Yesterday I gave my very first "telling" to an audience of children. It was rather anti-climatic. I told a story at a party for homeless families in NYC, and the set-up was terrible. There was music blaring, it was a completely chaotic environment, and just as I started my first story, the food was served, and parents came and motioned for their kids to leave the story area. I started with about 9-10 kids and ended my first story with 4 kids, and my second story with 1 kid. But you know, the best part is that it really was OK. I felt good about my performance. I had been so nervous, and I knew that just going through with the performance would make me feel better. And it did. It made this thing--storytelling--a real thing, rather than some fear in my imagination. And it reminded me that when I'm looking at real children, or adults, something comes over me and I can focus on the task at hand and stop the obsessing about myself that makes me so nervous before an event. I look into their eyes and I realize that they just want me to give the best that I have to give them, and with grace, that will be enough. And that I can do.
On the train ride home I had a NYC moment--the kind that makes me feel like living here is magical. A couple of weeks ago, I learned a string story about a snake and a lizard. The string is the snake, and it winds itself around the sleeping lizard (the hand), but then another lizard comes along and pulls on one part of the string and the snake comes off--miraculously. I didn't practice the story after learning it, and now I can't figure out the pattern. So I was on the train playing with a loop of yarn, winding it around my fingers trying to remember the pattern, when I noticed that the people around me were talking about me. I didn't notice this at first, because they were speaking in Korean. But I looked up from my hand and saw that the woman across from me was motioning in such a way that showed she was talking about my string and me. I smiled at her and showed her the string and asked, "do you know how?" She took the string from me and handed it to a man sitting beside her. He smiled at me, pulled off his glove, and proceeded to stitch the sting onto his fingers. When all of his fingers were encircled by the string, it took his thumb out of its loop and pulled on the string and it all unraveled. I expressed my delight and the woman motioned for me to come sit between them so I could learn it. I watched him do it again, and then I did it while he looked on. They clapped when I figured it out. I did it again to be sure I had it, and then I went back to my seat smiling. The four people in this group were talking and smiling and nodding their heads at me, but we couldn't communicated any further. I showed them the beginning of cat's cradle and said, "do you know this story?" and the woman smiled and nodded, though I'm not sure she understood me.
Anyhow, I now have a new string story. I'll have to do some research and see if a story goes with it. Or maybe make one up.
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A space for reflection, insight, and musing on life.
5 comments:
Yay for Kirsten, conquering hero! It took a lot of guts to tell not one, but two stories. And for all who don't know, one of the stories was a Kirsten original! Double-bravo! I can hardly wait to hear you tell your stories the next time I see you.
Don't forget to call the P.O. tomorrow!
Good job telling the stories in all that chaos. I appreciate the story about your connection to the people on the bus, and learing with them spontaneously.
No worries about returning my call...I wanted to send my love and support before the surgery. I expect you will be pretty busy this week preparing, so if you don't get a chance to call I totally understand.
I love all the ways we communicate with language barriers. My mother-in-law used few but perfect words in meeting my family: "Can you love son?" and "Daughter."
That's a lovely story about your mother-in-law, Anne!
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