This is a beautiful and vital model you’ve built. The image of the "koi pond moment" as a glitch in the matrix—a deliberate, playful pivot from frustration to shared wonder—is a perfect metaphor for the transformation that real storytelling can trigger.
You've put your finger on the exact alchemy: a bonded community reflecting back the significance we've overlooked in our own lives. Your question about whether we're hesitant to touch our past is the crucial one.
It makes me think of my own father. For years after my mother died, he carried her passport in his briefcase. It wasn't a document for travel; it was proof. Proof that she had been here, that their shared journey was real. He was a man of immense resilience, but his deepest story was one of devotion: caring for her, night and day, as she died, showing me that love is not a feeling but a daily, gruelling, glorious choice to stay.
I realised, much later, that my entire understanding of character—of what holds us in the dark—was forged in watching him. I had been living the answer to your question long before I could articulate it. We are not just hesitant to touch our past; we often fail to see that we are living its continuous, unfolding lesson.
Your ‘Story Gym’ creates the sacred space where that realisation can take hold. It’s where we see that the fish in our own dark water are not slimy fears, but the shimmering, overlooked truths of who we have always been.
What a moving story about your father Mo. We're impossibly entwined in the lives of our family members, loved ones, lifelong friends, but even passing strangers and perhaps every human that has been. There's something about corresponding here with people like you, the process of seeing one another, touring one another's root systems and having conversation about the water and sunlight that feels so vitally important right now. I very much appreciate the depth of your engagement, your insight, and your humanity on this playground for grown-ups.
Rick, thank you. You've perfectly named what this space can be at its best: a "playground for grown-ups" where we can seriously and joyfully tour the root systems of one another's humanity.
That act of mutual seeing—offered so generously in your work and in this exchange—is indeed vitally important. It's the antidote to the isolation our age manufactures.
This has been a true conversation. I'm deeply grateful for it.
Perhaps we aren't just touring each other's roots, Rick. Perhaps, in moments like this, we become the rare rainfall that helps them grow deeper.
Fabulous post. Community is a game-changer with writing as with other human endeavors.
I wholeheartedly vote that you should write your book. Your decades of accumulated, real-time knowledge and expertise in the art of story-telling practically write the book for you.
So true... we often don't know exactly what it is that we've written. I once risked boring two literary friends by reading the opening chapter of my work-in-progress. Their response? They laughed their heads off. WHAT? Yes, apparently it was funny. Hilarious. I had no idea that it was a work of humour. I rushed home filled to overflowing with the sense that now I knew what I was doing.
Joan Didion said, "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." They are a kind of currency for humanity. We listen to stories so the world can be revealed to us. We write them so we can be revealed to ourselves. I've never met anyone who champions stories - and the people behind them - as much as you do, Rick. I'd support any project you take on.
This is so very kind of you Dan. And these two lines here are going into my new book if I write it next year. "We listen to stories so the world can be revealed to us. We write them so we can be revealed to ourselves." With your permission and attribution of course.
Such a geeat tribute to the power of community. And, as you know, Rick, your stories often trigger my own stories, which I've sometimes shared in my comments. Thanks for the role you play and the service you perform for so many of us.
I love the gist of your essay, which bears stressing: "It’s a common occurrence that we don’t see the value of our own life experiences. When brought to our group conversations we often discover that our history contains gifts we’ve rushed by or abandoned in our past."
You then proceed to *show* us, most particularly through a detailed and engaging account Neha's experience, the power of storytelling, a type of magic that's greatly enhanced through community.
Community. It amazes me constantly how my own writing community has done the same. It is also, even with real feedback that is not always praise, a huge confidence builder. Thank you. Great post.
Thank you very much Ann. And yes, I appreciate your point re it doesn't need to be praise. To simply be truly and accurately seen and reflected, in whatever state we inhabit, is the gift. What is the community you belong to if you don't mind me asking?
It’s A Writing Room. Anne Lamott’s son and a couple of other people started it. They also bring in a great editor, Jake Morrisey, to do random editing of first pages and other professionals. One of the best is Andrew Steiner… Anne does some appearances too. But it has become a true community.
I thoroughly love this story, Rick, and you've touched on something here, pun intended, that is so important.
When I was discovering my Peaceful Pivot Process, I assumed people would get most resistant at the step where they touch their pain. They don't. It's the next step where they face the place in their story from which their pain originated. That's when they dig in their heels.
We need encouragement like this to trace the origin of our pain point through time. 🙏
Wow, I find that bit of coaching insight fascinating. Why do you think reconnecting to the story generated resistance? Did recounting the story increase the pain? Or make the pain more experiential rather than intellectual you think? Or something else? Very interested in your experience leading folks with this. Because we start with the story in our group I've noticed that people often wind up connecting to their pain in a natural way, often I believe not expecting that the sorrow, or grief, or remorse, or anger is coming. Most of us actually look forward to sharing our stories, but every now and then we're surprised by the emotions that come along with them. If we went straight for the emotion maybe there'd be more hesitation. Anything else you have to share on this subject and your experience with it truly interests me.
It's a good question, and I can imagine how the storytelling is fun but emotion sneaks in. I think that's how a good novel sneaks up on you and changes you, whereas it's harder to feel emotion reading a non-fiction book because you're prepared for it.
Here's a hot take: when we feel rejected, for instance, as adults, it can't get all the way in because our ego protections are already up. But when we were rejected as children, we were still ego-free and defenseless, so it pierced all the way through. So, we'd rather talk directly about rejection now than rejection then because it doesn't hurt as much now.
Ah, yes, that makes sense. Though are you aware, either directly through your work with others, or according to any research, whether re-visiting the past that hurt more has a beneficial effect? This seems like the realm of narrative therapy.
Really great post, in so many ways. The story itself, the feedback to Neha, the community you described so well. I was immediately in that steamy hotel lobby!
Rick, your titles are always intriguing, but I’ll admit—I had no idea where you were going with this one! I completely agree with your point that we’re all convinced no one wants to hear our stories, even as we’re endlessly captivated by the stories of others. What Writehearted does so beautifully is institutionalize the antidote to that belief. Week after week, the community reflects genuine enthusiasm for each person’s experience, and it slowly dissolves that internal hurdle. This piece is such a powerful reminder of why the practice matters.
Thank you Rachel. When Neha told her story I immediately imagined "Poke the Fish" becoming a new viral idiom for getting out of our comfort zone, courageous growth, and shifting focus in a positive way. But I'm not sure it's landing that way with others. If you saw it as a title of a book on a shelf or the name of a publication do you think it would make you curious enough to engage, or does it just seem like a random phrase you'd probably pass by?
I'm loving these entry-way stories into our Write Hearted story group... and how they are calling me deeper into diving into my own stories this coming year.... Thanks Rick.
…on the lake i grew up folks would tell stories of giant carps who would accidentally swallow legs whole…years later i spent a day on the internet going down photo thread after photo thread of guys who spend their days seeking giant carps to hold…it’s like the st. bernard of fish, which is to say quite pettable…
Rick,
This is a beautiful and vital model you’ve built. The image of the "koi pond moment" as a glitch in the matrix—a deliberate, playful pivot from frustration to shared wonder—is a perfect metaphor for the transformation that real storytelling can trigger.
You've put your finger on the exact alchemy: a bonded community reflecting back the significance we've overlooked in our own lives. Your question about whether we're hesitant to touch our past is the crucial one.
It makes me think of my own father. For years after my mother died, he carried her passport in his briefcase. It wasn't a document for travel; it was proof. Proof that she had been here, that their shared journey was real. He was a man of immense resilience, but his deepest story was one of devotion: caring for her, night and day, as she died, showing me that love is not a feeling but a daily, gruelling, glorious choice to stay.
I realised, much later, that my entire understanding of character—of what holds us in the dark—was forged in watching him. I had been living the answer to your question long before I could articulate it. We are not just hesitant to touch our past; we often fail to see that we are living its continuous, unfolding lesson.
Your ‘Story Gym’ creates the sacred space where that realisation can take hold. It’s where we see that the fish in our own dark water are not slimy fears, but the shimmering, overlooked truths of who we have always been.
Thank you for this profound work.
What a moving story about your father Mo. We're impossibly entwined in the lives of our family members, loved ones, lifelong friends, but even passing strangers and perhaps every human that has been. There's something about corresponding here with people like you, the process of seeing one another, touring one another's root systems and having conversation about the water and sunlight that feels so vitally important right now. I very much appreciate the depth of your engagement, your insight, and your humanity on this playground for grown-ups.
Rick, thank you. You've perfectly named what this space can be at its best: a "playground for grown-ups" where we can seriously and joyfully tour the root systems of one another's humanity.
That act of mutual seeing—offered so generously in your work and in this exchange—is indeed vitally important. It's the antidote to the isolation our age manufactures.
This has been a true conversation. I'm deeply grateful for it.
Perhaps we aren't just touring each other's roots, Rick. Perhaps, in moments like this, we become the rare rainfall that helps them grow deeper.
Fabulous post. Community is a game-changer with writing as with other human endeavors.
I wholeheartedly vote that you should write your book. Your decades of accumulated, real-time knowledge and expertise in the art of story-telling practically write the book for you.
Thank you for that encouragement Kathy, and for your kind upvoting all along.
So true... we often don't know exactly what it is that we've written. I once risked boring two literary friends by reading the opening chapter of my work-in-progress. Their response? They laughed their heads off. WHAT? Yes, apparently it was funny. Hilarious. I had no idea that it was a work of humour. I rushed home filled to overflowing with the sense that now I knew what I was doing.
I love that. We think we know who we are until we get an audience, and then the gloves come off and we're co-creating with the universe.
Joan Didion said, "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." They are a kind of currency for humanity. We listen to stories so the world can be revealed to us. We write them so we can be revealed to ourselves. I've never met anyone who champions stories - and the people behind them - as much as you do, Rick. I'd support any project you take on.
This is so very kind of you Dan. And these two lines here are going into my new book if I write it next year. "We listen to stories so the world can be revealed to us. We write them so we can be revealed to ourselves." With your permission and attribution of course.
Absolutely Rick. Honored.
Such a geeat tribute to the power of community. And, as you know, Rick, your stories often trigger my own stories, which I've sometimes shared in my comments. Thanks for the role you play and the service you perform for so many of us.
Thanks Chris. Your stories so enrich my own time and journey here. Very glad to have your presence in these explorations.
Wonderful post, Rick.
I love the gist of your essay, which bears stressing: "It’s a common occurrence that we don’t see the value of our own life experiences. When brought to our group conversations we often discover that our history contains gifts we’ve rushed by or abandoned in our past."
You then proceed to *show* us, most particularly through a detailed and engaging account Neha's experience, the power of storytelling, a type of magic that's greatly enhanced through community.
This is such a valuable message.
And thanks again for the shout-out!
Thank you Larry. My pleasure to elevate the visibility of your coming out party of this year. Watching you rise and shine is a true joy.
Community. It amazes me constantly how my own writing community has done the same. It is also, even with real feedback that is not always praise, a huge confidence builder. Thank you. Great post.
Thank you very much Ann. And yes, I appreciate your point re it doesn't need to be praise. To simply be truly and accurately seen and reflected, in whatever state we inhabit, is the gift. What is the community you belong to if you don't mind me asking?
It’s A Writing Room. Anne Lamott’s son and a couple of other people started it. They also bring in a great editor, Jake Morrisey, to do random editing of first pages and other professionals. One of the best is Andrew Steiner… Anne does some appearances too. But it has become a true community.
https://a-writing-room.mn.co/share/wEviKC5XGnlA4tHa
That's awesome. Wonderful you've found a quality group. There's nothing better.
I thoroughly love this story, Rick, and you've touched on something here, pun intended, that is so important.
When I was discovering my Peaceful Pivot Process, I assumed people would get most resistant at the step where they touch their pain. They don't. It's the next step where they face the place in their story from which their pain originated. That's when they dig in their heels.
We need encouragement like this to trace the origin of our pain point through time. 🙏
Wow, I find that bit of coaching insight fascinating. Why do you think reconnecting to the story generated resistance? Did recounting the story increase the pain? Or make the pain more experiential rather than intellectual you think? Or something else? Very interested in your experience leading folks with this. Because we start with the story in our group I've noticed that people often wind up connecting to their pain in a natural way, often I believe not expecting that the sorrow, or grief, or remorse, or anger is coming. Most of us actually look forward to sharing our stories, but every now and then we're surprised by the emotions that come along with them. If we went straight for the emotion maybe there'd be more hesitation. Anything else you have to share on this subject and your experience with it truly interests me.
It's a good question, and I can imagine how the storytelling is fun but emotion sneaks in. I think that's how a good novel sneaks up on you and changes you, whereas it's harder to feel emotion reading a non-fiction book because you're prepared for it.
Here's a hot take: when we feel rejected, for instance, as adults, it can't get all the way in because our ego protections are already up. But when we were rejected as children, we were still ego-free and defenseless, so it pierced all the way through. So, we'd rather talk directly about rejection now than rejection then because it doesn't hurt as much now.
Ah, yes, that makes sense. Though are you aware, either directly through your work with others, or according to any research, whether re-visiting the past that hurt more has a beneficial effect? This seems like the realm of narrative therapy.
Really great post, in so many ways. The story itself, the feedback to Neha, the community you described so well. I was immediately in that steamy hotel lobby!
Thanks Terri. There's so much beauty and joy and inspiration in the details of our lives. Glad that Neha and I could take you on this ride.
Rick, your titles are always intriguing, but I’ll admit—I had no idea where you were going with this one! I completely agree with your point that we’re all convinced no one wants to hear our stories, even as we’re endlessly captivated by the stories of others. What Writehearted does so beautifully is institutionalize the antidote to that belief. Week after week, the community reflects genuine enthusiasm for each person’s experience, and it slowly dissolves that internal hurdle. This piece is such a powerful reminder of why the practice matters.
Thank you Rachel. When Neha told her story I immediately imagined "Poke the Fish" becoming a new viral idiom for getting out of our comfort zone, courageous growth, and shifting focus in a positive way. But I'm not sure it's landing that way with others. If you saw it as a title of a book on a shelf or the name of a publication do you think it would make you curious enough to engage, or does it just seem like a random phrase you'd probably pass by?
I'm loving these entry-way stories into our Write Hearted story group... and how they are calling me deeper into diving into my own stories this coming year.... Thanks Rick.
Can’t wait to see these stories of your’s appear Linda. I know you have loads of them!
…on the lake i grew up folks would tell stories of giant carps who would accidentally swallow legs whole…years later i spent a day on the internet going down photo thread after photo thread of guys who spend their days seeking giant carps to hold…it’s like the st. bernard of fish, which is to say quite pettable…
the saint bernard of fish : ) - I need to look this up.