Sónia Silva is a master storyteller. It’s as simple as that. Full disclosure, I do know Sónia as we’re friends who also work together on the TEDxLisboa curation team. So I was quite happy to hear that she was going to give a TEDx talk of her own at TEDxPraça Gil Eanes in Portugal. Her talk, What if community is built by sharing stories we hide?, speaks to the ability of our personal stories to connect people, and in doing so, strengthen communities. If you have a story to tell, but you’ve been holding back, this is a story that you should listen to.
Sónia Silva is a communication coach and trainer specializing in voice, storytelling, and public speaking. With a Master’s in Clinical Linguistics and a background in speech therapy, she combines scientific knowledge with a coaching approach to help entrepreneurs and leaders develop their vocal expression, refine their message, and deliver it with confidence and impact
There’s so much wisdom in Sónia’s talk, so much so that I can’t highlight it all, but here are five pearls of wisdom that resonated with me.
But what if the real glue between us isn’t sameness, but the courage to live our own really messy human stories?
Stories turn strangers into people we care about.
Tell your story, even if it’s messy, even if your voice shakes. Create space, build community, not to fit in, not to perform, to belong.
Empathy doesn’t come from headlines or from data. It’s emotional education by direct exposure without someone else’s filter.
When we find meaning together, we co-create future. When we find meaning together, we co-create relations.
As I’ve written about many times before, the essence of personal storytelling is sharing a part of your life experience with others, so that they can understand themselves, their community, and the world at large in a new way.
And I loved her mentioning “messy human stories”, as every person I’ve worked with over the years had a messy story to tell in some respect. Truth be told, they didn’t always tell the messy parts, which was a shame, as what’s different about us, and discussing what didn’t work out the way we wanted, forges a stronger connection with those hearing your story.
Remember my opening line? Where I mention Sónia is a master storyteller? Well, consider this a masterclass in how to craft a compelling story that includes you — the storyteller — but focuses on the wisdom that you bring to an audience. Watch her talk (at least once, preferably more) and read the transcript below. You’ll find it’s time well spent.
Transcript
I remember the moment the doors swung open and I saw 25 kids stare me up and down. I was six years old, and I did what I knew best. I hid behind two large trees: my father’s legs. We had just moved from Germany to Portugal, to Lagos, my family’s hometown. And my mother gently assured me, “Darling, don’t worry. In Portugal, all the kids are just like you.”
What does that even mean when you’re six? Sure, I spoke Portuguese, sure, I looked Portuguese. I still do. Brown eyes, brown hair. But the way I dressed with funky leggings and Birkenstocks, and my references, and the way I carried myself, it was all German.
I forced myself into a new story, one that said behave Portuguese, and I started to perform belonging. I pushed my parents to buy me a new backpack and new clothes, like a round collar shirt I hated, just to fit in. And you know the funny thing? Back in Germany, all I dreamt about was being blonde.
This in-between feeling made me write stories to cope with it, and to feel seen. So, look around, and I mean it. Look to the person behind you, to the person next to you, please. How many times have you changed who you are, your tone, your clothes, perhaps even the way you love, just to fit into one narrative?
We bump into each other, we wave at our neighbors, and yet, our stories remain unheard. Are we a community, or just people sharing time and space? We think community or belonging is about sameness, you know, same beginnings, same milestones, same endings.
But what if the real glue between us isn’t sameness, but the courage to live our own really messy human stories? What if instead of asking where do I fit in, we ask what story do I bring? That shift turns us from spectators to co-creators, and from performing to really showing up. And as we scroll our life away, I think this is deeply needed.
My old shyness made me help people find their voice as a communication coach. And today I want to share with you how public storytelling helps us build stronger communities and find our voice as well. So, my first real taste of public storytelling was Humans of New York.
I stumbled on a post and I saw an old street cleaner sitting in a bench. He was remembering how he used to play there with his little brother, and how he used to protect him from the monsters of the neighborhood. That park was their safe place, like my father’s legs were mine. So, different story, different time, but same emotion.
That hit me. Stories turn strangers into people we care about. Brandon Stanton wasn’t trying to save the world, to preach, or even to sell. He just listened to stories, he took pictures, and he shared their exact words. It started a global craving for stories, of regular people, anonymous citizens, like us, not celebrities. And why? Because they resonate.
There was also The Moth, a live stage where people tell their personal stories. Just guts and grace. In a dark room full of people, they cry, they laugh, and they breathe in sync. And what about Human Library? Even better. You don’t borrow books, you borrow people. And you sit with them face to face.
Someone society has deep stigmas about. And you read through their life with an honest conversation. What these projects have in common is that they were built with and for community. They started small, and they had volunteers who believed in the power of stories to create change. No fancy setup, no forcing, just curiosity and presence.
What moves me most is what they teach us. Empathy doesn’t come from headlines or from data. It’s emotional education by direct exposure without someone else’s filter. In public storytelling, you don’t end with a solid, moral conclusion. Each one has the freedom to pick what they want. And that’s totally the opposite of how I was taught stories at home or at school. If you missed that one correct answer, you failed the test. Do you remember that?
Now, I know what some of you might be thinking: “Oh, there she is, telling that we should reveal ourselves to the world.” Well, no. That’s exactly the myth I want to break. Being yourself doesn’t mean being by yourself. Personal stories are not narcissism. They are invitation. Have you ever wondered why so many TED talks have personal stories? It’s not coincidence, and it’s backed by science.
Researcher Paul Zak explains that when we tell an emotionally engaging story with a good structure, you trigger oxytocin, the hormone that is responsible for trust, connection, even community. So, when we share something, and it doesn’t mean a secret, it means sharing something real and raw, meaning being vulnerable, you open the door, not to be stared up to, but to invite people to do the same. And when you listen, you often find yourself and you act.
Like in the project Hart Verhaalt in The Hague, where they bring together communities that often don’t cross paths, like older Dutch migrants and Pakistani women. They tell their story, they clap, but afterwards, they collaborate. They reflect and they discuss with the audience. And sometimes they start projects inside the city, when before that, they ignored their existence.
When we find meaning together, we co-create future. When we find meaning together, we co-create relations. And eventually, I grabbed the mic and I became a storyteller. And I became a volunteer, and I became the co-host of the Portuguese edition of Storytelling Lisboa, where I welcome between 80 to 100 people. Portuguese, foreigners, and even cats! All colors, all ages, like the perfect Portuguese patchwork.
One day I told a story about my body, about validation, about sex, and still not being a mother. Women cried with me, womb to womb. At the end of the event, while I was putting away the chairs, a person came up to me, a young man, 18, 20 years. And he said, “You’re gonna make it.” And we gave a hug, strong and lasting. And for a moment, he was the storyteller. So I whispered, “I think you have a story too.” And he said, “I do. But I’m not ready yet. Thank you for sharing yours. Now I see you.” I have just met a man with a wound like mine.
We had more in common than gender could guess. And it’s from these brief unexpected moments that we realize that we are all carrying stories, even when we don’t know how to tell them yet. When we are honest, you don’t control who you touch, but you create the space for it.
And nowadays I can tell you that I wear my leggings and my Birkenstocks with no shame. We have built something beautiful in Lisbon. It’s a monthly comeback to stories around an imaginary campfire. But not to retell stories that no longer serve us from generation to generation. We tell new ones, open to all the human experience, with self-acceptance and with agency. That’s why I believe that these places are truly important, especially in countries like Portugal, full of identities and still afraid to speak out. We are quiet, we dismiss ourselves.
So, in case you’re wondering, how can I create such spaces? Let me share with you five key elements.
First one: Warmth. I feel welcomed. A cozy space, warm lights, a clear tone, a group of volunteers that welcome you and enable storytelling practices so you can feel safe.
Second: Empathy. I’m not alone. We echo stories, not to fix you. We share and we recognize emotions, and each one is accountable for the way they show up.
Third: Perspective. I never thought about it this way. Thematic events, they help us broaden our perspectives. We see the experiences on the same topic with different lenses, but the same humanity.
Fourth: Inclusivity. I respect. No hate speech. When everyone is included, we grow. You don’t have to agree, but you respect.
Fifth: Dialogue. Tell me more. Curiosity opens dialogue, and conversations build community. And you know what’s the best of it? You don’t need permission. Anyone can create the space, anyone can hold space.
So let me close with this. We are made of cells, but mostly we are made of stories. Stories shape our beliefs. Stories shape the way we act, we connect, and how we will be remembered. We keep reteling stories that no longer serve us, or even worse, we allow other people to silence them, or to write them for us.
And that ties us to a single thread, a single narrative. By sharing our imperfect stories and truly listen to others, we are reclaiming back community as a space of belonging and not of conformity, so we can weave a web of stories and threads that holds us across divisions.
Sometimes you go far away to find community, but look around, and you may find it. Storytelling is the way of saying, “I see you, I hear you, I’m here too.” So this is my final call: Tell your story, even if it’s messy, even if your voice shakes. Create space, build community, not to fit in, not to perform, to belong.
Obrigada.
Back to you…
Okay, so now you’re inspired to share your story, regardless of who you are and the mess you’ve made. But if you’re still hesitating to share, think about how the connections we make through storytelling provide that sense of belonging we all yearn for. Let others know they’re not alone. That a story told is a story heard.
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Chris Bell protects his family from a possible intruder – Live at The Moth
/in Family, Humor, Personal Stories, The Moth/by Mark LovettSometimes our personal stories fall into the “life is full of unexpected surprises” category, and this is a perfect example. Chris Bell believes someone is breaking into his apartment, which poses a threat to his family, but in reality, it’s not the intruder he assumed it would be — it was the police.
Such stories remind us that what we think may be going on, may not always be correct. But at the same time, even stories that involve a mistake at one level, can hold deeper meaning below the surface and say something new about us.
What I appreciated about Chris Bell’s story, is the blend of humor and tension in his narrative. A bit of self-deprecating humor with the chunky peanut butter, the confusion about what was making the sound in his kitchen, the tense moments of confronting a potential intruder, followed by relief that it was only the police.
What about you? What stories do you have to tell that, on the one hand are a bit embarrassing, yet on the other hand, revealed something about your character?
Transcript
It’s 3 AM and I can’t sleep. Because I’m up wondering what I would do if my wife and two young kids were ever attacked by a grizzly bear.
I mean, would I have the courage to stand up to this beast and just do whatever I can do to protect them? Or would fear hijack my decisions and cause me to freeze or even worse, run away?
I don’t know. And that’s why this scenario has bothered me, haunted me, ever since the moment I first became a father.
Fortunately, there aren’t any grizzly bears in our neighborhood. But there have been several break-ins and robberies. Our landlord worked the night shift, so he installed this big fancy security system in his luxury apartment upstairs. But downstairs, in our barely basic two bedroom, I’m left to be my family’s security system.
So when my wife tells me she saw a mouse skurry across the kitchen floor, I see it as an opportunity to prove myself. The next day I immediately go to the store and pick up one jar of premium organic peanut butter. That’s just like me, a little chunky.
And after everyone goes to sleep, I put a little bit of that peanut butter on a mousetrap and strategically place it in our kitchen. Now, this night we’re experiencing waves of heavy rain and wind. It looks like someone’s throwing buckets of water against the window. And when the wind hits the house, you can hear the walls creak and groan. Around 11:00, I’m just watching the news and pop, the electricity just goes out.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake up to a bang. And I remember, ah, my mousetrap. So I get up, out of bed, wearing nothing but my boxers, flick the light switch and realize the power’s still out. Then I hear it again. Bang, bang.
So now I’m thinking, the mouse must have got its tail caught in the trap and it’s running around the kitchen, slapping it on the walls and cabinets. So now I’m rushing down the hall in my boxers, in the dark, trying to get to this mouse before it tears up our kitchen.
And right as I’m about to turn the corner, bang, bang, bang! And I stop. Because that doesn’t sound like a mouse. That sounds like a rat. And a big one.
So I go to the pantry and grab a broom and hold it like a spear from Wakanda. Cuz I know I got one shot to stab this thing before it tries to bite me.
So I carefully creep around the corner and leap into the kitchen. Only to see my trap right where I left it, untouched. Now I’m standing there wondering, what’s making that noise?
And from the kitchen door by my son’s bedroom, bang, bang, bang! Startled, I turn around to look through the window to see the figure of a dark shape pounding on the door. That’s when I realized, it wasn’t a mouse, it wasn’t a rat, that’s the sound of someone trying to break into our apartment.
And just then my son comes out of his bedroom in his Batman pajamas. And behind me, I hear the footsteps of my wife and daughter coming down the hall. So out of pure reflex, I turn the broom sideways and slam all my weight up against the door, trying to keep whoever wanted in out.
But now I’m close enough to see that there’re actually three figures pressing to get in. And they’re all bigger than I am. And when they see me, they erupt into shouting. And this causes my daughter to scream and my son to burst into tears. And at this point, my heart is beating like thunder because I’m I’m just gonna be real, I was scared.
This wasn’t some imaginary grizzly bear. This was real. And I knew if I couldn’t keep this door shut, they would get in and possibly hurt my family. And that thought terrified me. But it was the feeling of fear that told my body, you need to do something.
So I closed my eyes and pressed my nose up against the window so they could see my face clearly. And I did the one thing that I felt would turn these intruders away. I gripped my teeth and I growled.
But I growled like I was delivering a contract written in my own blood that said if they dared cross this threshold, I will show them exactly how ferocious a protective parent can be. And when I opened my eyes, the figures were now completely still. And the sound of their shouting was replaced by the soft sound of rain.
But now the figure up front revealed that he had his arms fully extended, revealing that there was only a thin pane of glass in between my chest and his gun. And when I saw this, I just felt like I was frozen.
And that’s when I heard, “Sir, drop the stick.” Followed by my wife, “Babe, I think it’s the police.”
Five minutes later, three very wet police officers are standing in the center of our kitchen. Turns out the wind from the storm shook the house so bad that it triggered one of the motion detectors from my landlord’s security system upstairs. This sent a silent alarm to the police station. So when they responded, started pounding on doors and looking through windows, they saw me standing in the kitchen, in my boxers, holding a broom as a weapon.
They thought they stumbled across a domestic situation.
Eventually, I got to explain my side of the story. And after I did, the officer who pulled his service weapon stepped up and said, “So so you mean to tell me I almost shot you because you was trying to catch a mouse? With a broom?”
My wife is not gonna believe this.
Fifteen years later, my young kids are now college students. And uh, believe it or not, we have never been attacked by a grizzly bear.
But if you were to ask me the same question, what would I do? I’ll still be real and say, I don’t know. But after the night I tried to protect my family from a mouse, I am a little bit more certain that I wouldn’t just run away. Thank you.
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Stop Telling Single People to Get Married – Peter McGraw at TEDxBoulder
/in Community, Friendship, Relationships, Society, TEDx/by Mark LovettWe would like to think that all the decisions we make are of our own choosing. They are, to some extent, of course, but oftentimes social norms have a way of creeping into the equation. We do something because everyone else is doing it, or our friends and family expect us to. Sometimes it’s related to our culture, or our religion.
Marriage has a way of falling into this trap. In his recent talk from TEDxBoulder, Stop Telling Single People to Get Married, Peter McGraw walks us through the changing social norm of getting hitched, and offers us a new way to look at the concept of significant other.
His talk includes a number of beautifully humorous moments (it’s a lesson unto itself) but beyond the laughter, Peter provides us with a brief history lesson on how the cultural norms of marriage have changed over time. And as with most social paradigms, it’s complex.
Impactful talks are always about shifting our perspective, so Peter offers some suggestions as to how we can view the solo life on equal footing with marriage.
As you listen to Peter’s talk and read through the transcript, notice how he’s taken us on a journey that is both personal and, at the same time, universal.
Watch as he turns the spotlight from himself to the world at large, then over to the audience. We always want to know what’s next, where the story is heading. And we learn something along the way.
Transcript
My not so subtle request: Stop telling single people to get married.
20 years ago, I threw myself a bachelor party as a new professor at CU Boulder. Backs were slapped, stories were shared, glasses clinked. But there was a hitch: I wasn’t getting hitched.
My rationale, without a wedding in sight, why do married folks get to have all the fun?
Unbeknownst to me, that night I joined a movement. The solo movement, where being single isn’t just tolerated, it’s celebrated. Not less than, not better, just a different path filled with opportunities to live remarkably.
In 1960, 90% of adults in the United States would go on to get married. Today, 50% of adults in the US are unmarried. 25% of millennials are projected to never marry. And don’t get me started on what’s happening with Gen Z.
Yet, we still live in a world built for two. Married people have access to over 1,000 legal advantages unavailable to singles: tax breaks, social security benefits.
Singles invest heavily in marital milestones. This made sense when everyone got married. But for us lifelong singles, we have to buy our own crockpots.
And then there’s Aunt Sally, who keeps asking, “So, is there anyone special?” How many of us have an Aunt Sally?
Lately, a chorus of media voices have traded Aunt Sally’s question for a prescription: Get Married. You don’t believe me? There’s a book called Get Married. And it came out, of course, on Valentine’s Day.
The “Get Married” advocates like to point to data that show that married people report higher life satisfaction than single people. Their conclusion: Get married and get happy. Your bonus: you get to save civilization.
Now, you might be wondering, and the answer is no, I’m not anti-marriage. I’ve even had a couple near misses.
But I am against over-prescribing marriage based on correlational data that the “Get Married” crowd is a little too wedded to. Any serious scientist who looks at these data comes to the same conclusion: that is, the people who get married are already slightly happier to begin with.
But there is a happiness effect in the data. There’s a wedding day bump. But it fades fast. For 30K a pop, the average US wedding, at that cost, you can take 15 vacations. Without your in-laws.
But here’s the real puzzle. And it’s one that the “Get Married” crowd can’t answer. And that is this: If getting married makes you happy, why is it that the happiest places on Earth feature the most people going solo? This is especially the case in Scandinavia.
I say, rather than treating the rise of singles as a bug, let’s treat it as a feature. A feature of progress, especially for women.
The arranged marriage was invented 4,400 years ago in order to form business alliances during harsh agrarian times. Women were treated more like property than partners, with a husband receiving ownership from the father at the altar. Thankfully, today, marriage is more about love, and it’s increasingly optional.
The story of the rise of singles is the story of the rise of women. And it really got rolling with the invention of the spinning wheel. The spinsters who used it could earn their own money and escape being owned by a husband or a father.
With the invention of birth control and greater access to education and economic opportunities, “I do” is becoming, “Do I?”
The spinsters of yesterday and the cat ladies of today are not old maids. They’re trailblazers, pioneers of independence.
Urbanization, apartments, and the home appliances that were invented for housewives are spurring a huge increase in people living alone, especially in cities like Stockholm.
Intrigued by these happy Scandinavians, I swapped out my Stetson for an Indiana Jones style fedora and headed to Sweden, a global leader in gender equality. And I found lots of one-bedroom apartments filled with singles, some by choice, some by chance, but living rich, interconnected, remarkable lives.
So let’s dispense with the calls to get married. They’re either already preaching to the choir or shouting into the wind. There are the “someday” singles. They’re looking for their person, sometimes waiting hopelessly. The “just may” singles are open to possibilities, the hopeful romantics. But of single adults in the United States, half have other priorities.
They’re not looking for love or lust, whether for now or forever. And they’re channeling their time and their energy and their intention into education, building businesses, creating art. For many singles, they live meaningful lives. Singles give more time. They’re more likely to care for elderly parents and disabled friends, more so than their non-single counterparts.
So what should we tell single people rather than get married? Let’s start by expanding the concept of significant other. It originally included family and deep friendships, including family of choice. Indeed, science shows that social connections broadly predict life satisfaction.
I’ve never put a ring on a finger, but I have significant others. They are my brothers and sisters in the solo community around the world. There’s my brother from another mother, Darwin, who’s taught me more about unconditional love than any lover has. And here tonight is my soul sister, Julie, who was at my bachelor party 20 years ago. I love you, Julie.
Next, let’s advocate for policies that support a family of one. Sweden’s social safety net is given to all citizens individually: universal healthcare, free or low-cost education, affordable childcare, and eldercare. No spouse required. Amen.
And lastly, let’s elevate single living to be on par with married living. Not better, not worse, just a different path filled with opportunities to live remarkably.
I always thought that there was something wrong with me for not wanting to get married. The prospect of it felt like I would be wearing an ill-fitting suit, or worse, a straitjacket.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of problems. There’s a lot of things wrong with me. But putting a ring on it is not going to solve my problems.
And as I was nursing a broken heart after one of my near misses, it hit me: I’m not half waiting for a whole. I’m wholehearted. I’m complete, I’m healthy, I’m financially stable, I do meaningful work, I have a wide and deep connected group of friends. I feel wholehearted, and I hope you do too.
In the end, there is no one remarkable life. There are remarkable lives. And no amount of pearl clutching or calls to get married are going to drag us back to the good old days, which, to be honest, weren’t that good to begin with.
Someday, single living and married living will stand side by side, equal. In the meantime, the solo movement has a big tent. Never married? Divorced? Separated? Widowed? Welcome. We celebrate you and our married allies.
The future is about options, not prescriptions. So let’s toast to a world that honors both the choice to settle down or go solo.
Cheers.
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What if community is built by sharing stories we hide?
/in Community, Personal Stories, Public Speaking, Storytelling, TEDx/by Mark LovettSónia Silva is a master storyteller. It’s as simple as that. Full disclosure, I do know Sónia as we’re friends who also work together on the TEDxLisboa curation team. So I was quite happy to hear that she was going to give a TEDx talk of her own at TEDxPraça Gil Eanes in Portugal. Her talk, What if community is built by sharing stories we hide?, speaks to the ability of our personal stories to connect people, and in doing so, strengthen communities. If you have a story to tell, but you’ve been holding back, this is a story that you should listen to.
There’s so much wisdom in Sónia’s talk, so much so that I can’t highlight it all, but here are five pearls of wisdom that resonated with me.
As I’ve written about many times before, the essence of personal storytelling is sharing a part of your life experience with others, so that they can understand themselves, their community, and the world at large in a new way.
And I loved her mentioning “messy human stories”, as every person I’ve worked with over the years had a messy story to tell in some respect. Truth be told, they didn’t always tell the messy parts, which was a shame, as what’s different about us, and discussing what didn’t work out the way we wanted, forges a stronger connection with those hearing your story.
Remember my opening line? Where I mention Sónia is a master storyteller? Well, consider this a masterclass in how to craft a compelling story that includes you — the storyteller — but focuses on the wisdom that you bring to an audience. Watch her talk (at least once, preferably more) and read the transcript below. You’ll find it’s time well spent.
Transcript
I remember the moment the doors swung open and I saw 25 kids stare me up and down. I was six years old, and I did what I knew best. I hid behind two large trees: my father’s legs. We had just moved from Germany to Portugal, to Lagos, my family’s hometown. And my mother gently assured me, “Darling, don’t worry. In Portugal, all the kids are just like you.”
What does that even mean when you’re six? Sure, I spoke Portuguese, sure, I looked Portuguese. I still do. Brown eyes, brown hair. But the way I dressed with funky leggings and Birkenstocks, and my references, and the way I carried myself, it was all German.
I forced myself into a new story, one that said behave Portuguese, and I started to perform belonging. I pushed my parents to buy me a new backpack and new clothes, like a round collar shirt I hated, just to fit in. And you know the funny thing? Back in Germany, all I dreamt about was being blonde.
This in-between feeling made me write stories to cope with it, and to feel seen. So, look around, and I mean it. Look to the person behind you, to the person next to you, please. How many times have you changed who you are, your tone, your clothes, perhaps even the way you love, just to fit into one narrative?
We bump into each other, we wave at our neighbors, and yet, our stories remain unheard. Are we a community, or just people sharing time and space? We think community or belonging is about sameness, you know, same beginnings, same milestones, same endings.
But what if the real glue between us isn’t sameness, but the courage to live our own really messy human stories? What if instead of asking where do I fit in, we ask what story do I bring? That shift turns us from spectators to co-creators, and from performing to really showing up. And as we scroll our life away, I think this is deeply needed.
My old shyness made me help people find their voice as a communication coach. And today I want to share with you how public storytelling helps us build stronger communities and find our voice as well. So, my first real taste of public storytelling was Humans of New York.
I stumbled on a post and I saw an old street cleaner sitting in a bench. He was remembering how he used to play there with his little brother, and how he used to protect him from the monsters of the neighborhood. That park was their safe place, like my father’s legs were mine. So, different story, different time, but same emotion.
That hit me. Stories turn strangers into people we care about. Brandon Stanton wasn’t trying to save the world, to preach, or even to sell. He just listened to stories, he took pictures, and he shared their exact words. It started a global craving for stories, of regular people, anonymous citizens, like us, not celebrities. And why? Because they resonate.
There was also The Moth, a live stage where people tell their personal stories. Just guts and grace. In a dark room full of people, they cry, they laugh, and they breathe in sync. And what about Human Library? Even better. You don’t borrow books, you borrow people. And you sit with them face to face.
Someone society has deep stigmas about. And you read through their life with an honest conversation. What these projects have in common is that they were built with and for community. They started small, and they had volunteers who believed in the power of stories to create change. No fancy setup, no forcing, just curiosity and presence.
What moves me most is what they teach us. Empathy doesn’t come from headlines or from data. It’s emotional education by direct exposure without someone else’s filter. In public storytelling, you don’t end with a solid, moral conclusion. Each one has the freedom to pick what they want. And that’s totally the opposite of how I was taught stories at home or at school. If you missed that one correct answer, you failed the test. Do you remember that?
Now, I know what some of you might be thinking: “Oh, there she is, telling that we should reveal ourselves to the world.” Well, no. That’s exactly the myth I want to break. Being yourself doesn’t mean being by yourself. Personal stories are not narcissism. They are invitation. Have you ever wondered why so many TED talks have personal stories? It’s not coincidence, and it’s backed by science.
Researcher Paul Zak explains that when we tell an emotionally engaging story with a good structure, you trigger oxytocin, the hormone that is responsible for trust, connection, even community. So, when we share something, and it doesn’t mean a secret, it means sharing something real and raw, meaning being vulnerable, you open the door, not to be stared up to, but to invite people to do the same. And when you listen, you often find yourself and you act.
Like in the project Hart Verhaalt in The Hague, where they bring together communities that often don’t cross paths, like older Dutch migrants and Pakistani women. They tell their story, they clap, but afterwards, they collaborate. They reflect and they discuss with the audience. And sometimes they start projects inside the city, when before that, they ignored their existence.
When we find meaning together, we co-create future. When we find meaning together, we co-create relations. And eventually, I grabbed the mic and I became a storyteller. And I became a volunteer, and I became the co-host of the Portuguese edition of Storytelling Lisboa, where I welcome between 80 to 100 people. Portuguese, foreigners, and even cats! All colors, all ages, like the perfect Portuguese patchwork.
One day I told a story about my body, about validation, about sex, and still not being a mother. Women cried with me, womb to womb. At the end of the event, while I was putting away the chairs, a person came up to me, a young man, 18, 20 years. And he said, “You’re gonna make it.” And we gave a hug, strong and lasting. And for a moment, he was the storyteller. So I whispered, “I think you have a story too.” And he said, “I do. But I’m not ready yet. Thank you for sharing yours. Now I see you.” I have just met a man with a wound like mine.
We had more in common than gender could guess. And it’s from these brief unexpected moments that we realize that we are all carrying stories, even when we don’t know how to tell them yet. When we are honest, you don’t control who you touch, but you create the space for it.
And nowadays I can tell you that I wear my leggings and my Birkenstocks with no shame. We have built something beautiful in Lisbon. It’s a monthly comeback to stories around an imaginary campfire. But not to retell stories that no longer serve us from generation to generation. We tell new ones, open to all the human experience, with self-acceptance and with agency. That’s why I believe that these places are truly important, especially in countries like Portugal, full of identities and still afraid to speak out. We are quiet, we dismiss ourselves.
So, in case you’re wondering, how can I create such spaces? Let me share with you five key elements.
First one: Warmth. I feel welcomed. A cozy space, warm lights, a clear tone, a group of volunteers that welcome you and enable storytelling practices so you can feel safe.
Second: Empathy. I’m not alone. We echo stories, not to fix you. We share and we recognize emotions, and each one is accountable for the way they show up.
Third: Perspective. I never thought about it this way. Thematic events, they help us broaden our perspectives. We see the experiences on the same topic with different lenses, but the same humanity.
Fourth: Inclusivity. I respect. No hate speech. When everyone is included, we grow. You don’t have to agree, but you respect.
Fifth: Dialogue. Tell me more. Curiosity opens dialogue, and conversations build community. And you know what’s the best of it? You don’t need permission. Anyone can create the space, anyone can hold space.
So let me close with this. We are made of cells, but mostly we are made of stories. Stories shape our beliefs. Stories shape the way we act, we connect, and how we will be remembered. We keep reteling stories that no longer serve us, or even worse, we allow other people to silence them, or to write them for us.
And that ties us to a single thread, a single narrative. By sharing our imperfect stories and truly listen to others, we are reclaiming back community as a space of belonging and not of conformity, so we can weave a web of stories and threads that holds us across divisions.
Sometimes you go far away to find community, but look around, and you may find it. Storytelling is the way of saying, “I see you, I hear you, I’m here too.” So this is my final call: Tell your story, even if it’s messy, even if your voice shakes. Create space, build community, not to fit in, not to perform, to belong.
Obrigada.
Back to you…
Okay, so now you’re inspired to share your story, regardless of who you are and the mess you’ve made. But if you’re still hesitating to share, think about how the connections we make through storytelling provide that sense of belonging we all yearn for. Let others know they’re not alone. That a story told is a story heard.
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How Babies Become Language Detectives: The Hidden Science of Statistical Language Learning
/in Biology, Language, Narrative, Neuroscience, Storytelling/by Mark LovettEvery parent has marveled at how quickly their baby transforms from a babbling infant into a chattering toddler who seems to effortlessly pick up new words and grammar rules. But how exactly do children accomplish this remarkable feat?
The answer lies in a powerful mechanism called statistical language learning — a process that turns babies into natural-born pattern detectors who can crack the code of human language[1][2].
What Is Statistical Language Learning?
Statistical language learning is the ability to detect patterns and regularities in the sounds, words, and structures of language without formal instruction[2][3]. Think of it as your baby’s built-in data analysis system, automatically identifying which sounds go together, where words begin and end, and how language is structured — all through simple exposure to speech[1][4].
This learning mechanism operates completely unconsciously. Babies don’t sit down with grammar books or receive formal lessons. Instead, they naturally track statistical patterns in the language they hear around them, much like a detective gathering clues to solve a mystery[5][2]. It’s quite an accomplishment to learn the fundamentals of how a language works before attending school.
The Remarkable Discovery: Babies as Pattern Detectives
Some of the groundbreaking research that revealed this ability came from Dr. Jenny Saffran and her colleagues at the University of Wisconsin-Madison[1][6].
In a well-known experiment, they played streams of nonsense syllables to a group of 8-month-old infants – sounds like “golabupabikututibubabupugola” with no pauses between “words”[5][1].
Here’s what made this experiment so clever: hidden within this stream of syllables were artificial “words” like “golabu,” “pabiku,” and “tububa.” The only way to identify these words was by tracking which syllables consistently appeared together[5][1]. If the syllable “go” was always followed by “la,” and “la” was always followed by “bu,” then “golabu” formed a statistical unit – a word[5].
After just two minutes of listening, the babies could distinguish between these statistically-defined words and random syllable combinations[5][1]. This demonstrated that even very young infants possess sophisticated pattern-detection abilities that help them parse the continuous stream of speech into meaningful units.
How This Works in Real Language
Let’s consider how this statistical learning works with actual English. When your baby hears you say “pretty baby” repeatedly, they unconsciously track the probability that certain syllables follow others[5]. The syllable “pre” is followed by “ty” about 80% of the time in infant-directed speech, creating a strong statistical bond[7]. However, “ty” can be followed by many different syllables that start new words, so the bond between “ty” and “ba” (from “baby”) is much weaker – only about 0.03% of the time[5].
This difference in what researchers call “transitional probabilities” signals to your baby’s developing brain that “pretty” is likely one unit (a word) while “tyba” (spanning across the word boundary) is not[5][1]. Through this process, babies gradually build up a mental dictionary of word forms before they even understand what these words mean.
Beyond Word Boundaries: Learning Grammar Through Patterns
Statistical learning doesn’t stop at identifying words. Babies also use pattern detection to begin understanding grammar and sentence structure[5][2]. For example, they notice that certain types of words (like “the” or “a”) tend to predict that a noun will appear somewhere later in the sentence[5]. This helps them start categorizing words into groups – articles, nouns, verbs – even before they know what these categories mean.
Consider how a child might hear: “The dog is running” and “A cat is sleeping.” Through statistical learning, they detect that words like “the” and “a” are often followed by words like “dog” and “cat,” helping them unconsciously group these elements into categories that will later become their understanding of articles and nouns[5][2].
The Power of Constrained Learning
What makes statistical learning particularly fascinating is that it’s not a free-for-all pattern detector. Instead, babies seem naturally biased toward certain types of patterns that happen to be common in human languages[5][2]. For instance, infants readily learn sound patterns that group together similar sounds (like all the voiceless sounds: p, t, k) but struggle to learn patterns that randomly group unrelated sounds together[5].
This suggests that our learning mechanisms may have actually shaped the structure of human languages over time, rather than languages being entirely separate from how we learn[5][2]. Languages that are easier for babies to learn may be more likely to survive and spread across generations.
Statistical Learning Across the Senses
Remarkably, statistical language learning isn’t limited to sounds. Research shows that babies can track statistical patterns in visual sequences, musical tones, and even sequences of actions[5][2][4]. This suggests that pattern detection is a general-purpose learning mechanism that babies apply across many domains, not just language.
For example, when babies watch sequences of shapes or colors, they can learn which elements tend to appear together, just as they do with syllables in speech[4]. This broad applicability helps explain why statistical learning is such a powerful tool for making sense of the world’s complexity.
Real-World Applications: From Lab to Living Room
Understanding statistical learning has practical implications for how we can support children’s language development[8][9]. Here are some key insights:
When Statistical Learning Faces Challenges
While most children’s statistical learning systems work remarkably well, some children may have difficulties with pattern detection, which can affect their language development[12][9]. Understanding these individual differences is helping researchers develop better interventions for children who struggle with language learning.
Interestingly, research suggests that some variation in the input can actually help learning. When babies hear words spoken by multiple different voices, they may learn to segment speech more effectively than when hearing just one consistent voice[7]. This suggests that the statistical learning system is quite sophisticated and can handle – and even benefit from – certain types of complexity.
The Bigger Picture: Nature and Nurture Working Together
Statistical language learning represents a beautiful example of how nature and nurture work together in child development[5][2]. Babies come equipped with powerful pattern-detection abilities (nature), but these abilities require rich linguistic input from their environment to develop properly (nurture).
This learning mechanism also helps explain some puzzling aspects of language development. How do children learning different languages all seem to follow similar developmental paths? The answer may be that statistical learning mechanisms, with their built-in biases and constraints, guide language acquisition in similar ways across cultures[5][2].
Looking Forward: The Future of Language Learning Research
Scientists continue to explore the boundaries and mechanisms of statistical learning[2][6]. Current research investigates how statistical learning interacts with other aspects of development, how it operates in bilingual environments, and how it might be supported in children with language difficulties.
This research has profound implications beyond just understanding typical development. It’s informing educational approaches, helping us understand language disorders, and even contributing to the development of artificial intelligence systems that learn language more like human children do[2][6].
How Babies Learn Language: A Talk by Jenny Saffran for the CUNY Graduate Center is a great overview for much of the information presented above. Give a listen. And if you’re raising a baby, you’ll have much to think about by the time you’re done.
Conclusion: The Marvel of Everyday Learning
The next time you watch a toddler effortlessly pick up a new word or grammatical construction, remember that you’re witnessing one of the most sophisticated learning systems in nature at work. Through statistical language learning, children transform the complex, continuous stream of speech around them into the building blocks of human communication — all without any conscious effort or formal instruction.
This remarkable ability reminds us that every child is born with an incredible capacity for learning, and that the simple act of talking, reading, and singing to our children provides their brains with exactly the kind of rich, patterned input their statistical learning systems need to thrive[8][9]. In understanding how babies learn language, we gain not only scientific insight but also a deeper appreciation for the amazing capabilities that make us uniquely human.
In my mind, the ultimate lesson of this exploration of how babies master language is for you to realize that you were a storyteller before you turned five years old. That your brain is able to learn something so complex, and do it naturally, at such a young age.
Sources
[1] Statistical learning in language acquisition via Wikipedia
[2] Statistical learning and language acquisition by Alexa Romberg and Jenny Saffran
[3] Statistical language learning in infancy by Jenny Saffran
[4] Statistical learning: From acquiring specific items to forming general rules by Richard Aslin and Elissa Newport
[5] Statistical Language Learning: Mechanisms and Constraints by Jenny Saffran
[6] Spotlight on UW–Madison Staff: Jenny Saffran
[7] Listening through voices: Infant statistical word segmentation across multiple speakers by Katharine Graf Estes and Casey Lew-Williams
[8] Supporting Language and Literacy Skills from 0-12 Months by Zero to Three
[9] How do patterns help children learn language and social skills?
[10] Acquiring Patterns in Infancy – The Science of Early Learning
[11] Teaching patterns to infants and toddlers – Child & Family
[12] The association between statistical learning and language
[14] Can Infants Map Meaning to Newly Segmented Words? by Katharine Graf Estes et al.
[15] Statistical learning of language by Lucy Erickson and Erik Thiessen
[16] How to Teach Baby 25 Key Words in Baby Sign Language by The Bump
[17] Statistical Language Learning in Infancy by Jenny Saffran
[18] Play ideas for baby language & talking by Raising Children Network
[19] Baby first words list + Speech therapy tips by Stephanie Keffer Hatleli
[20] How Babies Learn Language: A Talk by Jenny Saffran – YouTube
[21] About Language Learning by Language Learning Lab
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Can the great barrier reef be saved from climate change? Theresa Fyffe gives us some insights at TED 2025
/in Climate Change, Environment, Nature, Science, TED Talk/by Mark LovettI often write about the storytelling side of climate change, as this modern day phenomenon will shape billions of stories in the coming decades. Some of the effects can be seen and felt above ground — fiercer storms, more intense fires, increased temperatures, droughts, etc. — but a very different sort of damage is occurring out of sight, below the surface of our oceans.
Coral reefs are one such example that have been given a great deal of attention, as they are under assault in much of the world, and no spot has achieved more notice than the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. In her talk at TED 2025, Theresa Fyffe talks about the work being done to reverse this trend.
As you can imagine, the full story is quite complicated, and Theresa could speak for hours on the topic. But in ten minutes she give able to give us an overview of the situation. She doesn’t tell the entire story, but does tell us enough to get us up to date, and hopefully to inspire us to dive further into what’s happening on the reef. Check out her TED Talk: A new lifeline for the world’s coral reefs.
Key Points of Concern:
As the Executive Director Impact of the Great Barrier Reef Foundation, Theresa has a front-row seat to the innovative processes that are now being deployed to rebuild damaged reefs. Review the section from 4:09 to 4:56. In just 93 words & 47 seconds, she changes the tone of the talk, pivoting from problem to solution, and setting the stage for the balance of her story. She doesn’t go into depth, or use complex jargon that the audience won’t understand.
When Theresa introduces Uncle Bob, a Wopabara man from the Great Barrier Reef, her talk shifts from technology to human — it’s the story block I refer to as Someone Else’s Story — and we learn about the impact this innovation can have if deployed. To be honest, I would have enjoyed hearing more about Uncle Bob. By adding a minute, I would have developed a deeper connection to the topic.
Transcript
When I say Great Barrier Reef, what do you see? If you grew up in the 2000s, I’m guessing it might be Nemo and his best friend, Dory.
Or perhaps it’s this. It’s the best part of my job. Taking people underwater to witness such a wonder and so much life. Coral reefs are the most biodiverse ecosystem on our entire blue planet, home to more than a quarter of all marine life.
They are food, livelihoods and coastal protection for more than one billion people. They anchor the economies of over 100 nations and hold deep cultural significance for saltwater First Nations peoples, who see coral reefs as their family and the creators of life.
But increasingly, when I say Great Barrier Reef, people think of this. Or even worse, this. Sadly, our reef, my reef, has become the poster child for climate change. And here’s why.
Coral polyps, the tiny animals that build reefs, are incredibly sensitive to warming oceans. When stressed by heat, they expel the algae that nourish them, exposing their skeletons and turning them white, a phenomenon called coral bleaching.
Now a bleached coral isn’t dead, but it is sick and starving. And if temperatures stay too high for too long, it dies. Coral reefs are the absolute lifeblood of a thriving ocean. We thought them too big and too important to fail.
Already we have lost half of the world’s coral reefs. In 2024, the global extent of coral bleaching reached 53 countries and every ocean on Earth. By 2050, 90 percent of corals could be lost, and with coral reefs thought to be one of the most vulnerable ecosystems to climate change, we could witness their extinction in our lifetime.
Because of this, many people have already given up. They see the problem as just too big and the progress too slow. But I haven’t given up. And I’m here to tell you why you shouldn’t give up either. Prior to working at the Great Barrier Reef Foundation, I worked in medical research, and the parallels are surprisingly striking.
While many cancers have no cure, a cancer diagnosis is no longer a death sentence due to the expanding toolkit of treatments. This is how we must think of coral reefs. Yes, we need the cure. The solutions to climate change itself.
But right now, corals also need treatments to buy them time. Enter reef restoration. Reef restoration has been around since about the 1970s, mainly through coral gardening. It’s pretty simple. You take small pieces of coral, you grow them in an underwater nursery, and when big enough, you replant them in a reef.
While an important part of the reef restoration toolkit, this approach is slow, expensive and very difficult to scale. As a result, it is thought that less than 200,000 corals are planted across the world’s oceans each year, with many of these corals not surviving. We needed a breakthrough.
Over the past five years, 350 Australian scientists and engineers have been working on just that: technology to make reef restoration faster, cheaper and smarter. We’ve made more advancements in the last five years than the previous 50.
Using an automated process, we can now produce millions of baby corals, not just thousands. We can naturally increase the heat tolerance of these corals so they are better adapted to warming oceans. And we have developed ceramic cradles for mass deployment, eliminating the need for divers to replant each piece of coral by hand.
But in a race against time, the key to dramatically scaling our impact is to deploy this technology in a highly targeted way. We will focus our restoration solution on the reefs that are the most connected to other reefs via the ocean’s natural currents.
By seeding these highly connected reefs with more heat-tolerant corals, their subsequent and stronger offspring will be spread far and wide. By using this precision approach across the Pacific, restoring as little as three percent of coral reefs can drive the recovery of 50 percent of the entire ecosystem. This would be restoration on an unprecedented scale. And we’re making it local. Thank you.
Packaging these technologies into portable coral micro-nurseries for coastal communities to own and operate. The productivity of one single micronursery is expected to exceed that of all global coral gardening efforts combined today.
By 2031, we will be planting 1.2 million heat-tolerant surviving corals per year, about 30 times more than planted across the Pacific today. By 2040, it is our ambition to increase the global scale of reef restoration by 120 times. But we know — Thank you.
We know that the technology on its own isn’t enough. To have real impact, this technology needs to be in the hands of those on the front line, those that know the oceans best.
Meet Uncle Bob, a Woppaburra man from the Great Barrier Reef. His people have been caring for their sea country for millennia. Now when Bob talks to me of his country, he says, “Country is sick, country is crying.”
But with this technology, his community is empowered to be the first responders to heal their sea country by blending this modern innovation with their ancient knowledge. For many coral reefs, unfortunately, it is already too late. But for the half of the world’s reefs, including our Great Barrier Reef, that call the Pacific home, there is still time.
These corals haven’t given up. They are still resilient. They can regenerate. So if the corals haven’t given up, how can we? Now hope without a plan, it’s nothing more than a wish. But thanks to the generosity of the TED community, we have a plan. A lifeline for coral reefs.
So I’m asking you — don’t look away. Change your perspective and join us in the fight to sustain not just coral reefs, but the livelihoods, the cultures and the futures they safeguard. This isn’t game over. It’s game on.
Thank you.
Back to you…
If you have a complex topic that you want to talk about, whether it’s a scientific story or not, think about how Theresa was able to craft a narrative that was both brief and informative. That explained the problem and solution. That ended on a hopeful note, but in this case, with a call to action too. After someone hears your story, what do you want them to think, to feel, and to do? Have you enlightened them? Inspired them? Given them food for thought?
If you enjoyed this article…
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