Think July in New York City. Hot as balls. Other than braving the humidity once in a while to meet my new girlfriend, I holed myself up in my apartment, window air unit cranking, calling up food delivery every day. Just me, my laptop, and a white-board with a cut-out image of a raging fire on it. Something was bubbling up inside of me. I had to get it off my chest. When I looked around me, I saw a bunch of people living inside a smaller story. I realized that storytelling was much bigger and deeper than most of us were willing to admit.