When a storyteller tells a true personal story with an open heart, everyone benefits, everyone can be changed.

Thank you to the following nonprofits who have invited me to be part of their efforts.

“Don't you feel a little exposed, Duncan?!”

My husband is shaking his hips, doing his signature dance move, aptly called the pencil sharpener.

We had slipped away from our kids and responsibilities for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary. The sky was dark. The stars were out. Sonos was blaring Kool and the Gang. And the beach house with windows-on-every-wall-and-no-shades was making me feel vulnerable to judging passers-by.

The strangest request came in a couple years ago from one of my clients.

Smart, engaged, with an entire career under her belt, this client had initially come to me for help expressing why she cared so deeply about certain philanthropic causes, to help these organizations raise money. (Fundraising is all about story-sharing, standing in other people’s shoes, and supporting common values.)

The other day I received an email from a student after our storytelling workshop. The stories everyone shared were unique and personal, and they must have resonated.

“Story work is powerful,” he wrote, “I don't feel so alone.”

When my three kids were in preschool, I remember attending a parent workshop where I raised my hand and asked, “How do you elevate the conversation at dinner?”

The teacher looked right at me and, with an ever-so-slight huff, responded “Really? Don’t you think you’re asking a lot of your family right now? You just need to get through this stage.”

January 6th I woke up to an email in my inbox about epiphanies from one of my favorite writers. I was relieved it wasn’t another email about goal setting or new year’s resolutions. I write things down in the form of a list every day, I make plans—or used to, and I put one foot in front of the other. Haven’t we learned anything from last year? Goal setting is so 2019.

I’m rushing [as I always did pre-Covid] in my silver Honda Fit down the oversized concrete blocks of the Richmond district to meet a portrait photographer. I want a headshot for my business and have dreams of capturing my loving, joyful spirit in a headshot that screams, Look! You’re in good hands with this beautiful, confident woman as your coach!

“Katherine, you were an African American Studies major. What do you have to say about what’s been going on?” two friends asked me as we were socially distancing.

Self-doubt and fear gripped me. I had been busy listening to their conversation. With all eyes on me, I froze.

When my personal trainer [aka my husband] started his Zoom workout class the other morning he instructed, “Get in an athlete position.” I tensed up. I wasn’t an athlete as a child. I’ve never been an athlete. And I will never be an athlete. Yes, I happened to marry an athlete, but that doesn’t make me one.

But the next day, when I was on a run, I thought to myself, “Wait a second! In your 20’s, you did two half Ironmans. In your 30’s, you did Ashtanga yoga every day. In your 40’s, you show up to every one of your husband’s classes. Not an athlete? What is wrong with you?”

I live in Northern California. And I’m a hugger.

Giving and receiving hugs is part of the joy that keeps me going so “keeping a distance” stirs up a lot of old feelings of loneliness, isolation and loss. Yet lately the physical distancing isn’t keeping me from feeling close to others. In fact, the connection I’m experiencing with family, friends and community is overwhelming and beautiful. My deepest hope is that despite the range of uncomfortable feelings you may be experiencing, that you're also finding soul-affirming support and love as well…and know that we are getting through this, together.

Right now, while hugs aren’t an option, I’m finding how powerful it is to be more present with myself and the people I love. And now felt like a good time to highlight one skill that really can be the difference-maker.

My 18 year-old niece tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Aunt Katherine, you need to say something.”

I had finished my honey-mustard salmon and was in the midst of deciding if I was going to order another glass of wine.

“I’m not sure we need to do toasts tonight,” I responded.

The dimple on her right cheek formed. I wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or get upset with me as she tapped my shoulder again, “No really Aunt Katherine I think you need to say something.”

Stories stick. They stay inside of us. We connect to bits and pieces that sound and feel familiar. Stories cross ages and life stages and even life experiences. Stories provide lessons in an open, non-threatening, non-directive way. Much more than advice-giving ever could.

That got your attention didn’t it?

2019 was a hard year. As a family, we took some serious blows. This past April, my husband was diagnosed with colorectal cancer. Yep, a routine colonoscopy revealed stage III cancer. We’re very lucky that the tumor was localized and treatable. A month before, my father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.