The Power of Stories to Connect Us All

Be brave enough to share your most vulnerable moments ... you never know who it might help.

I write this weekly newsletter as a gift to my writing community. If you know someone who might benefit from it, please share this post! And, if you like what you read, I’d love to hear from you in a comment or direct message. Finally, I’d be grateful if you would consider becoming a paid subscriber, to support the way this newsletter adds value to your life and writing. Paid subscribers are invited to live Zoom writing coaching calls (the next one is January 31st at 4 p.m. ET) and qualify for monthly book giveaways.

“Thank you for sharing,” the young woman said. There were three of them, actually, three young beautiful women who sat near me where I spoke on Friday night, at Surfbreak Honolulu, a sort of hippie millennial co-working and co-living space on the 40th floor of a Honolulu high-rise.

“What you said…I’ve felt it too. Thank you for letting me know I’m not alone.”

This is why I write.

To connect with people, to let them know we are all in this crazy life together. To share vulnerable moments so that we all feel less alone. To admit that sometimes life is uncomfortable or unkind or strange or perplexing or…stunningly beautiful.

Scenes from Friday night: challahs made by Nicky Watts from a recipe in my book The Flavors of Faith: Holy Breads, and shaped by my son Asher and I; me speaking alongside Iryna (can't remember her last name), a brave Ukrainian former soldier; the crowd at Surfbreak Honolulu; my sons, Asher and Shaya

There were windows all around and we had perfect views of the gleaming blue Pacific and the outrigger canoeists and the Diamond Head crater. There was fried chicken and fresh pineapple and two kinds of quiche. We sat down around a long table with people who had come to Hawaii from all over the United States for all sorts of reasons. I say hippie millennials because they were so free and flowing and open to change and nuance and exploration and I loved that about them. The acceptance, the welcome, the focus and willingness to hear another person’s story.

Which is another person’s evidence of living.

My boys were there to support me, and I was the oldest person in the room but these details hardly matter. It was a gathering of kind souls, of open hearts, a place where story was the method for sharing and connecting.

I haven’t written much since I arrived to Hawaii last week, but I’ve guided other people to write and that’s OK. I’ve come to accept that the writer’s life is equal parts story formation on the page and in the head. I carry a compact Moleskin journal and a pen with me wherever I go and sometimes I dictate thoughts or words into a note on my phone for later writing.

The stories will get written. First, I have to live a little. After all, I need things to write about!

On Saturday, my youngest son and I drove to the North Shore to watch the thunderous waves tumble over each other. You could see the rip currents from land. It wasn’t safe to swim out there, but it was enough to watch the roiling ocean.

We met Israelis at a farmers market and ate their exquisite key lime pie, made with eggs and key limes from their farm. They complimented my Jewish star necklace, and I told them I’ve been wearing it since October 7th. They wished me “Shabbat Shalom.”

We went to thrift stores and boutiques, food trucks and cafes. We bought coffee from the only coffee and cacao farm in the United States, and tasted macadamia nuts from the last remaining macadamia farm in Hawaii.

And then we drove back to the city, this urban scape on a tiny piece of volcanic rock in the midst of the oldest ocean.

Yesterday, I spoke to the Honolulu Jewish community about mining your life for story. Isn’t that all that we do? There are stories all around, all the time, I told them. In every room of your house. In every photograph and keepsake, every color of paint on your walls and every book on the shelves. So many places for inspiration. Just turn your head. Just open your eyes.

I’ve been thinking about how I am different in a different place - but also how a new place can inspire creativity. I’m off-kilter when I can’t make my own food or sleep in my own bed. But then, I hear new sounds, sniff new scents, and my footsteps on the pavement sound different so I go in a new direction and find a new story to write.

Travel also reminds me to be flexible, to go with the literal flow. Did you ever think about how that phrase evokes storytelling and writing? Go with the flow. Let the story flow. Let the words steer you in a direction that makes sense. Don’t try to strong-arm your writing - just let it be what it needs to be.

Of course, in time you’ll rework and tweak and finesse and perfect, but when you’re just getting to know a story, let it tell you where it needs to go.

Yesterday, while I was speaking about writing, my boys were climbing a very difficult mountain. There was scrambling over rocks and ropes to help you up an incredibly steep grade. They rightfully said I wouldn’t have liked that hike. And after, they showed me incredible photos which showed why it was so worth the struggle.

A little like writing, eh?

Today, my younger son and I will hike along the spine of one of the main mountains on the island. There is one rope, and I am determined not to freak out about the incline and just heft myself up the path so I can reach the summit. I can do this. So can you.

Literal climb or metaphorical.

Tomorrow, I get to speak to the University of Hawaii-Manoa, and I’ll talk about my novel, WOMAN OF VALOR, and strong women’s voices, and why they are important and not to be feared. Every talk has elements of sameness, but each one is new, too. Because in that moment, I am new, and I see things from a different perspective. I tell the story that needs telling. The story the audience wants to hear.

One thing I said yesterday at my talk was how it takes time for a story from your life to become ready for the page. It took more than a decade to write about my divorce. It needed to simmer and sit until I was ready to work with it. So the story of, say, yesterday’s adventure at Diamond Head Beach with my older son, it’ll find its way onto the page eventually.

The way he was stung by a sea urchin and I scraped my foot open on the coral reef pretty badly and the two of us hobbled up the steep path from the beach to the car and then headed to an urgent care to see if a doctor could wrest little pieces of sea urchin spine free from my son’s toes. It was gruesome, but today we can laugh about it a little. At the absurdity of it. At the sight of the two of us with a pair of working feet between us.

After we were cleaned and bandaged, we got poke bowls and then shave ice and sat on the beach across from the black ocean and laughed as a man dressed in a costume of leaves jumped out at unsuspecting passers-by. “There’s a camera somewhere,” my sons said. “This guy probably makes his money from YouTube.” An audience gathered of onlookers, watching for the people walking by to see who jumped the most, and who took the surprise in stride. One woman even bowed to the rest of us sitting there, after recovering from her fright.

Thanks for reading. See you all back in the deep freeze soon.

Love, Lynne

I write this weekly newsletter as a gift to my writing community. If you know someone who might benefit from it, please share this post! And, if you like what you read, I’d love to hear from you in a comment or direct message. Finally, I’d be grateful if you would consider becoming a paid subscriber, to support the way this newsletter adds value to your life and writing. Paid subscribers are invited to live Zoom writing coaching calls (the next one is January 31st at 4 p.m. ET) and qualify for monthly book giveaways.