I have a quota of trying to attend two storytelling events a month. With my busy schedule lately, I didn’t think I’d make one, let alone two before the end of April. Luckily my Saturday night opened up, and I was finally able attend 2nd Story, an event I’ve wanted to attend for months. (By the way, the event was fantastic. If you live in the city, you should check them out.)
Long white sheets of paper lay across the low bar tables, with tiny glass cups of crayons nestled next to the type of candles you see in old Italian restaurants. My inner five-year old screamed to grab those sticks and scribble away. Unfortunately there were no seats in front of the coloring stations, so on a break from the storytellers, I leaned to the people sitting next to us and asked if I could join in their coloring.
I picked up a cherry red crayon, ready to sketch a masterpiece, and then stopped. I hadn’t free form colored in years and had no idea what I wanted to draw. I eventually found myself doodling the same flower I drew on notebooks in seventh grade. This naturally sparked conversation with the couple beside my friend and me, which brought us all a good laugh when we realized that we had all doodled the same doodles we doodled in middle school.
Of course there was the added risk of meeting new people and attending a new storytelling event. But exposing my true self, that of a 12-year-old boy, through my doodles was a far greater risk. Thankfully I was in good company.