Video editing may be tedious, but it’s the kind of tedious that I love.

I love immersing myself in the stories that people have shared with me. I love hearing a story over and over again as I juxtapose it with other stories, to feel how they want to fit together.

I love connecting with my body and spirit as I edit to discern what to leave in and what to take out. I love the combination of storytelling strategy and soul connection that come together to find the arc of a video.

I love when things ‘click’ and it feels like that story structure I’ve spent 18 hours getting to was on its way the whole time.

There are countless choices that are made when putting a story together. Each editing choice creates different possibilities for how the video will resonate. You’re whittling down hours and hours of footage into a 3-5 minute story that weaves together a chorus of experiences into something coherent, true and potentially transcendent.

I’m thorough. I organize every possible clip of a story element into a folder (sequence in Adobe Premiere) and I build the story structure by considering each quote. For example, if I were editing a video about an organization that builds community care, there might be a sequence called ‘moments of connection’ where all the quotes/stories that people shared about meaningful moments of connection they’ve experienced live. Then, when I get to building that part of the video, I’ll visit that sequence and choose a story amongst the many that have been shared.

Editing is brutal in that way. Oftentimes the sacred depth of our interviews doesn’t have the time or space in the video to fully be shared. So much of the interview magic never sees the light of day.

When I’ve edited a video down from 7 hours of raw footage to 9 minutes of interwoven story, I’ll know I still need to get it down to 3 minutes. In that moment, it feels almost violent to cut the video down further. But by the time it’s at 4:20, I can see that the cuts I’ve made have only made it stronger. We may have lost a bunch of great quotes, but we’ve gotten closer to the essence.

I love the moment when a client pushes me in a new direction and instead of resisting it, I discover new delightful possibilities for how the story can evolve to better meet their needs. The same batch of footage can be utilized to create radically different videos. I take a win-win mindset to revisions. Things are changing, but it’s ok. How can I create something that is moving, effective and meets their needs? Editing is about listening to the heart of the story, even as the way a story is told changes.

I love that the videos I make have my imprint. When I’m working with a wider team, I love that the story is shaped by all of us. The way that someone felt safe sharing their story during an interview will translate into the video. The way that we’re drawn to certain light or composition will determine every shot of b-roll in the video. The theory I’ve developed about how to tell a story is shaping every choice I make.

It’s soulful work that’s a reflection of presence. Presence with people. Presence with the world around us. Presence with the message and magic that are longing to be shared through a visual story.

Editing alone in a room for hours on end can be isolating. But when I’m in the editing zone, I’m in a place of connection with people’s stories. That’s precious to me.

When I’ve led video editing workshops in the past, there’s always a moment where the participants realize how time consuming editing is. It always becomes a question of, does the process delight you enough for you to withstand the time intensive nature of it? For me, that answer is a resounding yes. 

I love what I do.

How I Shared My Story On Stage (even while scared)

I remember the nauseous feeling I had as I paced backstage before giving my TEDx talk Your Story Can Change the World in 2012.

My script hadn’t been finalized until that morning and I didn’t have it fully memorized. Backstage, I repeated the order of words over and over, creating mental maps of how each idea led to the next. My anxiety was only heightened after sitting in the audience and hearing men with PhDs give highly researched talks. I felt worried my talk would feel too different, unprofessional and emotional. Basically, patriarchy was alive in my psyche.

I took as many deep breaths as I could and told myself that communicating my message mattered more than delivering some perfect script. 

When I got on stage, I remember the brightness of the lights and the sea of people in front of me.

My abusive boyfriend who had told me that it was selfish of me to do this, stared blankly back at me. 

I began. 

There were moments of shakiness, and I randomly added a mispronounced reference to one of the male speakers’ talks, but once I got into my flow, I gave myself fully to the unfurling narrative journey. 

I spoke of my family. Of Palestine. How dominant narratives sustain oppressive systems. I spoke about breaking lineages of harm and shame that we’ve inherited. Of how our stories have power. Of how we can create new narratives and new systems, together. 

At the heart of the story, I opened my arms wide and shared about a woman who I had met, Manal Tamimi, a Palestinian freedom fighter and mother, whose vision for her people’s liberation compels her to open fully to as much joy as possible, even while surviving continuous violent attacks from Israel. 

When I stepped off the stage, I felt such incredible relief, yes. But I also felt like I had crossed such an important threshold. I had given my whole soul to sharing that story. I had laid it out on the line. My visions. My experiences. My deep longings for the world. And what would become of that from the audience, I didn’t know. But I knew I was so proud of myself. For facing the nausea and showing up anyway. For not letting the patriarchal voices in my head stop me from using my voice. For offering the wisdom I’ve harvested and sharing it as an offering. 

When I look back at this experience, it’s wild to see how the story I would tell today is different than what I shared on that day. 

There were whole dimensions of my story that I could have shared, but I hadn’t reckoned with them yet. There were seeds that hadn’t yet sprouted, ingredients brewing in my cauldron, not yet ready to be tasted. My story continues to evolve. The seasons of my life bring different sprouts and blooms. 

But I still believe what I said that day, that sharing our stories breaks shame, builds power, and creates new possibilities for our collective liberation. 

I’m sharing this because I hope you know that your stories matter. You don’t need to have perfectly crafted and memorized scripts. You can start where you are, by connecting to your heart and letting your experiences reveal their messages. Sharing what you care about is an exercise in connection, not perfection. 

There is magic when you open your arms to your dreams for collective liberation and share that longing with other humans. 

Your stories will change, but sharing them is an act of creation for the world you want.

If you would like to share your personal stories, check out these resources. If you’d like to collaborate in filming & sharing your stories, here are some options.