The Space Where Stories Flow : Moving Beyond “Interesting” to Something Real
The Trouble with “Interesting”
People are fighting to be unique. But unique is no longer unique. Everything is “interesting” now. Hate it? Love it? Doesn’t matter—it’s still labeled “interesting”—a word that’s become more innocuous than illuminating.
I laugh when I hear it—though I use the word constantly myself. “Interesting” has become our cultural shrug, a catch-all for moments that deserve more precision, more presence. It’s curious how we’ve settled on a word that now requires clarification: “Interesting in a good way?” “Interesting in a bad way?” We listen for tone, for intention. We ask for clarity when it feels like a placeholder—polite, safe, noncommittal.
But maybe that’s the point. We reach for vague language when the truth feels risky. When being fully seen—being visibly authentic—might invite misunderstanding or discomfort. And yet, that’s the very edge we’re learning to stand on. The messy middle. The wild ride of letting go. Because when we choose clarity over caution, story over summary, we create the kind of connection that makes us all a little less alone.
I catch myself using “literally” for things that have no literal context. I am who I mock. I fear that in telling my story, I’m revealing a truth: I might be just another person speaking loudly, adding little of value.
But maybe that’s where the real story begins.
Finding Success in the Mistake
“It was in making the mistake that I found success,” a character once said in Once Upon a Time. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’ve also taken a lot of chances. Are there moments I wish I could change? Sure. But I can only say that knowing I can’t change them—and knowing that the person I was when I made those mistakes wouldn’t, or couldn’t, have known better yet.
I try to learn from my missteps, to move forward with more clarity, gaining insight from every job and moment of my life. I aim to make wiser decisions in the future. But one of my biggest struggles is learning to let go and let be. I need to set myself free, but I’m afraid of the sound and look of me.
Do I really care what others think? I want to say no—for all the right reasons. But the truth is yes. I care because I want to make a difference. And if that difference isn’t positive for others, I worry I’ve offered nothing of value
Refining the Vision
This week, we had to change a lot of our strategy for Culture of Home. As we work with clients, we’ve recognized places for refinement—moments where the process itself revealed what needed to shift.
It reminds me of how fine metals are refined. In metallurgy, refining is the process of purifying an impure metal—removing toxins, imperfections, and anything that compromises its integrity. Whether through heat, chemical reactions, or electrolysis, the goal is the same: to isolate what’s valuable and let go of what’s not.
That’s what we’re doing. We’re learning to identify what’s essential in our work and relationships, and what needs to be released. The refining process isn’t always comfortable, but it’s necessary. It’s how we move from “interesting” to intentional.
The Vision That Won’t Let Go
Here’s what I know about myself: I can give people a good experience. I can create something worth seeing. I have visions and the ability to see patterns and colors in ways that bring spaces alive. But what good is knowing this if I don’t create something others can see?
What I envision is a space—something like a library or school, but less institutional. You’d get sharp glares if you rolled into a library looking like you were about to party. In this space, you very well might be about to party.
There will be sound here: music and children, laughter and chatter, doors shutting, stairs being climbed and descended, greetings and farewells, maybe some tears followed by more laughter. Like a library or school, there will be workshops and events—but also open spaces for others to share knowledge and gain wisdom.
Rooms to host and entertain. Food to relax and catch up over. Adventures to unfold and skills to hone.
This is a place for people to gather. To build. To create. It’s a place you can travel to, and it’s a place that’s on your way home. It’s a night out with friends. It’s your family’s special celebration. It’s the gift my parents gave to me, mixed with my love and curiosity about what happens when people come together in spaces that actually invite them to stay.
The Space Between Fear and Creation
I’m still working on the balance between wanting to be seen and learning to let go. I’m far too quick to apologize for my shortcomings, too slow to claim the things I do well. Worse yet, I sometimes reject praise for the very talents I value most.
I’m still figuring out what makes me tick and how to maintain more positive relationships—both personal and professional. But I’m learning that the space between fear and creation might be exactly where the most compelling work happens. Not “interesting” in that empty way we toss around, but genuinely resonant—the kind of thing that makes people stop scrolling and think, I want to be part of that.
The vision won’t let go because it’s not really about me. It’s about creating spaces where stories flow naturally between people of all ages, where wisdom moves in multiple directions, where the mistake becomes the doorway to something none of us could have planned.
I’m still learning what it means to create those spaces—whether it’s a physical place or the way we approach our work, our relationships, our daily choices. But the real fear isn’t being “just another person.” It’s being seen for who we uniquely are. We crave authenticity, yet visibility can make it feel fragile—like the moment we’re witnessed, the magic might disappear.
That’s the tension I’m navigating: the resistance, the rocks, the current that pushes back as I move toward something honest and whole. It’s not linear. It’s layered, like an onion shedding its skin. But each day, each morning, each week feels like we’re getting closer—through the messy middle, through the wild ride of letting go and embracing what’s unknown in the hope of what’s possible.
That’s where we sit. That’s the space we’re creating. And that’s the invitation—to join us in the in-between, where connection is real and story leads the way.
🌿 At Frank & Ethel’s, we create spaces—physical and emotional—where story, play, and connection come alive. From microgreens to memory-centered consulting, from creative labs for kids to vintage treasures that carry history forward, each offering is a doorway into deeper belonging.
We believe in the magic of gathering, the joy of curiosity, and the wild, wonderful adventure of being human together. This is our place. We’d love to welcome you in: frankandethels.com/welcome-to-our-place
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