Miyo at the Moth

If you’ve ever been to one of my storytelling shows, you know I don’t dabble in tragedy. No life-altering disasters, no near-death experiences—just glimpses of regular days, with tiny incidents that, in the moment, feel like the center of the universe. My stories aren’t for thrill-seekers craving high-stakes drama. But honestly? I think the real magic lies in making the everyday feel extraordinary.

Last month, I stepped onto the Moth stage with what seemed like a regular day story—until it wasn’t. No explosions, sure, but heartbreak? Twists? Oh, they were there. The kind that sneak up on you, disguised as something ordinary. From the first sentence, the audience was right there with me—laughing, gasping, riding every unexpected turn. I could feel the energy shift, the connection deepening. And when I finally landed the punchline, the laughter wasn’t just loud—it was earned.

And then—standing ovation. For a story where nobody died, nobody got hurt, and absolutely nothing outrageous happened. Just a slice of life, told well enough to make people laugh, feel, and remember.

Did I win the night? Nope. But does that even matter? I walked off that stage knowing I had captivated a room full of strangers with nothing more than a simple, well-told story. And that, to me, is the real win.

Frank, Anthony, and Miyo at BackStory

Miyo, Anthony, Frank (L to R) at BackStory

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