Storytelling with Impact

Alexis Barton realizes that nothing good happens after 2 AM – Live at The Moth

November 1, 2025/in Comedy, Humor, Personal Stories, The Moth/by Mark Lovett

Personal stories don’t have to be extraordinary or sensational to have impact. They can just as easily be what I think of as everyday profound. On one level, they’re simple tales from life, but under the surface there’s a deeper meaning. Often a realization of some kind or an aha moment. And when there’s a funny thread running through your narrative, all the better. Alexis Barton’s story told at The Moth is a prime example of storytelling that I call humor with heart.

Most love stories end with a white dress. Mine begins with one.

While her story is unique, many of us have been in relationships that could have become long lasting, but over time they faded away, and in the end, we realized it was for the best. And that’s a factor to consider when crafting your own story. Think about what makes your story different, all yours, and how the theme can connect to a broad audience?

The fact that Quinton already had a girlfriend, that was just a poetic obstacle that I had to overcome.

What became evident to me while listening to Alexis’ story was her mastery of language and humor. Consider her use of the phrase poetic obstacle and the word situationship. This is difficult for most storytellers to pull off unless they happen to be a professional writer, which she reveals at the end. That said, I invite you to try your hand at crafting a unique phrase or novel hybrid word.

Notice the early hints she offers as to her background and style with mention of “Southern girls love bows”, and “Southern girls love hair ribbons”. On their own, they provide the audience with a sense of how she looks, but they also serve as a bit of foreshadowing when she later says, “I’m Sandra Dee in my little ponytail and hair ribbon.” It’s a clever callback, taking us from the general to the specific.

I also appreciated the way in which she compared herself to her quasi-boyfriend and his date when they all crossed paths in Walmart at 2am. Rather than saying “they were obviously together” and “I was obviously alone”, she refers to the fact that, “they had couple snacks…and I had single-girl food”. While either approach works, the former is simply stating a fact, while her word choice connects to the audience in a common way, as we’ve all been shopping and noticed what was in someone else’s shopping cart.

Transcript

Most love stories end with a white dress. Mine begins with one. The white dress I wore for my high school graduation was above the knee and chic, backless, and it had a sweet little bow at the back because Southern girls love bows.

And when I wore it to my graduation, I had no idea that it might serve a second purpose as a wedding dress, or more accurately, a dress to elope in.

But about two and a half years later, I was a college student at UAB, and I was, “Go Blazers!” I was dangerously in love with an upperclassman who lived two floors above me in the dorm, and we’ll call him Quinton.

Quinton was gorgeous. Every girl on campus wanted Quinton. But he wanted me. The fact that Quinton already had a girlfriend, that was just a poetic obstacle that I had to overcome. And I did.

Quinton and I sealed our “situationship” with a kiss under a streetlight in the rain, and it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me.

Now, we didn’t actually go out; we sofa-sat. That’s what you did before Netflix and chill. And we talked about all kinds of things and eventually the talk turned to marriage. Now, between us, we had one job, and both of us were still on our parents’ health insurance, and so this seemed like a fantastic idea. And we didn’t want to burden our parents with paying for a wedding, so we thought, we’ll cut class, like the scholars we were, and run down to Jefferson County and elope. And I already had the perfect dress in my closet at home, so I snuck home to Bruton, Alabama, and grabbed my high school dress and snuck it back.

Now, we chickened out. We didn’t actually elope. The day came and went and I just couldn’t do it and he couldn’t either. And we were all right with that. We continued to see each other and we were happy. And, uh, one night when we weren’t sofa-sitting, I went to Walmart with my roommate at 2 AM. As one does. That’s the perfect time to go to Walmart. It’s the witching hour, like going to Waffle House at the same hour. And as one does, we were wearing what most people are wearing at 2 AM—pajamas.

I had on a matching pastel kind of top and bottom with a little Peter Pan collar and white Keds, and I had a ponytail and I had a hair ribbon because Southern girls love hair ribbons. And we went down to Walmart on Lakeshore. And we were going to get some snacks. And, uh, we went all over the store, and we got chips and dip and Coke and Lean Cuisine and Crystal Light. And we made our way to the frozen food aisle because we needed ice cream. And if you’ve been in that Walmart, you know how wide and long that aisle is.

And so we are on the Blue Bell end, because I’m a Blue Bell girl. And we are looking at the options. And at the other end, the opposite end of the aisle, there is a couple coming toward us. And I’m severely nearsighted, so I can only really see y’all. I can’t see what’s happening at the back. And so we’re making our way down, India, my roommate, and I. And the couple at the opposite end is slowly coming toward us. And the closer they come to us, I realize it’s Quinton. And he’s on a date. And the girl was cute. She had on her going-out top. And if you know what I mean by that. Uh, she had on some cute jeans and some cute shoes and her hair and makeup was flawless. And look at me. I’m Sandra Dee in my little ponytail and hair ribbon.

And I took it all in as they walked past me. And I looked in their buggy and they had couple snacks. They had chocolate-covered Oreos. They had strawberries. They had wine. They had cubed cheese and olives. And it was obvious that they were together. Mind you, he had never taken me out. And I had single-girl food in my buggy. I had Lean Cuisine and Crystal Light. And I realized then that I was a single woman and I had had no clue all along. And we kept moving, we never broke stride. We get to the end of the aisle and I ask India, “Did I see what I thought I saw?” And I was hoping she would say no, but she’s not that type of person. She said, “Yeah, girl, you saw it. Everybody saw it in Walmart.” And, uh, she took me home. And this is—this is the point where I’d like to say I gathered my dignity, but I didn’t. I called another friend to pick me up, and we shot out for his house. Because it was his term to face uncomfortable truths at an inconvenient time in front of an audience—his neighbors. And I let him have it. And I realized in the moment how afraid he was of me when I popped out of the shadows, and I realized, you know, girl, this is over. And so I left.

This story has a happy ending. Two happy endings, because Quinton married that girl, and they have a beautiful family. And I lived to tell this story here tonight, so we both won. And if there are any lessons from this, and there are three that I have—it has taken me several years to come to. It is: nothing good happens after 2 AM, just like your mother said. Never double-cross a writer because you will become material. And three: always wear your cute outfit when you go out, because you never know who you’re gonna see in Walmart.

Thank you.

Back to you…

What stood out to you? At what points did you connect to her story? Especially if there was a passage that described something you’ve never experienced, but it resonated with you at a higher level.

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If you’re ready to craft your own personal story, these resources will help make it more impactful!
Storytelling in Three Steps
Ten Fundamental Story Blocks
The Essential Literary Elements

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Mike Sella goes skydiving with his daughter – at The Moth in San Francisco

October 23, 2025/in Family, Humor, Life Lessons, The Moth/by Mark Lovett

Have you ever found yourself in a situation that forced you to face your fears? And there was really no way out? Most likely you have, and such life events can become the basis for personal stories that others can connect to. Even if those hearing your story haven’t had the same experience as you, they can relate to the common emotions that such situations evoke.

Delivered at The Moth in San Francisco, Mike Sella shares a story about the time went skydiving for his daughter’s birthday, despite his fear of heights. From the setup to exiting the plane, we’re with him for the journey, and it’s a fun ride.

And this is where I really start to flip out.
I mean, there was a leg dangling.

Let’s take a look at how Mike structured his story to connect with the audience, create tension, and deliver a comedic punchline that beautifully brings us full circle.

Rather than starting with the terrifying prospect of jumping out of a plane, he takes us to a familiar, low-stakes setting: Disneyland. In doing so, he establishes three critical elements. First, he’s a loving, fun dad. Second, he has a signature shtick — faking a bored yawn for the on-ride roller coaster camera. And third, his daughter Parker wants to go skydiving, a prospect that clashes with his self-professed “big fear of heights.”

His exaggerated yawn, which is basically an inside joke with his daughter, seems like a minor act, but it’s something that we subconsciously file away. Eventually we see that it’s the key to the entire story, but in the beginning, he’s planting a narrative seed. It’s a classic use of foreshadowing that enriches the overall story.

And as I’m masterminding my escape, Stefan says, “It’s go time!”

Describing himself as the “luggage of someone who is skydiving” is a perfect visual metaphor, as it highlights his complete lack of agency. Something we all fear. The anxiety goes up a notch with his comments about the “casually dangling” leg of another skydiver, as well as the plane taking off without the door closed. We feel his sense of panic, but the tone is still humorous, and we’re enjoying the journey.

When his daughter disappears from the plane, Mike realizes it’s a point of no return, and his motivation shifts from fear of jumping to the primal fear of losing his child, which gives him the push he needs.

As he’s plummeting to Earth, and the audience is plummeting with him, the instructor gestures for him to smile for the camera. But instead of smiling, Mike executes his signature move: the exaggerated yawn.

I spent 20 years trying to convince her not to run with scissors. And now she has literally tumbled out of an airplane in front of me.

The seed planted in the story’s opening minutes blooms into a moment of sublime comedic triumph. This callback elevates the story from a simple anecdote to a perfectly crafted piece of storytelling.

And it’s not just a funny scene; it’s also a character-defining moment. In the face of intense fear, Mike holds on to a key piece of his identity — the funny, shtick-loving dad.

Listen to his story a second time while reading the transcript. Notice how he creates scenes we can easily see ourselves in, and how his vulnerability serves both the tension and the humor. The callback is classic and really ties a bow on the story. Think about your own experiences that were challenging, yet provided an opportunity for growth. We’ve all had them, and in most cases, funny moments were a part of the journey.

Transcript

A few years ago, my daughter was home for the summer from college, and we decided to go to Disneyland for a few days where we did a few things that really brought me joy. One, a bunch of the roller coasters there have cameras that take a picture at the scariest moment.

And my shtick that I’ve done for years is that I like to do a big exaggerated yawn right when they take the picture. So you see them and everyone looks really scared, and there I am in the middle just aggressively bored. And Parker did it with me, which really pleased me very much.

And I learned about her. I learned that one of the things on her bucket list is that she wants to go skydiving one day. And I thought, wow, that makes one of us, weirdo. Because I have a big fear of heights. I’m uncomfortable on a ladder, let alone walking off of an airplane voluntarily. But I took this thought and I stored it away.

And a few days later, I’m chatting with my wife, and somehow the words that came out of my mouth were, “We should all go skydiving for Parker’s birthday,” when what I was thinking was, “I will get out of this somehow.” But her birthday was months away, and I thought this is a problem for Future Mike. And I pushed all my fear down into my bowels.

A few months later, Future Mike wakes up and it’s skydiving day. And I’m Future Mike. And my bowels are very unhappy. But I drive us to the Watsonville Airport and we check in for our skydiving appointment. And there’s a bunch of forms to fill out that very specifically list all the different types of death and dismemberment that you promise not to sue them for.

And then we meet our skydiving partners because when you go skydiving for the first time, you don’t do that by yourself. You don’t even get a parachute. Your skydiving instructor puts a parachute on their back, and they strap you to their front like a big Baby Bjorn. So it’s not like you’re really skydiving, you’re just the luggage of someone who is skydiving.

And we meet our instructors and they’re very chill dudes. Mine is named Stefan. He’s like one part snowboarding instructor, one part Top Gun, and like two parts sunglasses. And we go through the training, which is just like explaining how to be good, polite luggage.

And then they take us out to the runway to see the group in front of us, and a small plane pulls up and two instructors and two skydivers get in the back. And the plane starts to taxi away, and they don’t even bother closing the door. One dude’s leg is just casually dangling out the door.

And this is where I really start to flip out. I mean, there was a leg dangling. I’ve been in airplanes, and normally when my airplanes taxi, I’m not even allowed to have my tray table down, let alone part of me hanging out of the airplane. So I turned to Parker and my wife and I say, “Hey, how are you guys feeling?” And they’re fine. They’re happy, they’re excited, like psychopaths.

And so our plane pulls up next and two instructors get in, and then Parker and I get in, sort of, you know, with our backs to them. We scoop between their legs, like we’re the little spoons. And the plane starts to taxi and it takes off, and I realize that I’m not strapped to Stefan yet. And I ask him in my calmest and most high-pitched voice, I say, “Hey, hey Stefan, don’t you think you should just strap us together?” And Stefan is chill. He says not to worry. I am not chill. I am very worried.

And I’m going through in my head how I’m going to get out of this. I signed a lot of forms. Maybe I gave up the right to do this. I don’t know, maybe luggage doesn’t even have rights. If I don’t do this, will my daughter be disappointed in me? Or am I just going to let peer pressure make me jump out of an airplane?

And as I’m masterminding my escape, Stefan says, “It’s go time!” because that’s how he talks. And Parker’s due to go first. So I see her and her instructor inch towards the door, and it’s surreal. And the door opens, and they’re gone. My daughter, my only child has fallen out of an airplane. I spent 20 years trying to convince her not to run with scissors. And now she has literally tumbled out of an airplane in front of me. And suddenly I am very motivated to skydive.

And so Stefan and I, he sort of scooches and I sort of Samsonite my way over to the door. And then my leg is dangling out that open door. And Stefan pushes us out. And we are tumbling and it is windy and it is noisy and it is terrifying. And we are free-falling for like 30 seconds or a week or something.

And Stefan pulls the parachute ripcord. And he’s also doing his other job which is to video record the whole thing. Like I’m ever going to watch this worst day of my life again. And he gestures to me to smile for the camera, and I look up at the camera and I go… [mimes a huge yawn].

Am I proud of myself for facing my fears and supporting my daughter and skydiving with her? Yeah, sure, whatever, a little bit. But am I really pleased with myself for making that stupid gag while plummeting to earth? Oh my God, yes, so much. That is my favorite. But the next few years for Parker’s birthday, we just sheltered in place and that was way better.

Thank you.

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Chris Bell protects his family from a possible intruder – Live at The Moth

July 2, 2025/in Family, Humor, Personal Stories, The Moth/by Mark Lovett

Sometimes 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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Ryan Roe at The Moth in Philadelphia

June 4, 2025/in Family, Humor, Life Lessons, Music, The Moth/by Mark Lovett

All too often I will hear people say their personal stories aren’t good enough to share. Nothing dramatic happened. Nothing very shocking. Nothing that other people would care much about. But some of the best stories are those with a simple narrative, but that also contain great meaning.

Such are the stories that recall childhood memories — those special times spent with family members. In this case, Ryan Roe’s story at The Moth takes us back to the time when he was learning to play the trombone. The story which unfolds is, at first, one of discomfort, but it turns into a father-son bonding experience that Ryan holds onto throughout life.

It’s heartfelt, as you’ll come to find out when you watch Ryan on stage, but it’s also filled with many funny moments. Listen to how he uses the technique of self-deprecating humor that also serves to enhance the visual experience.

You can still smell the remnants of Taco Tuesday. And if you look close enough at the floor, you can see the remnants of Taco Tuesday.

Without that humor his story would still be meaningful, but it wouldn’t have connected to the audience in the same way. It involves an effort to be near someone we like (we’ve all done that) and also being put into a potentially embarrassing situation (who hasn’t been there), so we’re rooting for Ryan.

Transcript

When I was in fourth grade, that’s when we as students could pick an instrument to take lessons in and play in the school band. And I chose the trombone for two reasons.

The first one was that there’s this cute girl named Jessica who told me that she was going to play the saxophone. And I had heard that the saxophone players and the trombone players took lessons together. Now, the reason I didn’t just also play the saxophone was that the buttons scared me.

And the second reason I chose trombone was that my dad is a phenomenal trombone player. For many years, he played in the Marine Corps Band, and he traveled around the country playing with them. He was based in New Orleans, and he played in a lot of the jazz clubs there. And then after that, he became an instrument repairman.

So, a lot of my memories as a child were of hearing him test the instruments in our house, playing his favorite songs. And I just loved the sound of the trombone. So I felt like if I played trombone, that would make him proud.

Now, the only other trombone player in the school was a fifth grader named Gina. And for months, Gina and I took lessons with our music teacher, and after all this time spent practicing, I just sounded terrible. The noise that came out of my trombone sounded like a hive of angry bees, yet somehow more alarming.

And, you know, it’s a really hard instrument to play for a fourth grader because you have these little fourth-grade arms, and you can’t even reach far enough to hit a C note. And what’s more embarrassing is that when you have an instrument that has a lot of valves and reeds and keys, if it sounds bad, you can sort of blame it on the instrument.

But when it’s just one long horn, if it sounds bad, it’s 100% your fault. I even came to my dad at one point and I was like, “This thing’s busted.” And he’s like, “Here’s the thing, no, it’s not.”

But the only consolation I had in all this was that Gina was also terrible. So as long as she was embarrassing herself, I felt fine embarrassing myself. Until two weeks before our first concert, Gina decides to quit. Up and leaving me as the only trombone player in the whole school, and my music teacher is worried.

But that week, my dad came in for a parent-teacher conference and he met with my music teacher and mentioned to her that he played trombone, and she goes, “Wait. Would you like to play in the winter concert with the fourth graders?” And he’s like, “I don’t know, this is their thing. I don’t want to take anything away from it.” And she’s like, “Please. Will you play in the winter concert?”

So he accepts and when he comes home and he tells me about it, he actually seems really excited about it. And I had to be like, “That’s awesome, Dad. I’m excited too.”

Because at this age, my biggest fear was being the center of attention. I just wanted to blend into the background. I did not want to be sitting in the front row with Jessica on my left and an adult man on my right.

But the concert comes around and we’re holding it in our dimly lit elementary school cafeteria. It was one of those cafeterias that weirdly has a full stage and curtains as if they’re trying to make the students think, “Will there be dinner and a show?” Who knows.

And the families are all there in their metal folding chairs. Suburban moms have their 30-pound camcorders armed and ready. You can still smell the remnants of Taco Tuesday. And if you look close enough at the floor, you can see the remnants of Taco Tuesday. And the drummers, they were lucky. They got to sit all the way in the back, along with this kid named Evan who had a triangle because he wasn’t really to be trusted.

And every family that walked into the room instantly looked in my direction and had a confused look because it was exactly as I had predicted. Me in the front row, Jessica on my left, and my adult father on my right.

And we begin playing the first song and immediately my dad and I are in a competition to see who can play the quietest. I’m playing quietly because I don’t want people to hear the noises coming out of my trombone. My dad is playing quietly because he doesn’t want to upstage a bunch of nine-year-olds. We’re both playing so quietly that the music teacher is waving her baton at us and mouthing, “Get louder! Now!”

But we get through the Blue Danube. The Carnival of the Animals goes a little better. And by the time we get to the Funeral March, I can finally relax. But the last song that we played was What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong. And you guys know it, it’s a very soft and slow song. It’s a bit easier to play on an instrument.

And as I’m playing, I start to listen to my dad playing next to me. And I’m hearing him hit every note perfectly and smoothly transition to the next. And then I look out into the crowd and I can see everyone else’s dad sitting there. And then I look over at my dad, and he’s smiling because he’s having the time of his life playing the instrument that he loves with his son that he loves.

And I felt really lucky to be playing next to my dad. I finally felt like this is a really special thing, I should cherish it.

And he ended up playing in every concert we did for the next five years. We had zero new trombone players every year for five years. So we just kept inviting him back. And it was awesome. I loved it. Every single time. I was never embarrassed about it, I always looked forward to it, and it was always a special moment.

So much so that when I got to high school and there were some upperclassmen that played trombone, I was no longer the only trombone player, so he didn’t need to play with us anymore. And I only ended up playing one more semester before I decided to quit because it just wasn’t as fun anymore. Something felt missing. So I moved on.

Fast forward to just a few years ago, I was taking a road trip through the South and I stopped for a day in New Orleans. And I was really excited because my dad had told me so many things about New Orleans and the whole experience just felt magical walking around the city because I kept thinking to myself, “This was my dad’s home when he was my age.”

And I ended the day by going to a jazz club called Preservation Hall. And it’s a really small club with these guys that play Dixieland jazz. And they sat me right next to the trombone player. And I’m having a great time listening to these guys, they’re so talented.

And then right before they ended the show, a guy came up from the back of the room and handed the lead man a five-dollar bill and asked him to play What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong.

And as I’m listening to the trombone player hit every note perfectly and smoothly transition to the next, I become overwhelmed with emotion because I was being transformed back into being fourth-grade Ryan. And I felt so lucky that I got to have those special moments with my dad.

And so when I got back home, I went to my parents’ house and I told my dad all about it and I thanked him for what he had done all those years ago. And then I went up to the attic and we had kept my trombone this whole time. So every now and then, my dad and I will still get that musical itch and we’ll go up to the attic and we’ll break out our trombones.

And I open up the case and I smell that sweet brass smell. And I put the horn and the slide together and you just hear all the familiar sounds. And when I begin playing, I’m immediately reminded of how terrible I am. But he hits every note perfectly, and that’s the fun part for me.

Thank you.

Now back to you…

Take a moment to think about similar experiences from your youth — from your childhood, to adolescence, to your teenage years. Is there some event (or series of events) that defined your relationship to one or both of your parents? Music, sports, nature, travel, food, etc.

Consider the sweet aspects, the humorous ones, as well as the meaningful ones. What memories have you carried with you throughout your life? As you recall an event, try to go deeper. What did it feel like, sound like, look like? As adults, we’ll too often push those memories into a corner, when the truth is, they are often well worth revisiting and sharing.

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The Moth – Live from New York – Give me Five – Stories of the Senses

May 5, 2025/in Art, Humanity, Humor, Life Lessons, The Moth/by Mark Lovett

Every episode of The Moth Radio Hour contains storytelling gold, and this one recorded in New York — Give me Five – Stories of the Senses — was a perfect example of diversity in storytelling. Give it a listen, and think about how each story was constructed, and how each scene was portrayed.

The Moth Storytellers:

Peter Aguero’s life takes an unexpected turn in a pottery class.
Tighisti Amahazion finds creature comfort during an escape with her family.
Julian Goldhagen gets trapped in a walk-in closet.
Bryan Kett gets a chance to see in color for the first time.

While I encourage you to hear them all, this article focuses on Peter Aguero.

Peter Aguero is quite the storyteller, with his rapid fire delivery that jumps from scene to scene, keeping the narrative, as well as audience interest, going along. Peter’s a masterful writer that offers up a combination of personal insights and humor. Check out this description of the woman he meets at the pottery studio. If there’s an unusual character in your story, think of how you can describe the essence of their appearance, both visually and metaphorically.

This woman comes up to me and she’s wearing mismatched six shades of pink somehow. And two different colored socks and sandals. It’s October. She looks like she’s been happily cutting her own hair for the last 50 years.

It’s one thing to describe how you feel, but in this exchange with his pottery teacher: “And the second rule is today we’re just going to have fun. And I tell him, I’m not so sure I remember how that even feels.” We’re left to consider Peter’s frame of mind, that he has forgotten what fun feels like. Sometimes meaning only requires a few words, and the audience empathizes with you.

So, what I realize then is now I can make anything. I can make anything for who I am today. I can make things to honor who I had been. I can make things for what is. And all I have to do is joyfully, mindfully, with intent and with compassion for myself, is to sit still and take a breath and make a move and the shape changes. And I take a breath and I make a move and the shape changes. And I take a breath and I make a move and the shape changes.

You’ll understand this ending once you hear his story, and you’ll see how he took the lesson he learned when working with the clay and applied it to his life. That’s the gift he’s handing to the audience. To take a breath, make a move, and watch the world change. But let’s take a step back for context.

I’m crying and it just feels terrible. The weight of the entire world feels like it’s on top of my shoulders, on top of my body, pressing me into this carpet.

In just this one sentence you can feel Peter’s pain. He’s not in a good place. And although he obviously wants relief, he doesn’t have a path to make that happen. And then comes a simple suggestion from his wife.

Sarah says to me, Peter, you need to take a pottery class.

This is the pivot point. The one sentence that opens up an entirely new world to Peter. A world where he finds himself and creates a path forward: take a breath, make a move, and watch the world change.

Whenever someone says, “I don’t have a story to tell.“, I begin to probe, ask a few questions, dig a little deeper into their life experiences. And sure enough, there comes a moment in the conversation when they tell me about a pivot in their life. A change that started with one sentence, thought, idea, etc. It could have come from a friend or a family member. Someone at work or school or church. Hell, it can come from watching the television or reading a book.

The point is, this happens to everyone, but too often we overlook the impact that such event have on our life. Think about your own life journey, and see whether something similar arises. An event, and a lesson learned that others could benefit from hearing. And if you already have your story idea in hand, while considering the events you plan to include in your narrative, try to be aware of any pivot points that are worth sharing.

Transcript (edited for readability)

So I’m sitting, laying face down on my living room floor, and the carpet is rough against my cheeks and all I want to do is just burrow underneath the carpet. I want to hide. I want to dig in a hole. I want to get my body, my soul, my everything underneath, to hide, to get away from everything. There’s bees in my head. It’s anxiety. My heart is beating. I’m crying and it just feels terrible. The weight of the entire world feels like it’s on top of my shoulders, on top of my body, pressing me into this carpet.

I am trying to write a new show. I had been working for 20 years hustling as an artist and what I’ve been working on lately is what I’ve been calling, autobiographical, first-person narrative, which is just a fancy way of saying, telling a story. And anytime you have a fancy way of doing something, it gets all messed up. So my wife, Sarah, is brushing my hair and she’s reading my tarot cards and she’s holding me like the Pieta, and I’m just trying to get through this moment.

I thought I was writing a comedy about myself. Turns out it was a psychological horror story, and it didn’t feel good. I had made the choice, the medium I was going to work in my life was generally going to be pain.

I found it to be true early on, that whenever I would talk about a time in my life where there was some kind of change or some growth, it never happened in a victory or out of joy. It was always in heartbreak or pain or misery or failure is where I would grow. And so, that’s how I would present my medium. That was what I was working, in the pain of my past and I was tired of it. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I just didn’t care. I didn’t care about myself or telling any more stories or doing anything and I’m just crying and it’s just about over and Sarah says to me, Peter, you need to take a pottery class.

And I’m 40 years old. I had never taken a pottery class. I had played with Play-Doh when I was a kid, probably. I went to Catholic school. We didn’t have the money for pottery classes. It was, okay babe, I kind of dismissed it. Thank you so much, but, you know, how’s that going to help anything? And then I spend the rest of the night trying to go to bed to end that day to get to the next one, which is the way it goes when you feel that way.

And at the end of the next day, Sarah says to me, have you registered for a pottery class yet? And I said, no, I haven’t. She says, I’m going to take a shower and by the time I get out of the shower, I want you registered for a pottery class. And I get on the computer and I start to look for a pottery studio near where we live in Queens and I’m looking around and I find this place called Brick House in Long Island City.

I’m like, I like the Commodores. So I register for a private lesson. And she comes out and she says, did you register? I said, yes, I did. I have a lesson in five days. I said, why can I ask you? Why a pottery class? She just looked at me. She said, I think it would be gentle and I think it might feel like a hug.

So five days later I’m in Long Island City and I walk into the ceramic studio, a place I’d never been in my life and I don’t understand what is going on. There are walls packed with shelves and things. There are tennis balls next to WD40 next to cornstarch next to yard sticks next to bundles of sticks, random buttons, all kinds of weird, just strange things.

The floor feels like it had been wet and dried and wet and dried and wet and dried to the point that now it feels like stale waffles underneath my feet. I’m looking around and feeling the clay dust. I can feel it gritting in my teeth. I can smell the earth in the air. I look around and everyone in the place is working with these balls of this brown clay.

This woman comes up to me and she’s wearing mismatched six shades of pink somehow. And two different colored socks and sandals. It’s October. She looks like she’s been happily cutting her own hair for the last 50 years. She says to me, are you here for Peter? I say, I am Peter, and this confuses her, and she says, my name is Liberty Valance. I said, what? And now I’m confused.

And then this guy, who looks if the Queensboro bridge had a troll, it would be this guy. And he’s got a red beard and he’s chuckling in the corner and I’m looking around like, oh, I get it, this is where the weirdos are. Okay.

So then Peter comes out. He’s the teacher and he looks like me-in-30-years. He’s a robust older gentleman with a halo of hair loosely tied in a ponytail, a big long gray beard that reaches the center of his chest. And he comes over to me with kindness in his eyes. He says, I’m Peter. I say, I’m Peter. And it doesn’t register any confusion with him.

And the kindness in his eyes runs deep and his hands look strong and he says, have you ever done this before? I said, no. He said, good. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to just teach you. There’s no grades. I’m not your first grade teacher. Don’t worry about it. And the second rule is today we’re just going to have fun. And I tell him, I’m not so sure I remember how that even feels.

And he just nods his head and says, come this way. So he walks me over to the pottery wheels and we sit down and he takes a ball of clay and he places it in my hand, and it’s both wet and somehow dry at the same time. It’s cold to the touch in my hand. It is about the size of a grapefruit. It’s heavy.

You know when they tell you when you go to the produce section to get produce that is a little heavier than it looks and you never understand what that means. This is what clay feels like in my hand and it’s earth. It’s the earth. And it’s in my hands, touching my skin. And Peter says, okay, the first thing we’re going to do is we’re going to center.

And I don’t know what that means. He turns on the wheel and the wheel starts going around and says, and he puts the clay in the center of the wheel and he says, you can’t center a little bit. You’re either centered or you’re not. And that’s blowing my mind and he shows me how to use my body, how to brace my arm up against my ribs and to make my hands into the shape of a tool and I would hold my hands over the clay and not let the clay…

He says, don’t let the clay, he’s got this voice, it sounds like if you drizzled honey over some soft summer thunder. And he’s telling me, okay, so you’re going to adjust, it’ll just be, and then it’ll be centered. He says, you’re going to learn how to do this, you’re going to forget it, and then it’s okay because I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

So I breathe out and I brace my arm and the clay wobbles and wobbles and wobbles and wobbles and all of a sudden it doesn’t. It’s still and it’s spinning. I raise my hands and it’s spinning so fast but it’s not moving at all. It looks like it’s completely still and he says, there you go, you’re centered.

And then he tells me, okay, you’re gonna wet your hands and then you’re gonna drop your first hole, and you take your fingers and you put it in the center of the dome of clay and you drop your hole and you open the clay. And it opens so quickly. I take to it like a duck to water. It feels so satisfying, like when you’re cutting wrapping paper and the scissors just slide up the wrapping paper. It feels like that.

And he tells me okay, now he shows me how to lift, and he shows me what to do, and all of a sudden this lump of clay went from being nothing to a cup that turns into a bowl, that turns into an object that exists in the whole world. And all of the art I’ve been making has been ephemeral, just performance and it disappears.

And this is now a thing that actually exists. And he cuts it off and he puts it to the side and he puts another ball of clay and I center it again and he tells me that all I got to do now is just make sure that I breathe. He says that’s the most important thing. He says, you’re going to touch the clay gently, you’re going to take your hands off the clay gently and in between every move you’re going to breathe. And then that piece starts to wobble a little bit and all I have to do is cut it off and get another piece of clay. I can just start over. There’s no stakes. It just feels good.

As Peter is telling me and we go through about four, four different balls of clay. He tells me, uh, all these things again, these steps over and over because I learn them and I forget them, but he’s there. But what I hear is the subtext of what he’s actually saying to me, which is, you take a breath, you make a move, and the shape changes.

The hour goes by like that and I stand up and I tell him, I say Peter, thank you so much. I’ve been depleted. I needed that so bad. My battery has been empty and I just have not been feeling good. And he gives me a hug, because me-in-30-years is a good hugger. And then, as he hugs me, he tells me he’s proud of me.

So I start to cry. And, me-in-30-years, is a great crier too, and we’re just holding each other and crying and the bridge troll and the pink lady are just laughing. Everybody’s having a wonderful time and I leave the studio, I wave goodbye to the island of broken toys and I go home and I get back to my apartment and I sit on the couch and, Sarah says, how was it? And she tells me later that in this very small voice from my very big body, I just gently say, I loved it. I can’t believe somebody lets me do this. And she nodded her head and she said, okay, I want you to go sign up for a weekly class. So I did.

About two weeks later I show up for my Thursday 10:00 AM weekly class. I go in there and I walk directly to the wheels and on the wheel that’s supposed to be mine is a pile of brand new tools, some wooden carving sticks, a wooden knife, a wire, a sponge.

There’s also this blue bowl, rudimentary, kind of thick walled blue bowl. And I pick it up and on the underside of it, it’s carved Peter underneath. Teacher Peter had fired it, glazed it and fired it for me and left it on my wheel. And I pick it up and the glaze is cool in my hand and it’s very smooth like glass and it feels perfect in my hands because my hands were the things that made this and the grooves are the grooves of my fingers in the surface of the clay. And this object is now part of the world and I made it. It was the earth and I shaped it and inside the way the glaze melted is the universe.

And I put it to the side and I get another ball of clay and I sit down and I start to center. And I look all around me and I can see all the people working everywhere and and and everyone here is taking these, uh, balls of clay or slabs of clay or or pieces of clay and they’re turning into something and it’s coming from a place inside their soul that is supported and beautiful and joyful.

So, what I realize then is now I can make anything. I can make anything for who I am today. I can make things to honor who I had been. I can make things for what is. And all I have to do is joyfully, mindfully, with intent and with compassion for myself, is to sit still and take a breath and make a move and the shape changes. And I take a breath and I make a move and the shape changes. And I take a breath and I make a move and the shape changes.

Thank you.

If you enjoyed this article…

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