10) Your Sequel Is My Invitation: Why I Want to Hear Your Story
I dare you.
No, really. I dare you.
Because the truth is, what comes next—the sequel to this conversation—will be your view, not necessarily the rest of my story. But I want to hear your story.
I want to hear your view. Not in a way that diminishes my voice or shuts my thoughts down, but in a way where we can collaborate and come together in understanding and fixing some of the things that have broken our system.
This isn’t a conclusion. This is an invitation.
Why Your Story Matters
Here’s what I know after two decades of working with people in crisis: change doesn’t happen through one voice proclaiming the answer. It happens through many voices contributing their piece of the truth.
I’ve shared mine. I’ve told you what I see from where I stand—how family systems mirror civic systems, how our nervous systems respond to broken structures, how proximity and humility and seasons and local action all matter.
But that’s just one elephant’s leg.
You’re touching a different part. You’re seeing something I can’t see from my position. You have experience I don’t have. You understand systems I’ve never navigated. You carry knowledge that doesn’t exist in any book because it’s lived, embodied, earned through surviving what I’ve only studied.
And I need that knowledge.
Not to validate what I already think. Not to confirm that I’m right. To expand what’s possible. To fill in the gaps. To build a more complete picture together.
Because we can’t see what we can’t see. We don’t know what we don’t know. And the only way to move beyond our individual limitations is to trust each other to speak from our expertise and our experience.
What I’m NOT Asking For
Let me be clear about what this invitation is NOT:
I’m not asking you to tell me I’m right.
If you disagree with something I’ve said, say so. If something I wrote doesn’t match your experience, tell me. If I’ve missed something crucial, point it out.
I don’t need agreement. I need honest engagement.
I’m not asking you to have all the answers.
You don’t need a fully formed policy proposal or a comprehensive plan. You don’t need citations, statistics, and research backing up every statement.
What you have—your lived experience, your observations from your corner of the world, your gut sense of what’s broken and what might help—that’s valuable. That’s what I want to hear.
I’m not asking you to do this alone.
This isn’t about one heroic individual figuring everything out. It’s about each of us contributing what we can, supporting each other, trusting that collective wisdom is more powerful than individual brilliance.
You don’t have to save the whole system. Just tell me about your part of it.
What I AM Asking For
Here’s what I’m actually inviting you into:
Tell me what you see from where you stand.
What system are you inside? What’s breaking? What’s working? What do the people in power not understand because they’re not where you are?
Tell me where the gap is.
Where is this conversation missing something? Where did I oversimplify? Where does the framework I’ve offered not account for the complexity you’re living?
Tell me what you’re trying.
What are you doing in your local system? What’s working? What’s not? What have you learned that others could learn from? Tell me what works for you where you are and I can see it it may work for me where I am.
Tell me what you need.
What resources? What support? What connections? What would make it possible for you to do more of what you know needs to be done?
Tell me what gives you hope.
Where are you seeing change happen? Where are people showing up for each other? Where are systems starting to shift, even incrementally?
Because here’s what I believe: when we share these stories, when we connect the dots between our individual efforts, when we see that we’re not alone in this work—that’s when momentum builds.
The Power of Shared Stories
There’s a reason every social movement in history has been powered by storytelling.
The civil rights movement didn’t win through policy papers alone. It won through stories—people sharing their experiences of injustice, making the abstract concrete, the distant personal [1].
The marriage equality movement didn’t change hearts and minds through statistics. It changed them through people coming out, sharing their lives, making it impossible to dehumanize someone you knew and loved [2].
The Me Too movement didn’t dismantle power structures through legal arguments alone. It did it through millions of people saying “this happened to me too,” breaking the silence that kept abuse invisible [3].
Stories change what we think is possible. Stories create permission. Stories build solidarity.
And right now, we need stories about how people are navigating broken systems. How they’re creating change at local levels. How they’re staying engaged without burning out. How they’re building bridges across difference.
We need to hear that we’re not the only ones trying. That what we’re doing matters. That someone else figured out something we’re still struggling with.
How to Continue This Conversation
So here’s how you can take me up on this invitation:
Start where you are.
You don’t need to have this all figured out. You don’t need to be an expert. You just need to be honest about what you’re experiencing.
Write it down. Record a voice memo. Tell a friend. Post it publicly or keep it private. Just start articulating what you see.
Ask yourself:
What system am I inside right now? (Family, workplace, school, community, local government, etc.)
What’s broken in that system that I can see from where I stand?
What’s one thing I wish the people in power understood?
What’s one thing I’m trying to change, even if it’s small?
Who else is trying the same thing? (You’re not alone—find them)
Share it in whatever way feels right to you:
Have a conversation with someone in your community
Write about it (blog, social media, journal)
Organize a small gathering to discuss it
Reach out to others doing similar work
Send me your story (I’m listening)
The medium doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re adding your voice to the collective conversation.
What Happens When We Don’t Share Our Stories
Here’s what I’m afraid of: that people who are doing incredible work in their local systems think they’re the only ones doing it. That they give up because they can’t see the larger movement they’re part of.
I’m afraid that someone somewhere has figured out a piece of this puzzle, but they think “it’s too small to matter” or “no one wants to hear from me” or “I’m not qualified to speak.”
And so they stay silent. And the rest of us keep struggling with a problem they’ve already solved.
I’m afraid that we keep duplicating effort because we don’t know what others have already tried. That we keep making the same mistakes because we’re not learning from each other.
This is the cost of isolation. This is what happens when we don’t connect our individual efforts into collective wisdom.
And I refuse to accept that cost.
The Fractal Principle, Again
Remember adrienne maree brown’s teaching: how we are at the small scale is how we are at the large scale [4].
If we can’t have conversations at the individual level—if we can’t share stories, admit what we don’t know, learn from each other’s experiences—we’ll never be able to do it at the systemic level.
But if we CAN do it here, in our one-on-one relationships, in our small communities, in our local organizing—that pattern scales.
That’s how culture changes. That’s how new norms get established. That’s how we create the world we want to live in.
One conversation at a time. One story at a time. One person choosing to speak up instead of staying silent.
What I Hope For
I hope this isn’t the end of the conversation. I hope it’s the beginning.
I hope you take something from what I’ve shared and apply it in your context, your system, your life. And then I hope you’ll tell me—and others—what you discovered.
I hope you’ll find the people in your community who are asking the same questions, seeing the same problems, trying similar solutions. And I hope you’ll work together, learn together, fail together, celebrate together.
I hope you’ll trust yourself to speak even when you’re not sure. Even when you don’t have all the answers. Even when you’re afraid no one will listen.
Because I’m listening. And I’m not the only one.
I hope you’ll extend the same invitation I’m offering you.
That when someone says “I don’t know where to start,” you’ll say “tell me what you see from where you stand.”
That when someone feels alone in this work, you’ll say “you’re not alone. Let me tell you what I’m trying.”
I hope you’ll be gentle with yourself when you’re in a rest season. And fierce when you’re in an active one. And trust that the seasons change.
I hope you’ll stay in your lane—but speak loudly from it. That you’ll focus on what you actually understand, but refuse to be silent about what you see.
I hope you’ll demand that the table expand. That you’ll add chairs for the voices that aren’t there yet. That you’ll make room even when it’s uncomfortable.
And I hope you’ll keep going. Even when it’s hard. Even when progress is slow. Even when you can’t see the whole elephant.
The Dare
So here’s my dare:
Write your sequel.
Not to this series of articles. To your own story. The story of how you’re navigating this moment. The story of what you’re learning. The story of what you’re trying to change in your corner of the world.
Write it down. Speak it out loud. Share it with someone who needs to hear it.
Your story is not a footnote to mine. Your story is the main text of a parallel chapter.
And I can’t write that chapter. Only you can.
So I’m stepping back. I’m making space. I’m listening.
Your turn.
Tell me:
What you see from where you stand
What I’m missing
What you’re trying
What’s working
What’s not
What you need
What gives you hope
Tell me your story. Not because it needs to match mine. Because it doesn’t.
Because the diversity of our experiences is our strength. Because the specificity of your context contains wisdom that generalizations miss. Because what works in your system might not work in mine…but it might…and that’s valuable information.
Because we need all the voices. All the perspectives. All the parts of the elephant.
The Final Word (That Isn’t Final)
I want to have a conversation about how I can impact my system here—not in Florida, not in China, but my system here. Because I’m going to trust that they can do the same with the knowledge of their system.
I don’t need to take my world and save someone else’s with it. I need to save mine. And I want to trust that you can do the same for yours.
But I want to hear about it. I want to learn from it. I want to celebrate it with you.
Because your work matters. Your story matters. Your voice matters.
And this conversation—this work of rebuilding our systems from the inside out, from the bottom up, from the local to the collective—it’s just beginning.
So here’s where we are:
I’ve shared what I know. I’ve told you what I see. I’ve offered what I can.
Now it’s your turn.
Not to agree with me. Not to have all the answers. Not to do this perfectly.
Just to show up. To speak. To add your voice to the collective conversation.
I’m listening.
We’re all listening.
What do you have to say?
CITATIONS
Payne, C. M. (1995). I’ve Got the Light of Freedom: The Organizing Tradition and the Mississippi Freedom Struggle. Berkeley: University of California Press.
“Hearts and Minds: How the Marriage Equality Movement Won Over the American Public.” Nonprofit Quarterly, 2016. https://nonprofitquarterly.org/hearts-minds-marriage-equality-movement-won-american-public/
Burke, T. (2021). Unbound: My Story of Liberation and the Birth of the Me Too Movement. New York: Flatiron Books.
brown, a. m. (2017). Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds. Chico, CA: AK Press.
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