I've gotten into the habit of introducing myself and my business, omitting the fact that I produce and host a podcast called Rashomon. And this is a huge piece of my creative life!
Because I always default to my work when asked “What do you do?”, there's a chance I've been leaving this out of my intro for years and have only just begun to notice it.
Lately, I feel like I spend two-thirds of all virtual coffee chats in conversation about running Tell Me A Story and what I am doing with my free time at home. And then towards the end, I'll share, "Oh yeah and I make a podcast and I'm just getting started on the next season."
And then that "fun fact" about myself launches into a whole other conversation, that really should have happened closer to the beginning.
There are a few reasons I default to this roundabout introduction:
Making the first two seasons of my podcast was really stressful. It took up a lot of time and I was really hard on myself while making it. I hardly asked for help. I pitied myself for not having network support or funding of any kind. And I tended to work on it only on the weekends as "an art project." I don't like talking about the negative aspects of the process, I'm still working through a lot of it, and I'm a firm believer in telling stories from my scars, not my wounds.
Although the podcast is an example of long-form narrative storytelling, I find it hard to connect the dots between the stories shared on the show and the stories I help my clients share in their everyday professional communication. If I can't talk about my podcast in the context of my business and I'm on a Zoom to talk about my business, then what's the point? I'd rather hear what other people say about their podcasts and how they connect this to their businesses.
If I bring up the podcast, and the fact that I am working on the next season, then I actually have to make the next season!
Reason #3 is the one that feels the truest.
And here's the kicker: I have told people (and other podcast hosts ON AIR) that I am making the next season of my podcast, yet the motivation to put it out into the world on an RSS feed is greatly lacking.
My story idea for Season 3 came about in March 2020, right at the beginning of the pandemic. I even recorded a bunch of audio for it last Spring.
And every time I went to work on it further, a small voice inside of me whispered, "When there's so much horribleness going on in the world, why would anyone want to hear a season of a podcast about you, the book you wrote when you were 10, and how our stories play a huge role in our identity?"
In other words, why would anyone care about my story?
Thanks to a ton of personal development, my inner critic does not come out to play often. I have big dreams, big goals, and enough persistence to get me from a start to a finish. But this particular topic is fodder for my inner critic. And when it comes to making my podcast, it has been chiming in at a greater frequency.
This voice keeps telling me that by turning a full season of my own podcast into an audio memoir, I am centering my voice and my story when there are so many other voices and stories to center. How dare I?
And it's not the first time I've heard this sentiment when it comes to who is being centered and who is being ignored. This is a critical whisper that I've heard come out of the mouths of nearly all of my clients.
And I passionately disagree with them every time.
When a story is shared with intention, with structure, with great effort put into the crafting, and then offered to an audience of generous listeners, it's a gift.
When a story is shared with specificity, using all of the ingredients that make your communication style wholeheartedly unique, your perspective and your individual experiences become universal.
When there's a lot of stress and anger and uncertainty in the world, sharing stories that are joyous, and full of humor and light can be the exact thing a pair of listening ears needs.
Sure, a first-person story can feel like a spotlight is flooding down on me -- like all eyes and ears need to be focused on my words and my voice.
But ultimately, my goal is to connect, be in community, and cultivate a dialogue with my audience. My greatest joy is to have an audience receive my story and do with it what they will — whether it helps them to learn more about themselves, see an event from a whole new perspective, or give them the boost they need to share their own story out loud with others.
What if I worry less about the potential self-indulgence of an audio memoir, and focus more on what I want my audience to cull from my story?
What do I want them to understand about me? The larger topic of identity?
And how I am going to allow the story to unfold?
In thinking about the podcast season with these questions in mind, all of a sudden my next podcast season feels vital and the most necessary use of my time. It also feels way more aligned with how I work with my clients and the values of my business.
Once I shake away the fears and doubts that stem from excuse #3, I can see that excuse #1 and excuse #2 aren't valid either.
Just because Seasons 1 and 2 were not created in the most ideal of circumstances, I am still really proud of what I put out into the world. And with all of the "what went wrong"‘s, I know how to make the production process easeful and enjoyable the next time.
With all of these excuses challenged and proved to be false, I'm ready to introduce myself by leading with my role as a podcaster. And I will happily weave in the work that I do with my business.
I can introduce myself, my podcast, and my work!
As someone who has spent 13 years telling my own stories, I still get that tiny voice that questions my intentions and accuses my own speaking up as stealing the spotlight from others.
And as much as I urge my clients that using "I" language and sharing experiences in the first person is the most powerful and impactful communication tool of all, it can still feel like storytelling is about "me me me."
When I'm sharing a story, I like to imagine an audience of people responding in this way:
"Thank you for this gift. Thank you for sharing your story in such a cool way and allowing me to see myself in a new light and think about the stories I want to tell with others. Thank you for showing me that my story matters too and now I have a bit more courage to take up some more space and speak up on my own."
And now that I've shared all of my old excuses in this blog post, you can find me working on Rashomon's pre-production to-dos for the rest of this week.
February 2022 update: Rashomon Season 3 was released last Spring. You can listen to it on your favorite podcast player or from this link.