Tell me everything
One of my favorite activities is a chatty walk with friends. We arrive at a coffee shop, load up on caffeine (my go-to drink is a strong English breakfast tea with milk, but we're in iced strawberry matcha season, so that’s in rotation now), and stroll around whichever neighborhood we've met in, catching up as we walk.
There's so much to absorb around us in the city, lots to see and overhear, and we usually come away from the walk with at least one new memory to call back to later.
But the best moment of these walks is when one of us drops a little faux-innocuous statement about some event at work, some cute guy on the radar, or some recent vacation, and there's clearly SO much to the story.
Then one of us lets out a little gasp, our jaws drop, and with wide eyes we say, "Tell us everything!"
It's fun to be the girl with a juicy story to tell, and it's fun to be the girl listening. There's so much to share, and with friends, no detail is too minor and no meandering thought trail is irrelevant.
We're walking as far as we need to, over the Brooklyn Bridge or the entire length of Central Park, to get the full story.
That's what happened this past weekend. We met at a coffee shop in Brooklyn, grabbed our drinks, and wove through the side streets, talking a mile a minute.
We all know, on some level, how to tell a story. Even my accountant friend who doesn't read fiction and who hated the one requisite English class in college, but has a crush on a guy she works with. She can tell a perfectly paced story about her every interaction with this dude, complete with character arcs, dramatic tension, and details that set the scene. And believe me, I demand that she tell me everything.
In writing, you don't want to tell the reader literally everything, like you would over dinner with friends. But storytelling comes in many forms: not only the ones we sit at our desks to craft for a broad audience, but the ones we share with people we love every day. Telling stories is a way of processing our experiences, of making meaning from the chaos of daily life.
The unfiltered, detail-rich stories we share with friends during casual activities like coffee walks represent one of our most authentic forms of storytelling, revealing how narrative is fundamental to human connection. They explore something profound about human nature—we are, at our core, storytellers. Long before the written word, humans gathered around fires to share the day's events, to pass down cultural wisdom, to entertain and connect. This impulse to narrativize our experiences seems hardwired into us.
When we say "Tell me everything," what we're really saying is "I want to experience this with you." We're inviting our friend to brings us into their world completely, to let us see through their eyes, feel through their emotions. It's an act of empathy disguised as casual conversation.
There's something democratic about this kind of storytelling, too. You don't need a literature degree or years of writing workshops to excel at it. These spoken narratives are collaborative. The listener shapes the story through their reactions—smirks of surprise, clarifying questions, shared laughter. It becomes a co-created experience, a living thing that exists between teller and listener rather than on a static page.
When I think about why these unfiltered stories feel so vital, I keep coming back to vulnerability. In carefully edited writing, there's always a layer of protection—the author has controlled what's revealed and what's withheld. But in these conversations, we're showing our raw thoughts, our unprocessed feelings. We're saying, “Here's not just what happened, but how it affected me, what I feared, what I hoped, what I didn't understand.”
That's the magic of these unfiltered narratives. By giving voice to our stories, we change our relationship to them. The confusing becomes clearer, the painful becomes bearable, the joyful becomes amplified. In an age of carefully curated social media posts and elevator pitches, there's something special about taking the time to tell the whole messy story, and to listen with full attention.
These aren't just anecdotes we're sharing—they're ourselves. They’re how we engage in a fundamental creative practice that transforms our experiences into meaning. They allow us to remain open to the stories unfolding all around us and within us.
One of the most precious gifts we can give each other is to lean in a little closer and say with genuine curiosity and care, “Tell me everything!” in order to create space for our complex, layered narratives to unfold, one story at a time.
Glimmers to share
✨The first day of spring was this past week! Is it just me, or was this a looooong winter? I don’t care what the weather report says, and I don’t care that on the actual first day of spring I was in my heavy winter coat with the cold wind whipping my hair…the season has officially shifted and I’m celebrating every daffodil, every sunbeam, every cherry blossom iced team, and each song on my spring playlist.
✨A Bit Much, a book of poems by Lyndsay Rush. This collection makes me laugh, cry, and feel so very seen, as does the author’s hilarious and poignant IG account.
From the publisher: “With titles like "Shedonism", "Someone to Eat Chips With", "It’s Called Maximalism, Babe", and "Breaking News: Local Woman Gets Out of Bed", Rush’s debut collection of poetry uses humor to grapple with the female experience—from questioning whether or not to have children, to roasting the patriarchy, to challenging what it means to "age gracefully"—and each piece delivers gut-punching truths alongside gratifying punchlines. Readers walk away from Lyndsay’s work feeling seen, celebrated, and wholly convinced that joy is an urgent, worthwhile pursuit.”
✨The art of Emily Fromm. I love her style, and when I saw her exhibit at the recent SuperFine Art Fair, I was lucky enough to snag myself a print of her work. The only thing I have to do now is frame and hang the piece, which I’m admittedly fairly terrible at. Any tips on how to make an artist’s work shine on the wall?
✨This screenshot from Cunk on Life makes me laugh so hard, and it still hasn’t gotten old for me.
What are your glimmers this week? And what are you reading? What stories are you sharing with your friends over late-night text messages and leisurely weekend phone calls? And are there any good horror movies you’ve seen lately? I need recommendations!