“Speak Up; Never Know Who’s Listening.”

Six-Word Memoirs turns 18, and I want to tell you more

The six words you see above come from Senator Kirsten Gillibrand, whose wisdom packs a powerful punch in The Best Advice in Six Words book. These words from the distinguished senator of New York resonate deeply, perhaps now more than ever. Everyone has a story. Everyone has a voice. And in my work exploring the power of storytelling — whether with students in classrooms, the incarcerated in prisons, patients in hospitals, or countless others environments — one truth has become clear: No one can take away your story, no matter the setting or circumstance.

Yet, many of us forget an essential truth: we must use our voices to share our stories. By sharing, we’re not only seen but heard. And when we’re truly seen and heard, something transformative happens — we gain agency. That sense of control and ownership over our lives is both magical and empowering.

But it all begins with learning how to craft and share our stories authentically. While today’s kids have more platforms than ever to tell their stories, much of it unfolds on social media, a space often more performative than personal. And performative storytelling may get clicks, but it’s not an algorithm for authenticity.

In light of a recent series of what I see as unfortunate political events, I’ve been thinking about two extraordinary women I met along my now eighteen-year journey with Six-Word Memoirs. Their authenticity and sense of agency continue to inspire me — and remind me why storytelling matters so much in moments of uncertainty and change.

Dorisely

In 2015, I was gathering stories for Six Words Fresh Off the Boat: Stories of Immigration, Identity, and Coming to America, a new collection in the Six-Word Memoir series. To find these stories, we issued a call for entries across our usual platforms — SixWordMemoirs.com and social media — but also went directly to the communities of recent arrivals to America. This included English-language classes, refugee organizations, and schools. That’s how I found myself in a classroom at Mission High School in San Francisco meeting 35 students from 10 different countries, each speaking one of five native languages.

Whether I'm working with Fortune 500 executives or high school students, my talks always feature a “Six-Word Slam” where everyone is invited to share their story. At Mission High, one student stood out: Dorisely. When it came time to step to the front of the class, she hesitated. Her friends gently encouraged her, and she tentatively walked to the front, planted her feet, and delivered these six words: My name is not mamasita, okay?

There was a split-second of silence before the room erupted in applause. In that moment, Dorisely reclaimed her story and the radiant smile that you see here arrived.

Sara

Sara Abou Rashed has always approached the head of a class or a stage with unwavering confidence. From the moment I met her as a 17-year-old student in Columbus, Ohio, she had my attention with her Six-Word Memoir: “Escaped war; war didn’t escape me.” I know a natural-born storyteller when I see one — and Sara was extra special.

Our connection grew into a friendship and creative collaboration. Her six words evolved into a ten-minute story, performed at a Six Words Live event at New York City’s Tenement Museum. A year later, her voice found even greater expression in A Map of Myself: A 70-Minute, One-Woman Revolution on War, Immigration, Language, History, and Home. Written by Sara and directed by me, the show debuted in Ohio, running for 22 performances across four cities. The final performance — a sold-out show in Philadelphia on March 1, 2020 — came just before the pandemic halted live theater and pretty much everything else.

For Sara, telling her story was a way to navigate the outer realities of displacement and the inner complexities of identity, much of it shaped by her immigrant experience. While my life’s mission is to inspire everyone to share their story, I believe that those with Sara’s extraordinary talent for language and storytelling have a special obligation to use their voice. Thankfully, Sara Abou Rashed continues to rise to that calling, sharing her story with power and grace.

Tell Me More

I think the reason the Six-Word Memoir Project resonates in so many settings is that this short form of storytelling isn’t just about brevity, it’s about what storytelling can do: spark connections and create community.

Storytelling and community-building are my passions. Or, as I like to say: I am more than six words.

On that note, here are two communities I’m especially excited to be part of:

Sidebar: I’ve been a proud member of Sidebar, a professional peer community, for over a year. Imagine a blend of group therapy and professional development: eight peers and a skilled facilitator meeting twice a month to tackle work challenges and support each other in pursuing short-term goals and long-term aspirations.

Recently, I joined Sidebar’s community team, where I help our members connect, share insights, and learn from one another and the guest experts we invite every week. A member recently shared this with me: “The community is great for networking, but I think of Sidebar as more of a ‘supportive network’ that propels professional growth.” That sentiment captures what makes Sidebar special, and I’m thrilled to contribute to its growth. Shoot me a note if you’d like to hear more about this community.

Modern Elder Academy (MEA): MEA, the brainchild of “zeitgeist surfer” Chip Conley, is the world’s first midlife wisdom school. It’s a community dedicated to sharing wisdom and navigating life transitions together.

Next summer, from July 7–12, 2025, I’ll be leading a five-day workshop called Tell Me More: Crafting Your Story at Midlife at MEA’s stunning retreat center in Santa Fe. It’s a dream come true to collaborate with MEA. If you’re curious about the workshop, let me know — I can even offer a few 20% discounts as an instructor.

These communities are where connection thrives, and I’m honored to help them grow.