations.
It gathers experiences — both beautiful and broken.
This is where curiosity lives.
Where wonder begins.
Where stories are not yet written, only felt.
Stage 2: The Craft
Then comes the phase of shaping.
Of learning how to sit with thoughts.
How to give structure to feelings without losing their honesty.
How to choose words that don’t decorate reality, but reveal it.
This stage requires patience.
And humility.
Because writing — real writing — is not about sounding clever.
It’s about staying true.
About learning when to speak, and when to pause.
Here, the storyteller learns that clarity takes time.
That silence is also a sentence.
And that not everything needs to be said — only what needs to be felt.
Stage 3: The Stage
And then, one day, you share.
Not for applause.
Not for validation.
But because something inside you says, this might help someone.
You speak.
You write.
You tell your story.
And suddenly, someone nods.
Someone feels seen.
Someone realises they’re not alone.
That’s the moment you understand —
stories are bridges.
They connect hearts that have never met.
They carry emotions across distances.
They remind people of their own strength, gently.
Stage 4: The Legacy
This is the most beautiful stage of all.
When your story no longer belongs only to you.
When it settles into someone else’s life.
When your words become someone’s courage, comfort, or clarity.
You may never know whose life you touched.
You may never see the impact.
But it exists.
Quietly.
Steadily.
Meaningfully.
Because storytelling was never about being remembered.
It was about helping someone feel understood.
It was about leaving the world a little softer than you found it.
And perhaps… in telling stories, we don’t just share our journeys —we heal parts of ourselves along the way.
That, to me, is the true life of a storyteller.
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