Among them are long-married couples, children of all ages interviewing their parents, adults paying homage to (or poking gentle fun at) memorable teachers, and an Iraq War veteran believed to be the first gay spouse to lose her partner in combat since the repeal of "don't ask, don't tell." Even the viral phenomenon of TED conferences is an example of story sharing: The one thing the most popular TED Talks have in common, whether they're about science or business or human resilience, is that the teller can spin a good, often intimate, yarn. Since 2003, more than 400,000 Americans have shared via Stor圜orps. Then there's the nonprofit Stor圜orps, with its roving recording booth in an Airstream trailer, interview kiosks in four major cities, and an app. Some of those performances are eventually broadcast as part of The Moth Radio Hour on more than 460 public radio stations around the world or on The Moth Podcast, which is downloaded 46 million times a year. The Moth, a forum where people share their personal stories onstage-a triage nurse recalling life on the battlefields in Vietnam, an account of what it's like to finish the Philadelphia Marathon in last place-is widely credited with popularizing the global storytelling movement. Today, though, we're in the middle of a storytelling golden age. ![]() "People have been sharing stories since the beginning of time, even before we had a spoken language," says Paul Zak, PhD, a neuroeconomist at Claremont Graduate University in California who studies the brain basis of human connection. She pulls out her phone and scrolls through photos of the boy, her voice full with pride, then leans over to hug me. A real estate agent in her late 30s introduces herself to me, and within minutes, she's opening up about the saga of her brother's recent unexpected passing, which turned her into an "overnight mom" to her teenage nephew. Despite the heavy confessions, the atmosphere is light, the chatter cheerful and punctuated with laughter. When Persin finishes and the applause dies down, women get up to mingle. Persin is part of a lineup that includes an office worker turned plus-size model living her dream, a fertility health coach battling infertility herself, and the president of Illinois Storytelling, who recalls how a giant moth stuck behind a hotel room mirror decades ago helped her find meaning in her breast cancer diagnosis. We're at a community storytelling event in downtown Chicago, and the room is filled with women holding cocktails in one hand and dabbing their eyes with the other. ![]() Lynn Persin, 41, is at the mic, telling the anguished story of how, late in her third trimester in 2010, she delivered her stillborn daughter. She was everything we had imagined she would be.except she wasn't." Perfect little fingers, perfect little toes. "A little crinkle in her ear, just like my husband's.
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