Stories from the Stage

LISA ABELAR: I'd look at him and I'd look at the water, and then I'd look at him and I'd look at the water, and at some point, he said, "You know, the story's better if you jump."

MARTHA MOYER: Now, on the wall of the tent, I could see a shadow.

It has paws with claws.

It's the bear.

JYNELLE HERBERT: Next time I look back, my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

Instead of riding atop the horse, she's on its side.

(laughter) She looked like a stuntman in a shoot-'em-up Western.

(laughter) ABELAR: My name is Lisa Abelar.

I am a born and raised Michigan girl that transplanted to Arizona.

By day, I'm a writer, and try to find adventure or be outside as much as possible.

And I understand that you share quite a bit about being a mom and an adventurer on your Instagram?

My personal Instagram, for sure, but then also we have an outdoor Instagram called Raising Outdoor Kids, where we just share our outdoor adventures as a way to try to inspire other people to do things that may seem difficult, but really, like, you can do it.

And with kids, you know, because they might think that kids aren't able to do certain things yet, but we're doing it, so if we're doing it, others can do it.

So what are you hoping that the audience takes away from your story tonight?

I think there's two parts.

You don't have to know everything about what you're doing to do it.

You can think you're prepared, you know, um, and prepare yourself enough, but you don't have to be an expert at something to, to something and get something out of it.

Mm-hmm.

And, um, you know, in that same vein, just to, like, do the thing, You can get so much more out of it if you just go for it rather than sit around and think about it.

Six years ago, I walked out of an R.E.I.

store with my arms full of gear I had no idea how to use.

I had a fresh receipt for a water bladder, which the sales guy told me would hold my water for me on my back and gave me a little straw to drink it from as I hiked.

And I ran home, and I overpacked my rented backpack with everything I thought I would need for my first-ever backpacking trip, which was going to be a four-day excursion to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and over to Havasupai Falls, this magical oasis of waterfalls that almost impossibly just pop up out of the desert in this remote corner of the canyon, and they run with this water that is just a perfect crystal-blue.

And I didn't really know what I was doing as a backpacker, obviously, but I knew in that moment that I really needed this adventure.

So I just reminded myself of that as I looked down at my beat-up Adidas sneakers and I started down the switchbacks that would take me to this pretty grueling ten-mile hike across the canyon floor and over to my campground.

And as I settled into the hike, and I knew it was going to take a few hours, so I really didn't want to start thinking about getting hungry or getting tired or getting sore.

So I put all my energy behind thinking about, like, big think topics, you know, like, "Where have you been, Lise?"

And, "What have you been through "and what have you learned, and where do you want to go, and what do you want?"

And I just, I was, like, determined to Eat, Pray, Love my way through this hike, so... (audience chuckling) After a bit of hiking, I just said, "I want someone who is captivated by me," just out loud, to the Grand Canyon.

Nobody around, just said it to a rock.

And I don't normally, like, make a habit of talking to rocks, but in that moment, I felt like the universe really needed to hear me say that, because at that time in my life, I was in the process of leaving an abusive marriage, and I was going through, like, a really terrifying divorce.

To be down in the Grand Canyon and be surrounded with these rock walls that were thousands of feet tall, I just...

It almost felt like this odd, freeing fortress of some kind.

Like, on the one hand, I was completely untouchable by and protected from this one person, and on the other hand, I was in this big new world that had suddenly opened for me, and I could say yes-- even to that trip, saying yes was a huge deal.

And I could be in a space that was free of chaos and full of peace and gave me the space to actually hear my own thoughts for the first time in years.

And I think that those two ingredients together really fueled my spirit of adventure on that trip, because I did everything.

Like, I, you know, hiked across these tiny little footbridges with rushing water under them, and I crawled through these caves to get to these waterfalls, and some of the waterfalls were 100 feet tall.

And shimmied down these rickety ladders and used these slippery chains to get to where I needed to be.

And I think that's how I found myself, on the very last day, standing on a very small ledge overlooking a waterfall, wondering if I should jump.

And this waterfall was the first jumpable waterfall we had come to.

All the other ones were, like, certain death.

They were way too tall.

This one was maybe 20 or 30 feet, but, looking over the edge, felt a lot taller than that.

And as I'm looking at that water underneath my feet and just thinking about my kids and copays and deductibles and all the bad things that could happen, I looked to my right for a moment and I locked eyes with this guy Ron, who was part of the hiking group, and he was just, he was waiting for his turn to jump.

And when I looked back at the water, I thought, how in the world had I not noticed until now how all-consuming his big, brown eyes were?

(audience chuckling) Like, I hadn't noticed them the day before, when we were at Beaver Falls, and I was writing all of my life's chaos in my journal, and he leaned over and asked what I was writing.

And I didn't notice them the first night-- I sat right next to him at a restaurant.

But now, on the edge of this waterfall, his eyes seemed to be everything I needed.

So my eyes struck up this silent conversation with his eyes and just kept asking them if I should stay or if I should jump.

And so I'd look at him and I'd look at the water, and then I'd look at him, and I'd look at the water.

And at some point, he broke the silence and said, "You know, the story is better if you jump."

(audience laughs) And before I could think of anything witty to say, he was standing directly in front of me, facing me on this very small ledge, and he looked down at me and he just said, "Hi."

And I looked up and I was, like... (voice shakes): "Hi."

And a couple of seconds later, he bent his knees and jumped backwards off that ledge into the water.

And about a minute or two later, I followed him forward in, you know, off the ledge into the water, in this gigantic physical leap of faith on my part, which turned into this unexpected emotional leap of faith for both of us.

Because after we hiked out of that canyon, both Ron and I recognized, like, there was some energy exchanged on the top of that waterfall.

And, you know, even though we both had our own things going on-- I had my own personal tornado on the sidelines, and I had kids, and he had kids, and he was going through a separation and the whole thing-- we decided we needed to know about each other, and so we just dove in and we just continued that conversation that our eyeballs started on the edge of that waterfall.

And we formed and built this relationship built on adventure and just going for it.

We did everything.

We went to races, we took all of our kids hiking through a bunch of national parks.

We paddled and kayaked down the Colorado at Horseshoe Bend.

And a couple of years ago, we found the perfect deserted beach in Kauai, and we got married and made our adventurous life official.

And I think the coolest part about the whole experience for me is that right when we started dating, Ron had sent me a text message, and it said something about, "I'm just captivated by you."

And it still takes my breath away to this day, because I only told that to the Grand Canyon.

Like, no one heard me say that.

But I just think that it really supports Ron's theory that the story is better if you jump.

And I'm so glad I did.

Thank you.

(audience applauds and cheers) MOYER: My name's Martha Moyer.

I live in Somerville, Massachusetts, and I used to be a math teacher.

And two years ago, I retired from teaching math so that I could pursue my dream, which is to become a graphic artist and writer.

I'm writing a graphic memoir.

How does teaching math to children relate to storytelling?

Not every child that takes math is all that interested in math.

And so I would just let the math incubate, and I would launch into a story, and it really just became a part of my teaching repertoire.

- Mm.

- And it was fun.

Who were the storytellers in your family or amongst your friends?

Well, I think my mom was, like, a big-time storyteller.

She made up stories as bedtime stories, and we sat around the kitchen table for dinner-- it was back in the olden days-- and my dad would always tell stories about what happened at work.

So, Martha, I understand that this story is about your mother.

It is, definitely.

And is she going to be here this evening in the audience?

- Yes, she is.

I think they've reserved a seat for her in the front row, too.

OKOKON: What do you think it will be like to tell this story on stage, with her in the audience?

I don't think I can look at her.

(both laughing) You know, I think it'll be great.

I think it'll be good for her.

I think she will feel good hearing this story.

I think it'll be a great experience.

I'm looking forward to having her there.

It's 1966, and I'm five years old, and our family's going on a summer vacation to Yellowstone Park.

My brothers are nine and ten, and they're in the back seat of the station wagon with me, and it's pulling a camper, trailer tent, and my mom, she's the passenger in the front seat, and my dad, he's a colonel in the Army, and he's driving.

(laughter) We enter the park.

I look around, and I'm confused.

I don't see any yellow stones.

(laughter) There are signs all along the road, and I'm too young to read, but they have pictures, so I can tell what they're saying.

The first one is a bison goring a child.

(laughter) Next: a snake, and I know it's going to bite me.

Then a bear, and I know it's going to eat me.

I don't think I'm gonna like this vacation.

So we get to the campsite, and my dad and my brothers are putting up the tent, and I run to Mom, and I beg and I plead, "Can we just go home?

This is gonna be horrible."

And she says, "No, this is gonna be a wonderful vacation.

Camping is fun."

(laughter) So if I'd asked my dad that question, he would have ordered me to just be quiet and not complain, and I would have said, "Yes, sir," because that's what we say to Dad.

"Yes, sir," "No, sir," or "No excuse, sir."

Even when he's at home and he's not in his Army uniform, he's always the colonel.

So that's the way we speak to him.

Now, Mom, she's really soft-spoken, and she's a stay-at-home mom, an officer's wife.

And she takes care of us, and my favorite time of day is when Dad's about to come home, and she gets ready by putting on a pretty dress and taking her curlers out, and putting it up in a beehive and putting lipstick on.

Then she greets Dad with a hug and a kiss, and she gets dinner on the table for the family.

But just when Dad wants it.

So now the tent is up, and we're fed and she puts us to bed, we're in our sleeping bags, and we sleep soundly.

Then we're awakened by the sound of screams.

My brothers are pushing behind me, and my mom is in front of me, and she's yelling for my dad, and it gets louder, and my brothers are pushing and screaming, and my mom says, "Be quiet, be quiet.

Everyone, just shut up!"

(quietly): So we get very quiet.

Now, on the wall of the tent, I could see a shadow.

First it's a mound.

And it rises.

And then ears sprout.

It rises more.

And then it has paws with claws.

It rises more.

It's the bear, the same bear that was on the sign that was going to eat me.

(laughter) And it pokes through the flap of the tent, and my mom, she lunges toward it, and she punches it and screams, "I've got babies.

You've got babies.

Now, you leave my babies alone!"

(laughter and applause) Meanwhile, my dad has escaped through the back of the tent and climbed over the camper and gone to the station wagon, and he calls for my mom from the car.

"Mary, Mary, come to the car!"

And she screams back, "But the kids, the kids!"

And my dad yells... (laughing): "Oh, yeah, kids, yeah."

(laughter) My brothers, they push and they shove, and they just stay behind me.

But I watched as my mom, she kicks the bear, she punches the bear.

I'm only five years old and I watch.

Usually it's my brothers who are protecting me.

And she kicks it again.

I can't believe it.

I cover my mouth, I want to scream.

It's like watching a game.

And then she hauls off and she punches it really hard.

The bear, it doesn't even budge.

She takes two fists and she comes down really hard on its nose.

It doesn't even growl.

Then she kicks it and punches.

I know she's never gonna quit, and then she hauls off with all of her weight and she punches really hard and she screams, "I've got babies, I've got babies.

Now you get out of here!"

And the bear backs away, as if to say, "I don't want to mess with you.

(laughter) I'll just go to the next tent to get dinner."

(laughter) And Mom, she turns and she hugs my brothers and me, and cradles us.

My brothers are crying.

I'm not crying.

And that's weird, because I'm the youngest.

I usually cry.

And my mom, she doesn't usually hit and kick and punch and yell, and my dad doesn't usually hide in the car.

(laughter) I just want to...

I just want to get up and scream.

I feel so strange.

I feel happy.

I want to jump for joy and dance.

My mom beat up a bear!

My mom beat up a bear!

(laughter) She was right, camping is fun.

(laughter and applause) But she rocks us and cuddles us.

And I realize there's so much more to her than... than food, and curlers, and looking pretty.

She's a fighter, and she'd fight to the death.

And my dad... (laughter) He gives orders, and he orders us to never mention this Yellowstone Park incident ever again, as long as we live.

(laughter) (cheers and applause) None of us said "Yes, sir" to that order.

(laughs) Thank you so much.

(cheers and applause) It changed my perspective about what a woman could be.

I...

I had seen her as just really thin and delicate and beautiful.

And when I saw her fight, I wanted to fight, and I became a stronger person.

And of the three kids-- and I think it might be because of this incident, because I watched it-- um, I do things that are challenging more than my brothers do.

HERBERT: My name is Jynelle Herbert.

I was born in Boston with Caribbean roots.

I am a writer by trade.

I work for a nonprofit, a children's charity, in Boston, and I always like to say, "I help save lives with my pen."

You are a writer, and tonight you're going to be sharing a story with us on the stage.

And I'm wondering, what are sort of the differences in preparing for those two separate kinds of experiences?

The nerves.

(laughs, Hazard chuckles) When you're in a space with other people, right, there's always energy.

It's not just your energy.

Like, when you sit down to write in front of a computer, you can sort of control your energy.

But when you're in a room, you're vibing off of different people's energy, it might feel different.

Once our audience does hear the story that you're sharing, what would you most want them to take away from that experience?

Gratitude.

Being thankful for the adventures in life, and being okay when things don't always go the way that you think they will.

It's the summer after seventh grade, and I'm almost through my very first time at overnight camp.

I've overcome the fear of leaving Boston and trekking out to the boonies of New Hampshire-- (in accent): "Going back behind God's back," as we say in Trinidad-- to live in a cabin with strangers and weird bugs.

I've ignored the looks of disbelief that come with being one of only two Black campers, the surprise that I actually know how to swim, and all the attempts to hook me up with my "perfect match guy," who just happened to be the other Black camper.

(audience laughter) I focus on the positives.

Yes, the bugs are bigger up here, but so are the stars, without the glare of the city lights.

The air is fresh, so I breathe deep.

(breathes deeply) And I get to learn new things, like archery and riflery and the lyrics to "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin.

(audience laughter) It's family weekend, and my family's coming to visit.

Other than a few letters exchanged via snail mail, I haven't talked to them in weeks.

So I'm excited to see them and dazzle them with all the new skills I've learned, including horseback riding.

I've gotten past the sore thighs.

I've learned how to post.

That means lift myself up and down in the saddle while my horse trots.

And I've also learned how to jump horses-- so much fun.

My family line up by the fence to watch me ride.

Even my cousin and aunt are here from Trinidad visiting.

A pleasant surprise.

I'm doing great.

I guide my horse to walk, trot, and canter.

There are those looks of disbelief again.

Don't they know that one out of four American cowboys were Black?

My family, though, they watch with pride.

Even my cousin.

It's time to jump.

I'm nervous because I had only practiced jumping my horse, Misty, a couple of times.

We ride round the bend and line up with the obstacle.

I start talking to myself.

"Time it just right, Jynelle.

"Don't tense up in the saddle.

Ease up on the reins a bit..." (gasps) I feel Misty's legs colliding with a pole, and suddenly I'm falling.

I'm embarrassed.

And I bet my cousin's somewhere in the crowd laughing at me, too.

I don't get up.

I scan the crowd.

I look for my family.

They look concerned, even my cousin.

Then I meet eyes with my mom.

Just one look and I already know what she's thinking.

See, my mom knows a thing or two about falling down.

She lost her mother when she was ten, buried both her sisters before I was even born.

She fell in love, got engaged, but then left the warmth of home in Trinidad to travel to cold, gray England to learn nursing.

After years there, she left the life she had built again to move to Boston and meet her fianc.

When she arrived, she found out that he had broken his promise to wait for her, but only after he had gotten her pregnant.

She was on her own, with a baby on the way.

She worked nights and weekends and double shifts.

As a Black woman and an immigrant, she knew all too well the looks of disbelief and expectations of failure, too.

She put up with the disrespect from doctors who thought themselves better than her and patients who saw her more as a servant than their nurse.

But she saved her money and she bought a house, and she got me into a great school system, always sacrificing, always on the sidelines herself so that I could explore.

There was piano and dance and Girl Scouts and STEM for Girls, and the list went on and on, including this very expensive summer camp.

Now my mom was literally on the sidelines watching me, and I had to make her proud.

So I get up.

I dust myself off.

Before my camp counselor can even ask, I say, "Yes.

I want to try again."

I'm back on the horse.

Misty and I round the bend and line up with that obstacle.

This time, we soar.

Camp flew by after that with a couple of memorable incidents.

There was an awkward kiss with my "perfect match" camper.

(laughter) Which confirmed we definitely were not a match.

(laughter) And a showdown with a leech in the back of a speeding van.

I won't get into details.

(laughter) Years went by, and there was tennis and theater and college and study abroad, and multiple scandalous spring break trips.

A few people here know exactly what I'm talking about.

(laughter) And then grad school.

And Mom didn't even blink when I said, "I'm going back to grad school again."

Before Mom passed away, we had so many adventures together.

One trip found us in Aruba.

Mom, in her 60s, decided that she was going to go horseback riding for the very first time.

Before we get on our horses, I give Mom a few tips.

"Okay, Mom, the guide and I are going to go first.

"Now, horses can feel your energy, so keep calm.

"And if it gets a little bumpy and you feel yourself shifting, just lean the other way, okay?"

We head out.

I'm enjoying the scenery unfolding in front of me.

It's like being in a postcard.

I look back to check on Mom, and she's leaning to the left a little.

"Mom!"

I yell, "Adjust!

You're leaning."

(audience laughter) Next time I look back, my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

Instead of riding atop the horse, she's on its side, one leg gripping its underbelly, the other desperately clinging to its back.

She looked like a stuntman in a shoot-'em-up Western.

(audience laughter) Before I can turn my horse around, thump.

She falls into the dust.

I'm off my horse and by her side, "Mom, are you okay?"

I help her up-- she's not hurt, just embarrassed.

"Mom, why didn't you lean the other way?"

I ask.

(in accent): "Oh-ho!

"I thought you said, 'Lean the same way.'

(laughter) Like when you're driving and you pick up a skid on the ice?"

(laughter) Silence, then relief.

We laugh, deep belly laughs that ripple through our entire body.

The tour guide, he's not laughing.

(laughter) We help Mom on her horse and continue on.

Mom and I were so lucky to have many more adventures together.

There was the time we went on a harrowing helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon, and there was the time she jumped on the back of my jet ski, even though she didn't know how to swim.

Talk about trust.

And during chemotherapy, there was the time she climbed Mount Washington-- not all the way to the top-- but we hiked, my mom, myself, and my twin boys, and I was so proud of her that day.

I'm so thankful for all the adventures Mom and I got to go on together and the example she set for me, the life she made possible for me.

So during those times in life when it feels easier to stay lying in the dust, the memories of her compel me to get up and dust myself off.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause)