So, there I was, clicking through our blog page. I planned to take one quick scroll before heading to bed and that’s when I landed on the Storytellers section.
Everyone had a title. Not just “writer” or “designer” or “content person,” but something more intentional:
Passionate storyteller. Adventurous storyteller. Visual storyteller. Foursquare storyteller. Narrative storyteller. Conscious storyteller. Accidental storyteller. Curious storyteller. Excited storyteller. Poetic storyteller.
Each one felt less like a role and more like a glimpse into how someone sees the world.
And I caught myself wondering: What kind of storyteller am I?
Which quickly turned into another question: Why do we even feel the need to ask that?
You don’t need to write novels or direct films to tell stories.
You tell one when you text, “I was totally going to come, but then my cat sat on my laptop.”
You tell one when you post that carefully framed coffee photo with a caption like, “Fueling the magic.”
You tell one when you explain to your boss why a file was late. You know which version of the truth that was.
If you’re human, you’re already doing it.
We tell stories to make sense of things that don’t quite add up.
To sound more confident than we feel.
To bring a little order to a world that rarely feels predictable.
Stories are how we connect and say, “I’m here. Do you see me?”
They’re a shared language, one that makes us feel a little less alone.
Here’s where it gets interesting.
Sometimes, we get very good at telling one particular version of our story.
“I’m the funny one.”
“I’m the quiet observer.”
“I’m the person who messes up but turns it into a good anecdote.”
Those stories work, until they don’t.
What happens when you change?
When you want to be serious instead of funny? Bold instead of careful?
Does the story leave room for that?
Maybe we don’t need perfectly defined titles.
Maybe it’s okay to be in between stories.
To write something messy.
To figure it out as we go.
Because the most honest parts usually live in the unfinished chapters, the ones where we’re still unsure, still becoming.
So, what kind of storyteller am I?
For a while, I didn’t have an answer.
Some days I’m imaginative. Some days I write because I don’t know how to stop.
Some days I lean into humor. Other days I say too much. Most days, I’m just trying to make sense of things, one imperfect sentence at a time.
And somewhere along the way, without planning it, I realized something.
I am one of them.
A whimsical storyteller.
Not in a loud, exaggerated way, but in the way I follow curiosity, notice small moments, and let ideas wander before they land somewhere meaningful. It’s there in the questions, the pauses, and the gentle detours in this very piece.
If you’ve read this far, I’m curious. Did you spot yours too?
Did your storyteller title quietly show up somewhere in this write-up?
And to my team, did you recognize yourselves in these lines, even before the label appeared?
So, tell me.
What kind of storyteller are you?
And if the answer is still forming, that’s okay.
Some of the best stories begin with still figuring it out.