When faced with the task of storytelling for introductions, people have real trouble with their origin story. They always get hung up on what sounds most formidable, which story will present them in the best possible light. Here’s a tip – when it comes to storytelling for introductions, the story itself doesn’t matter. What matters is the impression it leaves. Here’s a hot storytelling take!
pleasure to meet you, I’m Mimosa
When I was little, I used to spend long summers with my grandmother by the sea. We stayed with relatives or her friends and classmates.
Every summer I had a dozen grandparents, aunts, and uncles.
They played with me at the beach, took me to the best and most popular seaside restaurants that season, made me homemade breakfast, offered me sanctuary from the heat in their backyard vineyards, and for a couple of weeks every summer, the warm aroma of my Grandma’s ground, roasted chickpeas (leblebi) filled their homes.
There was something mystical about all that.
I got up early so we could put up our beach umbrella right at the line where sand met sea. I slept in the afternoon because the days were endless.
And in the evening I listened to stories.
Stories of big families, of many sisters, of foreign soldiers on familiar hills, of courting and games.
Of dancing and guitar playing – an old acoustic thing that was
loved and lovingly played
not just in two centuries, but in two millennia.
When these summer vacations would end, I’d come home with sun in my hair and salt on my skin, and a suitcase full of stories.
And one summer, we came home with a tree.
A mimosa, according to Grandma. Today I know it was most likely an albizia.
“Ethereal, just like you, Mimosa. Every person should plant at least one tree in their life, and this is yours,” Grandma told me.
Most of those people are gone now. But their stories remain. They have taken root like that tree we brought back from the sea.
Because that’s what good stories do:
- They take root.
- Their branches reach far.
- People flock under their shade.
- They leave a lasting memory.
- They start a life of their own.
So, here’s my first take for you:
When you tell your stories, think of them as saplings – plant them with purpose,
nurture them with care and authenticity,
and gift their shade without expecting anything in return.
The roots will do the rest.
I’m M. K., and I share unexpected storytelling lessons.
