In 2011, I left Boston and with it a troubled relationship and an abundance of inaction. I was nowhere closer to reaching my filmmaking goals. Now I was in Amsterdam, six months since my college graduation, living in an empty apartment that I needed to fill with roommates lest I lose it completely. A friend introduced me to Violeta who introduced me to Elise, both of whom were willing potential roommates.

Violeta thought it wise for all of us to spend more time together a few days before they moved. She suggested going to the Mezrab, a Persian inspired storytelling space located on the docks of Amsterdam East. I also suspected she had a crush on the host. Probably because she told me so. An odd reluctance grew inside, a social anxiety I had not tousled with in a long time.

I felt there was a lot riding on this evening. Our collective mission was to establish a cordial and healthy cohabitation relationship. It wasn’t too long ago that best friendships could be established with a mutual affinity for whiskey and bad science-fiction movies. I had to engage on a real level with new people and dive into unfamiliar territory or else suffer the uncomfortable reality of sharing a space on the foundation of a facetious friendship. I wasn’t sure I was up for it. I did not know yet that this evening would set the foundation for how I understood storytelling, its value, our reasonableness as to how we wield it’s influence.

The serious but smiley Violeta and the giggly but shy Elise and I huddled together in the Mezrab basement space. Ryan Millar, our horn-rimmed glassed charismatic master of ceremonies led the procession.

I asked Violeta if she ever considered getting up there — she had not. She was just a participant and not so eager to draw all the attention to herself. I admit I didn’t even bother asking Elise — I knew her answer. Is it showboating to want to perform? It was only my first night there. Perhaps it would be arrogant. My soon to be roommates might think so.

Then our host Ryan made it inevitable. Find him during the intermission and he’ll put you on the list for the third act. I loved this audience. They were warm, international and responded full-heartedly. Perhaps amongst them I would find new friends. I didn’t have too many of those yet. I could share myself and perhaps find a true connection. But what if I bombed? The crowd might forget and forgive, but what about the two people I was set to impress and whose opinion would follow me beyond this evening? Before I truly considered all those possibilities, Ryan was already explaining to me that I only had eight minutes.