In the Light of the Open Mic

Vulnerability and connection at the Moth

By: Quinn McClurg

That night, the mic was hot and the audience even hotter. As the stories went on, more people would crane their necks from the bar to catch even a stray word gone their way. This is The Moth, a nonprofit organization specializing in live storytelling events, and I had the honor to sit in on one of their cherished “story-slams.”

The concept is simple: a theme is established (this night it was Legends), people in the audience submit stories, and ten are randomly selected to tell their stories on stage, taking no longer than five minutes each. These stories are then judged, rated, and a winner is chosen at the end of the night. This could just be a standard fare open mic night, but The Moth makes it so much more than that. When preparing and submitting a story, one is confronted with many guidelines. Some emphasize how to tell a story well while others ward against disrespect: punchlines centered around race, culture, orientation, class, or identity are not tolerated. The Moth is not a crude standup show, nor is it a soapbox; it is a celebration of diversity and commonality.

Throughout the night, the inclusivity and positivity became palpable. The audience was giddy to interact when desired, attentive when required, and empathetic when anyone came to the mic. Whether they were regulars or first-timers, venue workers or judges, everyone gave each other the same undivided attention. As a result, everyone could forget about themselves for a while, drop all pretenses and dispositions, and listen with their entire hearts. 

Listening here was never hard either. All ten speakers brought something new to the table: some were rehearsed and relaxed, some were unorganized and emotive, but all of them were genuine and ordinary people. On the stage, there was no “other”; the experiences the speakers shared were universal and comforting as a result. Through tears or laughter, the audience reassured the speaker that they understand, that they are receptive, and that they are empathetic. 

As for the stories themselves, I’m not sure they are mine to share. Each one was a different unique aspect of the universal human experience. They told stories of the loss of someone important, the devastation in the death of a culture, of the gentle teasings of dad jokes, of stage fright in elementary school, and of the challenges of coming out in high school; each speaker’s story was underlined with the sanctity and the importance of memory. Although these aspects are universal, they still aren’t my stories to tell. I could tell something similar, but it could never be similar enough to be theirs. After all, you don’t always have to be the one telling the stories; you can be the one sitting back to listen, as that role is just as important. 

As for myself, I have always believed in the power of stories. When I was a kid, I would spend countless hours making skits and lego stop motion videos with my brother and our clunky 2000’s cameras. Sure, they might not have been very good, but that wasn’t the goal. The goal was to have fun together and we hit our mark every time.

Since then, storytelling has still remained an important part of my life: sonder has dug its roots so far into me that I would never dream of removing them. Instead, I foster that sonder by actively looking for stories. Whether it’s on my gondola, in classrooms, or even in line waiting for the elevator, everyone has a new perspective to offer and I’m more than happy to listen and understand them all. 

This is why The Moth’s open mics appeal to me so much: people are encouraged to be vulnerable, to speak unapologetically, and to paint a picture of their own lived-in corners of the world and after hearing so much about other people’s lives, you can’t help but notice how similar yours begins to look. This is a practice in empathy, a practice in sonder; it is a realization that no matter how different anyone seems, they’re in the exact same boat as the rest of us. Thus, as long as we have stories to share, we will always have compassion to offer. 

So next time you find yourself in the middle of a story, feel free to sit back, relax, and enjoy. After all, you may be there for a while, but there is always space for a good listener; when the time comes will you be ready to be one?