The Story of Stories
2024: A Year in Storytelling
Welcome to another edition of the S.A.D. newsletter, where we typically explore the world of Software, Algorithms, and Data from a multidisciplinary perspective. If you’re new here, feel free to check out the previous posts. Today, however, I’m doing something a bit different — a personal reflection on storytelling.
Who doesn’t love a good story? Whether it’s telling them or hearing them, storytelling feels universal. It’s a cliché, sure, but clichés exist for a reason.
As 2024 draws to a close, I want to share some thoughts about my journey into storytelling — how it provided me with a structured creative outlet, helped me express myself, and allowed me to navigate some personal struggles. There’s also something exhilarating about standing on a stage, under bright lights, and sharing tales with a live audience (mostly strangers). And, of course, there’s the selfish thrill of seeing smiles and hearing applause.
For me, it all began as a search for a creative outlet during a challenging time — post-pandemic recovery, combined with some life-changing events (midlife crisis, anyone?). I needed something creative yet tangible. Writing had always been part of my life, but it was sporadic. Some weeks, I’d churn out pages; other times, nothing. Then came storytelling, where I had to prepare in advance and stick to deadlines.
Storytelling as PowerPoints!
But let me digress (or rant) for a moment.
“Storytelling” is an ancient art form, but it has undeniably become corporate jargon. It’s everywhere — from TED talks to startup pitches to marketing campaigns. (By the way, just because there’s a meadow in the background and an inspirational quote doesn’t mean your work presentation is a TED talk! ) 😬
Even Microsoft has a "chief storyteller". You probably sat in a meeting or workshop where an external consultant urged your team to “use more storytelling” to connect with clients, users, or stakeholders. Like all good things, storytelling hasn’t escaped the inevitable corporatisation and commodification of basic human experiences.
The Financial Times nailed it back in 2014, warning how storytelling, when co-opted by corporations, becomes soulless — it’s not about connection; it’s about spin. And spin doesn’t feed the soul. Stories belong to people, not PowerPoints.
To avoid becoming heroes in myths of their own creation, business leaders need to be honest and transparent – with others, but above all with themselves. They need to avoid signalling specific plot developments that may be hard to achieve in real life. But as long as business storytelling survives, the temptation to construct a tale of eerily smooth double-digit growth, inexorable increases in market share, and eventual corporate dominance – and to twist reality to fit that plot – will remain strong. Unfortunately, as journalists know, the old tabloid maxim “never let the facts get in the way of a good story” rarely guarantees a happy ending.
Even though I’m guilty of occasionally creating soporific PowerPoints and trying to shoehorn “stories” into data, that’s not what led me to my search for creative expression.
Discovering Storytelling as an Art
Late 2023, while travelling and listening to podcasts, I stumbled on a book called Storyworthy by Matthew Dicks who is a teacher, novelist and storyteller. The book was a revelation. (Interestingly, while Dicks began with storytelling as an art form, he also works with corporate clients — perhaps an unavoidable compromise for balancing creative pursuits with making a living.) In the book, Dicks honestly talks about the terror and thrill of stepping on stage for the first time. He describes in details the process of crafting stories and the deep, personal need that drives him to tell them. I was hooked.
He also talks about the influences of The Moth and This American Life, two U.S.-based shows I’ve long been a fan of. Back in my Midwest days, especially during long commutes on I-57 (not exactly the most thrilling highway), these stories kept me awake and engaged. I still remember Ira Glass once remarking that a good soundtrack can elevate any story — just start the background music about 20 seconds in! But storytelling, as Dicks emphasises, requires more than a good soundtrack: it needs structure, rhythm, and dramatic tension. Through Storyworthy, I learned that storytelling isn’t about factual precision but emotional resonance. It’s not journalism; it’s about forging a connection. So that’s what I was after.
My First Stage
Let me tell you about a house of stories in the beautiful city of Amsterdam, called Mezrab. Mezrab is a Persian word meaning plectrum or a lightweight hammer for various string instruments. Amsterdam’s Mezrab is a magical place that hosts professional storytellers, but it also features an open stage night (check out a great coverage of the place in Global Voices ) where soup and stories blend beautifully.
I had been going there as a patron and listener for a while. I’d thought about performing but never felt the push—until I read Storyworthy. Inspired by the book and countless Moth stories, I finally found my story, my courage, crafted my piece, practiced obsessively, and even invited colleagues to cheer me on.
But I hadn’t realised how popular Mezrab’s open stage nights were. I was supposed to sign up in advance, but there was an eight-week waiting list! Oops—I’d missed that memo. So there I was, story ready, colleagues in tow, only to discover my name wasn’t on the list. Cue panic.
Thankfully, the host, a kind soul, managed to squeeze me in at the very end of the night. And so, there I stood, on the magic-carpeted stage, telling my first story.
Despite my fears of botched transitions (which did happen a few times) and stumbling over my words, the performance flowed. The audience’s warmth, my colleagues’ encouragement, and the simple fact that I stayed upright (and didn’t faint) hooked me on live storytelling. It was a magical night at a very special place that I continue to return to for inspiration.
Lessons from and outside the Stage
Since then, in 2024, I’ve told stories at Mezrab a couple more times (this time properly signed up) and once in Leiden (check out Tell Me More). Each experience has been unique, but the essence remains the same: a creative outlet blending structure, spontaneity, and the human connection we all seek.
This particular type of storytelling forces you to distill ideas into five or six minutes, which has helped me calm my stormy brain. The deadlines also keep me on track. There’s an art to deciding what to include and what to omit—balancing the personal with the universal. It doesn’t always have to be one or the other (it’s your story, after all), but having structure and flow is key to capturing your audience’s attention.
My stories were inspired by real-life moments. The first story was about an old car I bought off Craigslist, and the unexpected adventure that came with it. The second was about a restaurant I used to frequent, owned by a Seinfeld-esque, quirky guy, and the events that unfolded while ordering there. So on and so forth..
Practice makes all the difference. With each performance, I’ve seen my anxiety lessen and my nerves steady. My writing and thinking discipline has also improved — though I’m still a work in progress. Anxiety and lack of discipline will likely never disappear entirely, but I’ve come to embrace them. Small mistakes here and there make this art form more relatable.
It’s nerve-wracking but deeply rewarding, especially with live feedback. The audience becomes part of the process — their laughter, gasps, or even silence shape the performance in real time.
Why we need more stories?
In a world drowning in corporate drivel, data and dashboards, stories offer something essential: connection. They allow us to empathise, feel, and, dare I say, be human. While corporate storytelling claims to achieve this, it often misses the mark. Okay, maybe I’m being a bit harsh — corporate storytelling at least makes PowerPoint presentations more tolerable. But I can’t resist blaming TED for its role in the over-polishing of stories (see this Guardian piece). Many TED talks have become formulaic — over-rehearsed and overly produced, almost like something an AI chatbot might create. The speakers often state the obvious as though they’ve reinvented sliced bread, complete with pretentious gestures, dramatic pauses, and wry smiles. The result? Stories that feel sterile rather than authentic.
Here’s the problem: we don’t need more polished performances. We need stories that are raw, emotional, messy, and full of mistakes and fumbles — stories that feel real. At the end of the day, storytelling isn’t about perfection; it’s about connection.
If you’re ever in Amsterdam, swing by Mezrab on a Wednesday night. Listen, laugh, maybe cry. Support this art form. And if you see someone standing nervously at the edge of the stage, give them a smile. That might be me, waiting to share my next struggle and imperfection.
So that was my year, wrapped in stories. Thank you for reading, sharing, and subscribing to this newsletter. I’ve got a few more stories brewing, and I hope they will allow me back on the stages of Amsterdam and Leiden soon. May 2025 bring you a balance of sad, funny, and inspiring stories — whether the ones you create or the ones you hear.
This is beautiful — question: what language(s) are the stories usually told in? I’m planning to visit Amsterdam next year :)
Loved this post! Thank you