In August 2011, six months after launching Barkada Circle, I joined the Toastmasters Club in my neighborhood because I realized that in order to be a better storyteller, I had to first be a better communicator, especially in front of a group of people.

Public speaking was never my strength. I remember joining a number of speech competitions during my elementary years in school. I didn’t join voluntarily. NOOOO! English teachers would recommend a student to a jury based on the student’s performance in class and that student simply had no choice. He had to be a contestant. I did ok in English literature, but to this day I still wonder why my name was frequently thrown into the hat. The only reason that made sense was that the teachers had already picked a winner and I was simply a schmuck that guaranteed victory for their favorite student. So there I was, standing in front of an audience and a microphone stammering my life away. I never felt the need to do something about it because my true love was to draw and paint. Art still is and always will be my true love. My feeling had always been that I don’t have to talk about my art. It speaks for itself. It has to. That is, until August 2011.

After months of shaping the storytelling programs of Barkada Circle, doing two pilot workshops and getting feedback from early participants, I came to realize that I needed to improve my speaking skills. Literally days after this crossed my mind, my neighbor and friend told me she was thinking about joining a Toastmasters Club and found one just a few blocks west of our condo building. Francesca is a seasoned actor and playwright and lives below my floor. Despite being in a profession that constantly puts her in front of people, she still feels the need to better her communication skills. What did that say about me?

Francesca and I visited the local Toastmasters club one Saturday morning. The new experience got us and hooked. The people in the club were warm, supportive and showed that they truly cared about helping you succeed. Francesca and I became official members by the next meeting. Since then, we’ve enjoyed writing and delivering our own speeches while getting valuable feedback and coaching from the other members.

Having the confidence to communicate my passion for the mission of Barkada Circle and being able to have that passion come through and resonate with the person listening to me is exhilarating. Learning the skills to speak with clarity by using words that are potent with meaning helps me to capture a person’s attention with fewer words so I can be respectful of their time. Being who I am and showing what I can do in a way only I can, and people telling me that they want it from me, and people telling me that they need it from me, has shown me the true meaning of victory — not the kind that comes with winning a contest — rather, it’s overcoming the hurdles and limitations that, once upon a time, kept a young boy from reaching for what else was out there for him to discover. Today that boy lives in a world he could not have imagined.

A world where stories are colorful, sensational and real. Stories that make a difference in people’s lives. People who want their lives to change. Change that will help us tell a new story, a better story because it is one story that we all share.

This past weekend, I attended The Fillet of Solo, Chicago’s premier solo performance festival in its 16th year. Lifeline Theater partnered with a host of local performance groups in a vibrant celebration of Chicago’s long-lived storytelling and live literary scene. All performances took place in the Glenwood Avenue Arts District in Chicago’s Rogers Park neighborhood.

I watched four performances by Story Club. They mixed the spontaneity of an open mic with the experience and nuance of live theater. The storytellers were very entertaining and skillfully conveyed emotions without talking about their feelings. The experience reminded me why stories are so essential but are still taken for granted in our day-to-day world where we try to sell our worth, hoping enough people — or anyone at all — will listen to our pitch and actually get it.

“The missing ingredient in most failed communication is humanity” — Annette Simmons, The Story Factor

A story is personal. It’s an opportunity to connect with others on a basic yet deeper human level. Without it, our existence becomes void of meaning. Choosing to tell your story can be the next most important thing you will do. It could mean the transformation you’ve been hoping for in a long time.

Join us on March 7 for our nonprofit storytelling jam session: http://barkadacircle.com/jam-session

WHAT’S YOUR READ is Barkada Circle’s storytelling jam session — where you can share the story of your mission with your peers in a safe and supportive setting, and get immediate feedback from the audience so you can take your new material to the next level. You can present a new pitch, rough narrative, campaign idea, or raw video.

I recently had brunch with a friend who just returned from a tour of Scandinavia where he visited friends in Oslo. A few months before, he was on a Mediterranean cruise with his siblings. Vic had been employed in the travel industry for decades, and is now looking to venture into the world of entrepreneurship. His recent globetrotting was time away for some much needed soul-searching and field research.

“I want to remain in travel, ” Vic said decisively, “but I don’t know how to carve my own niche.”

“Who do you want to make happy,” were the first words I uttered,”and to whom would you love giving a delightful experience that becomes a story they will tell and retell for years to come?”

Vic stared at me as if to say, “The road to success I imagined suddenly turned into a maze.”

We’ve all encountered the question “What does success look like?” in strategic planning conversations. The typical answer is a set of definitive, measurable and visible outcomes — the value of which I cannot overstate. But are we shortchanging ourselves by stopping there?

Do we keep going and ask the question, “Who do I want to make happy? Who should my organization strive to keep (fill in blank with specific positive emotion)?”

Is it worth investing time and resources to be clear about everyone whose emotions we should care about and how we should make them feel? Does it matter? Does that make our work more difficult? Or does it add more value and impact for the outcome?

A study conducted by Barbara L. Fredrickson, Director of the Positive Emotions and Psychophysiology Laboratory at the University of Michigan, was published by American Scientist in 2003. It showed that positive emotions don’t just transform individuals.

“I’ve argued that they may also transform groups of people, within communities and organizations. Community transformation becomes possible because each person’s positive emotion can resound through others. Take helpful, compassionate acts as an example. Isen demonstrated that people who experience positive emotions become more helpful to others. Yet being helpful not only springs from positive emotions, it also produces positive emotions. People who give help, for instance, can feel proud of their good deeds and so experience continued good feelings. Plus, people who receive help can feel grateful, and those who merely witness good deeds can feel elevated. Each of these positive emotions—pride, gratitude and elevation—can in turn broaden people’s mindsets and inspire further compassionate acts. So, by creating chains of events that carry positive meaning for others, positive emotions can trigger upward spirals that transform communities into more cohesive, moral and harmonious social organizations.” — Barbara L. Fredrickson, The Value of Positive Emotions

What I’m saying here may seem ridiculously obvious. But can we honestly say that we are always mindful and intentional about this? Or have we evolved to care more about proving our successes through numbers?

Measuring success requires that we break it down into quantifiable components. On the other hand, an emotion cannot be defined by its fragments. We feel because of how layers of experiences weave themselves into one memorable story. Emotions are our window to what will always be the bigger picture.

I’m very excited for my friend, Vic as he begins his new journey — destination: happy.