My life is fairly boring, and I have learned to accept that, and instead take advantage of the stories of others to fill those holes in my life.

That is one of the reasons why I constantly fill my ears with podcasts. This American Life, Serial, I can’t get enough. I wanted to take it a step further, put a face to the voices I hear everyday, experience these stories in real time. Well, not when they occurred, but when they were being told at least.

On the night of November 2, the Athenaeum theatre had incredible energy. It was a specific type of energy that you felt as soon as you entered the room. A trusting energy. The audience was ready to leave judgment at the door and accept the stories of ten strangers.

The Moth, a story telling podcast, hosts Story Slams in Chicago, Los Angeles and New York. While the events are performances in themselves, they also record the stories being told, pick the best ones and make a weekly podcast for those who couldn’t make it live. On this night in November, the best of the best were taking the stage, and I was there, to experience it first hand.

Yes, the fact that the World Series was occurring mere blocks away could have dampened the mood, but the crowd stayed positive, the storytellers were not rushed, and beautiful art was made.

Storytelling is an interesting form of art. There is no curator. Every artist holds all the power in his/her hands. The night could be a bust if the stories are weak, if the audience does not connect with them or if the storyteller does not commit. There is no practice; there is barely any planning. It’s a collaboration that comes together at the last minute. The only connection? Out on a limb.

“Tell about a time you went out on a limb.” The prompt is purposely vague. And the result of that is an emotional rollercoaster. Laughing at the story of a man’s attempt to flirt post-divorce, crying as a woman spends her mother’s last days by her side. The stories range so incredibly, yet they all meld together into a cohesive night.

The performance didn’t end with the stage, it seeped into the audience. While we were not telling stories, we were just as much part of the night. The gasps and laughter of the audience synced up as if on purpose. A storyteller would exit the stage and enter the audience, sitting down and becoming one of us, dropping the veil that shields most performers, reminding up that these are real people. These people lived these events. They are not acting, but sharing. This is not a show, but a get together, a dinner party of sorts, sans food of course.

While The Moth is not your average live performance, it is fulfilling in the way art should be. It leaves you thinking, wanting to discuss it with everyone you see, appreciating life even when it leaves you out on a limb.