{*Did you know you can write on Elephant? Here’s how—big changes: How to Write & Make Money or at least Be of Benefit on Elephant. ~ Waylon}
~
“Our collective stories and experiences can be the greatest textbooks of life. But with every shameful story stuffed away, we bypass the chance to expand and connect – a missed opportunity slipped through our fingers.” ~ Kristen Noel
~
Wikipedia defines an elevator pitch as a way of delivering a summary of your life in the time span of an elevator ride. Approximately 30 seconds.
When I was in my early 20s, that was easy to do. I was single and had one career. If someone asked me what I did for a living I would say, “I’m an elementary school music teacher.”
Simple, right? Less than 30 seconds. I had this “elevator pitch” thing down. But how do I give an elevator pitch of 30 seconds or less as I get older and have more experiences?
Enter two new labels and roles: Wife. Mother.
As I share the basics of my life with someone, I always have a choice. I can just say “wife” and move on, or I can tell that person intimate details about how I fell in love as well as stories about our struggles. Sometimes, I choose one. Sometimes, I choose the other.
The elevator pitch is a quick getaway. It only requires one word. “Wife.” For many years, it was a sense of relief not to divulge anything heavy. Just exchange the data and wish each other a lovely day. Keep all the hard stuff close to your chest. Stuff it. Stay private.
Next, I hear myself say the word “mother.” Again, I have a choice. I can just say I am a mom of two children, or I can share stories about my struggles to become pregnant, heartbreaking miscarriages, and the adjustments needed in becoming a mother. It would be a long ride on many elevators to share this part of life with someone.
Labeling my life as “mother” does the trick in an elevator pitch. Why get into the sticky serious stuff? I don’t want to relive it, and this person probably doesn’t want to hear it. We exchange our “what do you do” information, say “have a nice day,” and off we go.
About four years into motherhood, my heart ached to teach music again. Instead of returning to public school teaching, I decided to open my own music school for babies through age six. I had a gut feeling that I would be good at it. And so, it happened. The birth of The Children’s Music Workshop, Inc.
My elevator pitch became longer. “What do you do” required saying more words.
“I’m married, a mom of two children, and the founder and instructor of my own early childhood music school for babies through age six. I also compose, perform, and record original songs that contain positive messages.”
I thought to myself, “Okay, I did it. I can still do an elevator pitch without someone looking away, seeming bored, or the door of a literal elevator opening up in the middle of one of my sentences.”
But what about the rich stories underneath our headlines? They require much more than 30 seconds.
What if I told the stranger that working with the little ones helped to heal my childhood wounds? What if I told her that the children I taught brought out the lighter, fun, and playful sides of me, and that these were the parts I could never express when I was young.
Imagine if I dared to answer the question not only by saying, “I am the founder and teacher of a music school for babies through age six,” but also adding what working with these children did for my soul!
What if I told this person that I used my childhood pain to heal myself and to help others heal themselves through the music I compose, the self-help books I write, the life coaching I do, and the transformational classes I teach?
That’s the real story. Showing someone that they can also use their pain to manifest good in the world, raise consciousness, transform themselves, and by doing so, it will help others to heal, too.
Most of us leave out the juicy parts. We think to ourselves, “Who would have the patience to listen to my life? Who would have the courage to share their life stories? Do I? Do they?” It’s not easy. We are self-absorbed and busy. A low self-esteem warns us that we don’t matter and no one would want to listen to us for long.
I am here to encourage you to try it. Share your deeper stories. Not just the bullet points.
We are all aching to tell our more complicated stories and to know the real person next to us. Their stories. Our stories. We are all one heartbeat of love, false assumptions, fears, insecurities, hopes, and dreams. If we unveiled ourselves to each other, we would feel less alone and more connected.
In fact, I will go out on a limb here. I do not think that there is anyone (almost) we wouldn’t forgive or open our hearts to if we knew what they went through in life.
If somebody really wants to know the richness and depth of your soul, ask their name, tell them yours, and make the time to sit with them for a while.
Share the back story underneath the quick data. The messy, joyful, hard, easy, complicated confusions, and challenges of life.
More than anything else, don’t live your life like an elevator pitch. You are so much more than that. The longer you are here on earth, the more there is to share, to remember, and to acknowledge about your life.
Think back. What led to what? What are the threads that led to something you didn’t dream in million years would happen? It’s fascinating!
Nothing I have done for the last 35 years is anything I learned in college. I followed the whispers of my heart, listened to my highest intuition, trusted my innate gifts, and discovered unbridled joy, creativity, and the magical mysteries of the unknown.
So, tell me. What are the deeper stories underneath the elevator pitch of your headlines, labels, roles, met and unmet dreams? Sharing our humanity is the real story. The raw and vulnerable wins and losses of life. The hard upbringing and how you survived despite it.
You matter to me. I want to know your name and something about you that fills my heart and helps me understand the core of you. Come out of hiding, and I will, too. Stand proudly in your perfectly imperfect self. Tell me about yourself. I’m here.
“Your heartache is someone else’s hope. If you make it through, somebody else is going to make it through. Tell your story.” ~ Kim McManus
~
author: Cheryl Melody Baskin
Image: Author's Own
Editor: Lisa Erickson
This account does not have permission to comment on Elephant Journal.
Contact support with questions.