Where Your Best Stories Are Hiding

Recently I hurt my left eye.

It happened when I harmlessly rubbed it, rather than during a swashbuckling adventure.

My eye became inflamed and turned bright red.

Worst of all, the very next day I was presenting a half-day masterclass for a client who had never met me before.

Since Plan A, crawl into a hollow log for a week, wasn’t possible, I decided to open my masterclass with an explanation.

‘Today I come to you with a health warning. I’ve burst a capillary in my left eye. Apparently, it’s really common. Completely harmless, painless and not contagious. It does however look grotesque. So, I completely understand if your eye contact with me today is less than stellar.’

That seemed to defuse the awkwardness. Most people laughed, everyone relaxed and we got on with the masterclass.

A burst capillary takes about a week to heal (I am now, of course, an expert), and over the week I decided to have fun with it. 

I even bought an eye patch and introduced that as a prop.  I know what you are thinking, and I am so not going to post a photo of me in the eye patch – I looked like a pirate with issues! 

And after a week, when my eye healed, I missed the endless material it gave me.  Almost.

Whenever stuff like this happens, I always have two reactions.

The first is, ‘Why me? Why this?’

The second is, ‘How can I use this as a story?’

This is how I think about finding stories.

You don’t have to scale Mount Everest or sail solo around the world to have something worth sharing. Wonderful if you do. Those big, extraordinary stories are irresistible.

But most of the time, the material, the good stuff is much closer to home.

I call it going on a story safari. You wander through your own life with an imaginary pair of binoculars, paying attention to what might make a good story.

Eye patch optional.