The story we tell about waiting

This week, I pulled an angel card.

Patience.

Its message began:

“Now is the time to learn, study, and gather information. Enjoy being a student, because in the future, you will synthesise your knowledge into action.”

It landed at an interesting moment.

I am making my way home from a yoga retreat where I was invited to offer a session in shamanic drumming and singing — using rhythm and voice to connect with nature, with our own heartbeat, and perhaps with something quieter beneath all the noise.

And somewhere on that journey home, I began thinking about patience.

Because for years, I have been studying. Training. Learning. Listening.

And perhaps you know this feeling too: there comes a point where the story “I am still learning” can be deeply nourishing.

But there can also come a point when that same story quietly begins to hold us back.

I’m not quite ready yet.

I need to know more first.

Someone else knows more than I do.

Perhaps later.

Our internal stories are powerful like that. They do not simply describe our reality. They can influence the way we inhabit it.

And sometimes the virtue of patience asks us to remain students.

Sometimes it asks us to notice that we have already gathered enough to begin giving something back.

Perhaps wisdom lies in recognising which moment we are in.

Before stories were written, they were breathed

This weekend reminded me of something fundamental about storytelling.

Long before the written page, the podcast, the cinema screen, the presentation deck — and certainly long before generative AI — human beings carried stories through voice, rhythm, song, gesture, repetition and memory.

The image of people gathering around a fire has become almost archetypal, even though there is no single moment we can point to as “the beginning” of storytelling.

Story was alive.

It moved from one body to another.

UNESCO describes oral traditions as encompassing everything from tales and myths to chants, songs, poetry and performance — carrying knowledge, cultural values and collective memory from person to person and generation to generation. And importantly, oral stories are not static: each telling can contain both remembrance and recreation. 

That feels important in our age of endless content.

Because storytelling was never only about information.

It was about transmission.

A storyteller had breath.

A storyteller had timing.

There were pauses.

There was repetition.

There was a listener responding.

There might have been drumming beneath the words, or song carrying them further than ordinary speech could.

The story was not separate from the storyteller.

It lived in the body.

Your heartbeat already understands story

Perhaps this is one reason rhythm affects us so deeply.

Before we understand language, we know rhythm.

Heartbeat.

Breath.

Sound.

Silence.

And these are storytelling elements too.

Your heartbeat gives a story its pulse. Your breath creates pacing. Your voice carries feeling. Silence creates space. Repetition helps something remain. And singing can take an idea beyond explanation and allow us to feel it.

We often talk in our creative work about finding the right structure, the right words, the right platform or the newest tool.

But perhaps there is an earlier question:

What happens when you allow the story to enter your body before you ask it to become content?

Can you hear its rhythm?

Where would you pause?

Which words want to be spoken rather than typed?

What changes when you hum, sing or speak the idea aloud?

And underneath all of that:

What is the story you are currently telling yourself?

Patience at the turning of the season

There is something beautifully fitting about asking these questions now.

We have just crossed the September equinox, which occurred on September 23 at 00:05 UTC this year: the seasonal threshold into autumn in the Northern Hemisphere and spring in the Southern Hemisphere. 

One half of the world begins moving inward.

The other begins opening outward.

One landscape is releasing.

Another is emerging.

Yet both are in transition.

Maybe that is the invitation of this moment.

Not to rush immediately from one season into the next, but to notice the threshold itself.

There is patience in a threshold.

It is the space between what has been and what is becoming.

And our own creative lives contain these seasons too.

There are times to gather.

Times to practise quietly.

Times to read and learn and listen.

Times when nothing visible seems to be happening, while underneath the surface something is taking shape.

And then there are moments when the learning asks to become an offering.

My experience at the retreat felt like one of those moments for me.

Something I had been studying for a long time was no longer only something to learn.

It was becoming something I could share.

That is another face of patience.

Patience isn't necessarily staying still.

Sometimes patience has been doing its work for years — and then gently says:

Now.

From inner story to story for impact

So perhaps this week's creative practice is a very simple one.

Before you open the laptop, place a hand somewhere you can feel your pulse. Take a few slower breaths. If it feels natural, hum or make a sound on the exhale.

Then listen.

Ask yourself: What am I learning right now? What story am I repeatedly telling myself about where I am? And is that story still helping me?

You don't have to force an answer.

That is the patience part.

But if another story begins to emerge, stay with it.

Because stories for impact don't always begin with a clever message.

Sometimes they begin in a quieter place.

A heartbeat.

A breath.

A voice.

A story that has been gathering inside us long enough to finally be spoken.

And perhaps the invitation this equinox is simply this:

Give yourself permission to be where you are.

To gather when it is time to gather.

To rest when it is time to rest.

To learn when it is time to learn.

And when your own inner rhythm tells you that the season has changed—

to share what you know.

🐬

What story has been quietly forming in you? And what might happen if you gave it a voice this week?

Come and share your waves of inspiration with our Digital Dolphins community.

You do not have to explore or implement this alone. Book a 15-minute call with Bettina to find out how we can help.

And, if you have not yet booked your space for the Online Business Growth Summit, there is still time, this online conference is happening from the 6th to the 8th of October, I will be speaking on the 7th of October 👉 register for free here.

Thank you for reading The Narrative North Star. 
Until next time, may these stories and signals support you in seeing more clearly, creating more consciously, and shaping the future with intention.
With warmth,


Bettina


Digital Dolphins - Storytelling for Impact