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This autumn, fall for Moth Stories as we travel across the globe for our mainstages. We're excited to announce our fall lineup of storytelling shows from New York City to Iowa City, London, Nairobi, and so many more. The Moth will be performing in a city near you, featuring a curation of true stories. The Moth mainstage shows feature five tellers who share beautiful, unbelievable, hilarious, and often powerful true stories on a common theme. Each one told reveals something new about our shared connection.
To buy your tickets or find out more about our calendar, visit themoth.org slash mainstage. We hope to see you soon. From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host and producer of this show, Jay Allison. In this episode, stories of life lessons from little nuggets of wisdom to life-altering epiphanies.
First up is Sam Bolin. Sam told this story at a New York City Grand Slam where WNYC is a media partner of the Moth. Live from the Music Hall of Williamsburg, here's Sam. About two years into a certain global pandemic, I understudied five roles in a big off-Broadway revival of a musical. The show was amazing.
I saw it about 50 times. But what was hard for me was leaving the theater every night not having done the show. It was disappointing to me and it was making me feel sort of on the outside of it all. And there was of course always a chance that I could go on. It was the Omicron surge in New York. My best friend called it the season of the understudy. But for me,
Every time I got put on standby, I spent hours of that day tense, ready to go on, they turned out to be a false alarm. And so when I got a call on a morning at the end of the year telling me to be ready to go on, I didn't think much of it. I just dutifully ran my lines and waited. But then we got an email from the director, something that was new, and he said to the whole company,
I know there's a lot of confusion and distress about how we make the choice of when to put an understudy on. These are uncharted territories for all of us. We have to make the decision based on what we know right now. Sam, you're on. Have a great show. And the clarity of this email was like drugs.
I shot off a bunch of texts to my friends telling them that I was on that night and I raced to the theater for my very first put in rehearsal with the cast. And finally, when I walked in the doors of that theater that night, I was the main character.
And everything was about making sure that I had a good show that night and this cast that I had watched from my little understudy corner in the dark for months become a true ensemble suddenly was surrounding me and I was a part of it and it felt so easy. It felt so good. And when it was over, the cast applauded and the stage management dismissed them and said, "Sam, come talk to us." And I was so full of myself.
full of adrenaline like it was an opening night. And I just couldn't wait. And I went to talk to stage management and I found them talking in whispers. And then one of the stage manager called me over and said in a voice like she was telling me someone had died, I'd like you to sit down. And she says, that was a fantastic rehearsal. You know that. And she said she was grateful that she could count on me.
But then she said that the other actors' test results had come back negative, the union had cleared him to go on, and he has chosen to perform. There's nothing we can do. I'm so sorry. And I hold it together just long enough to say something really dumb like, "Rules is rules." And I gather my things, and I burst through the stage door out onto the street, and I burst into tears, and I just walk.
And as the adrenaline is sort of draining out of my body, I think, I am not mad at this show for jerking me around. This is the job. And I'm not mad at this actor because he spent the day in a clinic waiting for COVID results. I am just tired and I don't know if I belong here. I text my friends to tell them that it was another false alarm. And I think, at least I got that rehearsal. At least I got to be up there with them. They know I can do it and I know I can do it.
And then I get a really sweet text from one of my best friends in the show. He says, "It's my birthday tomorrow. We're having a party in the dressing room. Please come and hang out with us after the show." And I'm not about to miss a party. So I go, and it's warm, and everyone is full of sympathy for my day. This other actor apologizes to me, and we hug it out, and you know, it's really nice, but I just still feel sort of like garbage. And then we notice people are starting to disappear, but their stuff is still here, and we realize they're slowly sneaking into the theater.
Something that we had all never done before. And so we follow them. And when we walk in, it's dark and lit only by the ghost light. The ceilings are tall, but now they look like a cathedral ceiling. And it's quiet. A quiet that audiences never get to hear. It's magic. And then the birthday boy says to one of the seasoned members of the cast, "What I want for my birthday, more than anything else, is for you to sing us a song right now. But here's the thing.
I want you to give it 100%. I want you to give it a full go. And he says, no, no, no. But okay, okay, finally, for your birthday, all right, I'll do it. And so we all get up on the stage and sit together and holding each other, and we look up at him in his sweatpants and stocking feet on this stage, and he closes his eyes, and he sings, For the first time in my life, I am not outside the moment.
And the walls of this theater know exactly what to do with this voice. And the sound lifts up and takes us with it. And suddenly we're all just theater kids again as this song fills the room. And for the second time that night, I'm crying. But this time it's because I know I am a part of this. And I have been the whole time and I just couldn't see it. And when it's over, we erupt in applause. And then we do my favorite thing in the world, which is we linger.
It's impossible to leave this theater. I stay and I stay and I stay in this theater that hours ago I had fled. I thought it was rejecting me, and here it was just holding me tight. And listen, the whole rest of the run, I never went on. But that night, as I left the stage door for the final time, I thought about the day and everything that had happened, and I said out loud to the early morning air on the last day of the year,
that this, without a doubt, will always be one of the greatest days of my entire career. Thank you. That was Sam Boland. Sam is an actor, singer, and writer living in Brooklyn with a cat named James Taylor.
He co-created the musical Midnight at the Never Get and the Red Ribbon Review, a showcase of HIV-positive artists, and it celebrates the work of those lost to AIDS. Sam Moonlights as the Instagram manager for his family's candy store in his hometown of Duluth, Minnesota.
Our next story comes from another Grand Slam, this one from the other coast. Meg Farrell told this in San Francisco, where we partnered with public radio stations KALW and KQED. A note that Meg's bio that night read, Meg Farrell is curious if anyone reads these bios. Feel free to scream, I love you, Meg Farrell, when she walks on stage to prove you have read this bio. So here's Meg and her audience of admirers.
You read the bio, you follow instructions. Could you get any sexier? When my wife was pregnant, we jumped knee-deep into planning the birth. We did this because I'm a project manager and I'm a freaking great project manager. I'm a great project manager because I'm pre-programmed to anticipate danger. Some people just call it anxiety, but I call it my superpower. So we jumped right into the planning and Jen wanted this birth plan, which is this
The document you create with your preferences for the labor. I mean, she didn't want any drugs. She wanted to hold the baby with all its womb juices intact. She was even debating eating the placenta. She was going all cavewoman in on this. And because of a bad labor class experience, she planned on having a doula. Now doulas to me were mythical creatures, much like fairies.
I thought they could be found wherever patchouli or hemp was sold. But my wife convinced me that in order for this baby not to be born into a freshly broken home, we needed a doula. And last, we took a tour of the hospital of where my wife would give birth to complete the planning. And the tour was rather uneventful. There was a tour of the facilities, a Q&A, and most importantly, they validated the parking.
And now my wife hadn't felt good during the tour. In fact, she hadn't felt good since the night before, but she was also 38 weeks pregnant. It's really hard to feel good at that point. And so now, though, we had found ourselves five hours after the tour had ended, and my wife was bent over sobbing in pain.
And to be clear, this was not labor. And it felt like only seconds, but we moved so fast. And we got to the hospital, and they put us in the smallest birthing room.
And our nurse hooked Jen up to a blood pressure machine, and it started beeping immediately. And it was beeping so loud that it actually brought in three other nurses. And our nurse looked at the machine and she said, "This is impossibly high, it must be broken," and hooked her up to another machine. But the machines weren't broken. In fact, they thought Jen was broken.
And so now all the nurses quickly gathered around Jen and they were acting like one entity from one brain. They were like this octopus of sorts engulfing her. One tentacle put an IV, one tentacle took her temperature, another one put on monitors. And they were moving so quickly and the octopus was not saying anything.
And it didn't have to, because it was very clear that something was really wrong with her. And I just sunk back into the corner and just stood there, because there was nothing I could do. I couldn't stop this. No matter how many times I closed and opened my eyes, the octopus was still there. And I was looking at my wife, who is carrying our son,
And because of my superpower, all I can think is that I might lose them. And I am terrified at the thought of not having another day with my wife, or even not having just one day with my son. Because some tiny part of me thought that because they existed, I would be given full lifetimes with each of them. But in this moment, it is just really clear
that you're not promised a lifetime, you're not even promised a day, and that each day we are living, we are just stealing from death. Because death is the only thing that has been promised in this equation. And I can feel the room getting smaller because people are coming in and out, and I know that I am just in the way. And so I leave my heart in the room, and I move my body through the doorway.
And as I do, I can see our doctor approaching. And I know he's talked to our nurses, but this is the first time I'm seeing him. And I just run to him and I say, "Will our baby be okay?" And he says, "Yes." And I feel my lungs expand with relief. But then he says, "Your wife, though, will die if we don't take the baby out."
And he ushers me back into the room so that he can talk to both of us, but I am just in this fog of these words that he said. And I can hear him telling Jen that she has severe preeclampsia and that she needs an emergency C-section and she needs it immediately. And I can hear her pleading with him to let her just push.
and asking him to wait for the doula. And I know that she's doing this because she has no idea what he has just said to me. And I can see that Jenna's heartbroken, that this is not the birth she wanted, that a C-section was not in the plan, that none of this was in the plan. And I am just so angry with the plan for this illusion of control that it has provided.
And our doctor can tell that we are just both cracking. Jen at this birth that she's being robbed of, and me at my inability to make things right. And he just says, "Look, this is the beginning of your life as parents. There will be ups, there will be downs, and you just have to remain flexible." A little over two hours after we arrived in the hospital, we heard our son Gus cry for the first time.
And we were tucked behind a curtain, so we heard him before we saw him. His cry was his first sign of him in this world. And I love his cry even today because it will always remind me of what it did then, that he's alive. And every time I look at my wife and my son, I'm reminded that we might not have a tomorrow together, but we do have a today.
And maybe my superpower shouldn't be planning. Maybe my superpower should just be loving them so hard today that there's no room to plan for tomorrow. Meg Farrell is a Portland, Oregon-based storyteller, comedian, and writer. We asked Meg if she's still a super planner in some arenas or if this experience significantly changed her in all aspects of her life. She told us, I think planning is part of who I am.
Children have forced me to let go of the idea that a plan's ultimate goal is to be realized perfectly. I now use a plan as a directional tool, like a compass. It gets me motivated and headed in the right direction, but leaves room for the beauty and unavoidable existence of surprise. In a moment, two stories from a period of life that is filled with teachable moments. Teenagehood, when the Moth Radio Hour continues. ♪
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm your host, Jay Allison. In this episode, the ways we gain wisdom. Our next story was told by Grace Topinka at one of our open mic story slams in Chicago, where we partner with public radio station WBEZ. Here's Grace, live from Lincoln Hall.
When I was 16, I decided that I wanted to learn how to drive stick shift because I thought it would make me cooler. Also, stick shift cars tend to be cheaper. And I had this fear that if I was ever kidnapped and the only getaway vehicle was like a six speed Jeep Liberty, I should know how to drive it. Yeah.
And I was thinking about this because my parents had told me that they were going to get me a car because my dad and I had both started new jobs. And our schedules are just like so crazy that they decided it kind of needed to happen. And this is a very important time in my life because I was 16 years old and I wanted to prove that I was independent and capable. And having a car was like a huge part of that. And I was a pretty confident driver. I felt like I was a good driver and a quick learner. So I was like, oh, stick shift, that should be easy.
And not to mention my dad and the used car salesman were like, "Oh, driving stick is easy. The hardest part is just getting the car in first gear. After that, everything's basically the same." I was like, "Cool, that sounds cool." And then I learned that getting the car in first gear means making the car move at all. So I feel like they really downplayed the importance of being able to do that.
So my dad took me to this quiet street in my neighborhood and the first thing he taught me was how to go in reverse. And it's not that hard to reverse in a stick shift. It's basically the same as in a regular car. So I like got that really quick. I was like, wow, I'm amazing at this. And he was like, great, now we have to go forward. And he basically taught me it's all about the balance. You have to release the clutch and push down on the gas pedal, but with perfect timing and balance. And he seemed to think that I could just feel it because he could just feel it.
And he had learned how to drive stick like 45 years ago. So 45 minutes passed and I had not felt anything. I could not get this car to move if my life depended on it. And the worst part was that because I kept having to restart the car, my dad was like, we should turn off the AC because it's not good for the AC to be turning on and off, which is like the most dad thing ever. But this was in...
This was in Miami in like 87 degree weather. So we were sweating bullets. I was crying. I was so frustrating. I was like, is there a return policy on a car? Like, I can't drive this. And my dad was trying to make me feel better. And he was like, Grace, millions of people drive stick shift every day. And I was like, great. I'm so happy for them. He was like, if you drive this car half a block, I'll drive you home.
So I put the car in reverse and reversed half a block and he drove me home. That is basically how all of our driving lessons went. And then we got to a point where I had a car that I could only drive backwards, but I had places to go and so did my dad, so he very graciously switched cars with me. And this was fine, but I felt kind of bad because my car was considerably crappier than my dad's car. But then I felt really bad when I was driving my dad's car and I got into a car accident.
This was my first and only car accident, and it was a minor fender bender. No one was hurt, but I still had to call my dad and be like, hey, you know that car that you're letting me borrow? Do you like it with or without scratches on the front bumper?
No, but really I felt so guilty because my parents had like sacrificed a lot to get me this car and my dad had sacrificed a lot of time and a lot of sweat to like try to teach me how to drive it. And I just couldn't. And I felt all that confidence and like independence I had felt just melted away. And I felt so young and stupid and in over my head.
But I decided that if I was going to be rear-ending people, I was going to learn how to do it in my own car. So my dad and I went out anytime we could, and because of our schedules, it was usually at like 6 a.m. before school or like 9 o'clock at night. And we would very painfully inch around my neighborhood. And I was slowly improving, and my dad was very patient with me.
And then he realized something that changed everything. He was like, you're being too hesitant on the gas pedal. That's why the car keeps stalling. Just give it way more gas than you think you need and the tires will squeal and it will not be smooth at all, but the car will be moving and you'll be in first gear and then the rest is easy.
And that worked. I mean, I was squealing like crazy. Like if I was going from a dead stop at a red light, it sounded like I was in NASCAR even though I was going like two miles an hour. And like kids in my high school like knew me in the parking lot because I'd be like squealing out of a parking space. After like a week and a half, I officially became one of the millions of people who drive stick shift every day.
And I know in that context it doesn't sound that impressive, but I was really, really proud of myself. And that whole kidnapping situation thankfully hasn't happened. But there have been at least like two times where it's come in handy that I knew how to drive stick shift, so I guess it's been worth it. But now I know anytime when I face a challenge or I have to do something that I'm really terrible at, I remember that it can be easy to go backwards or to reverse.
and keep doing the things that you're used to doing. But sometimes in life, if you want to move forward, you just got to slam on that gas pedal. Thank you.
See, I told you there would be life lessons. Grace Topinka is from Miami but has been living in Chicago for 10 years. She is the co-host of Two Girls, One Crossword, a weekly trivia podcast for people who are bad at trivia. You can find her crocheting at home or on escape room leaderboards across the city.
Grace tells us that while her current car is automatic, she can confirm that driving a stick is like riding a bike and you never forget it. Next up is Michael Mania, who told our next story at a Moth main stage in Nairobi, Kenya.
The show was produced in 2021 during the pandemic and was live streamed all over the world. Social distancing restrictions kept the in-person audience at the Kenya National Theatre to a minimum, but the tiny crowd was a mighty one. Here's Michael. I was 13 years old in my first month of high school. I was both excited and nervous. There were two main differences between primary school and high school.
The first was, this was a boarding Christian school. They had very many strict rules we had to adhere to. The second difference was that it was an all-boys school. There were no girls at all. This difference was a bit weird as during primary school, boys and girls never really interacted a lot. Even during break time or recess, they really played separately and nobody paid much attention to the other gender.
However, as soon as girls were taken away, all that we could talk about as boys was girls. It was as if absence had made our hearts grow fonder of them. At this time, we had the opportunity to host an inter-high school co-educational sporting event. There were girls coming to our school. Every person was excited. Just to give you a picture.
Boys in our school didn't adhere to the highest standards of hygiene. They'd stay days without taking a shower. They'd wear the same uniform. However, on this morning, there was even a line to the showers. People were wearing new uniforms, ironed, everyone was pick and span. So finally the event started and I went to the basketball court. I took my seat in the stands and as soon as I sat down, there's a girl who caught my eye.
She was in a black jersey with a ponytail, black necklace and black earrings. She was gorgeous. As soon as I saw her play, the elegance with which she dribbled the ball and made the important points made me more enamored with her. I decided I have to talk to her. Unfortunately, her team was eliminated during the semi-finals and my friend told me, "This is your chance. She's by herself. If you don't go, another guy will."
I was scared but I mustered up my courage. I walked up to her and while walking we made eye contact and she smiled at me. This emboldened me and I introduced myself. I found out her name was Sharon and we had so much in common. First, we stayed in the same neighborhood. We had the same taste in books, same taste in movies and we shared the same sense of humor. We spoke for hours and hours and we didn't even notice the time flying by.
and it was time for her to leave. I tried to get her contacts, but she didn't have a paper where she could write her phone number. I thought, "Oh, I'll never get to see her again." But she took my form and wrote her number there. I was so excited, and that evening during prep time, all I could think about was Sharon. What's Sharon doing? Is she thinking about me? Sharon is so pretty. We were supposed to meet up during the holidays,
and have a date. I was thinking about what we were going to do and I realized I have absolutely no idea. Something about our culture is that people don't teach you about dating or relationships between boys and girls. Not your teachers, not your parents. You figure it out for yourself. So I decided, why not ask my classmates? So I told them about Sharon. They were super excited and cheering me on. And so I asked them, so what should I do during the first date? My friends were like,
You live in the same neighborhood? Yeah. So invite her over when nobody's at home. When she comes, make the moves on her and have sex with her. I was like, what? Mind you, we were all 13-year-olds. Virgins who knew nothing about sex. And they were telling me to go all the way with her. I thought the advice was a bit fishy. But after this conversation, I started having sexual thoughts about Sharon. And I didn't really know what to do about it. I decided I need help.
more advice, now an adult's point of view. We had a school counselor who also served as the school chaplain. I walked to his office and knocked just after lunch and he opened the door. He was this huge imposing guy with a very stern face. He wasn't the most approachable person but I had a problem and I needed advice. So I sat down and told him about Sharon, how wonderful she was, how I couldn't stop thinking about her.
and I also told him about the sexual thoughts I've been having. As soon as he heard the word sexual, his face contorted and he gave me such a stern glare. I tried to look up to avoid eye contact, but I just saw Jesus on the cross staring disapprovingly at me. I looked down and the pastor opened the Bible and he told me, "Sex before marriage is a sin. Even thinking about sex is a sin. That these thoughts are coming from the devil
And at my age, I know nothing about love and should ignore Sharon and focus on my studies. After hearing that, I felt shameful. I felt dirty. I felt that I was a sinner. I went back to class and I vowed that I'd never think about Sharon again. However, that's not how the human mind works. The more you try not to think about something, the more it permeates into your mind. I was thinking about Sharon more than ever.
For the next two months, I wasn't paying attention in class, I was beating myself up, I was feeling guilty, and I even failed my exams. I just didn't know what to do. Then, when our holidays grew closer, we had a physics class. And something about our physics teacher, he was the coolest teacher ever. His name was Mr. Manza, or Manza Sensei, as he encouraged us to call him.
During the class, people were sleeping because it was after lunch and it was a hot afternoon, and so he decided to have a commercial break. He had this thing where we take a break from academics and talk about other things in life, things no other teachers would speak about. Stuff like how to deal with your emotions, how to resolve family problems, and how to go through school even if you don't like it. And so he said...
For our commercial break today, we talk about girls and sex. Every single boy in the class was awake at this time, and he said, "You know when a man sees an attractive lady, you can get attracted to her and want to have sex with her." The whole class burst out into laughter, and he added, "I also get those feelings." And we laughed even more. But at this point, I felt that he was actually addressing an issue I had. It's like he was reading my mind. So I opened my books and started taking notes.
And he said, "There are some ways that you can deal with these feelings." He spoke about masturbation, which he comically termed "taking matters into your own hands." He also talked about exercising, taking a run, playing sports or lifting weights. And finally, he spoke about something I hadn't heard before: emotional intimacy as opposed to only physical intimacy.
He spoke about the need to know someone for who they are, grow with them, and love them. He also told us the importance of respecting women and building a relationship with trust. And finally, he concluded, if all else fails, exercise, exercise, exercise. So our holidays were approaching, and the first thing I did when I got home was to call Sharon. I hadn't talked to her for two months. We didn't have phones in school, and I forgot to take her postal address. She might have forgotten about me.
But as soon as she heard it was me, she was super excited and it just warmed my heart. We spoke for hours on end and we agreed to meet up tomorrow at a coffee shop. So I arrived 10 minutes early because I didn't want to be late and I found her already seated there waiting for me.
So she was wearing a blue dress, blue earrings, and her hair looked fantastic. She was super gorgeous. I just stood there unable to move as if petrified. But she walked towards me, she gave me a hug, and she smelled so lovely. I was like, "I'm the luckiest guy in the world." We sat down, had a conversation, and enjoyed ourselves. And then she looked at me carefully and was like,
you're a bit different from the last time I saw you. You actually look more fit. And I told her, thank you. I've been exercising a lot. Thank you very much.
Michael Munea is a graduate of the Moth Global Community Program. He's also a medical doctor and patient health advocate with a focus on accessible, patient-centered care in low-resource settings. With a background in sexual and reproductive rights and justice and a commitment to lifelong learning, Michael says he tries to leverage his skills to make a tangible impact on global health and inspire change through compelling narratives. ♪
Mr. Monza's advice had enduring impact on Michael's relationship with women. He told us that, "By emphasizing the importance of genuine interest and empathy, I've been able to cultivate meaningful and deep connections, both in platonic and romantic contexts." To see young Michael in his class photo, visit themoth.org.
In a moment, a woman attempts to lead by example and ends up with valuable knowledge for herself in the process. When the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX.
You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jay Allison. We've reached our final story in this show and therefore our final life lesson. You ready? Ayn Vu Sawyer told this story at a main stage we produced in partnership with the Hanover Theater in Worcester, Massachusetts. Here's Ayn. Thank you. I am the executive director at the Southeast Asian Coalition of Central Massachusetts here in Worcester.
My organization serves more than 10,000 client visits annually from immigrants and refugees from Asia and from all over the world. We also serve 150 youth who are at risk and low income. One day in April 2018, I invited Pam Proctor, one of my best friends, my mentor, and also a well-known journalist.
college application consultant. I invited her to come to my organization to give her pro bono advice to the youth how to write a good essay for their college applications. There were about 24 kids showed up and some of them brought their little siblings. Pam told the youth, "You guys are perfect candidates for good colleges.
Even Ivy League schools, you are straight A in your AP classes, you are first generation that will go to college, you are multicultural, multilingual. What do you think? The youth said, we're not good enough, we're too poor, our parents need us around. Ivy League schools, nah. They rolled their eyes, struck their shoulder. Watching the youth turning down opportunity like this,
It ached me, but it pained me even more because I saw myself in these kids. Growing up in Vietnam during the war and then became a Vietnamese refugee in this country, I know firsthand what being poor was like. In all of my life, I've seen poverty all around me. I've seen the children of American soldiers and sex workers begging for food on the street of Saigon.
Some of them even had to sell their body for food. In 1999, I did a public health project in a province outside of Hanoi. A mom came to me with a tiny little infant and a two-year-old son. She thrust the infant into my arms, crying, "Miss, Miss, I beg you, please take the baby. I cannot feed him. If I feed him, her brother will starve."
Before I could do anything, the police and security guard just appeared from nowhere, swamped us, yanked away the screaming mother and the children. I was warned that if I take the baby, I would be arrested because what the mother did was illegal. So poverty robbed us the dignity of our humanity. It made us afraid to make big dreams. I thought of the youth. I understand them.
So seeing all of these things that broke my heart for a long time, I always wanted to figure out how to eradicate suffering. It's such a big thing to dream about, but I couldn't help. I love to follow stories and the lives of Nobel Prize recipients who came up with ideas about how to eradicate poverty on a global scale. I also found out that many of them came from MIT, and I always wonder,
how MIT's methodologies and advanced framework would help them to have a big picture and being able to solve these very complex issues. And going to MIT became my dream for the longest time. So with this fervent desire burning hot within me for four decades, I did not pursue for MIT. I did not feel worthy.
So that day, in front of Pam and all of the kids, I declare, if I am at 64 years old, apply to MIT with no money, 0% chance I will get accepted. Shame on you for not trying.
"Oh, Auntie, do it, do it. If you do it, we will also do it. We will apply to some fancy schools too." They laughed, they clapped their hands, and then they headed to where the food was. I didn't know that I had only a few weeks before the deadline of MIT MBA program application. And I was also told that there were four essay questions that had the most weight.
That's easy. I love to write. That's what I thought. But little did I know that those were the most difficult essays I had to write. Up to this point, having spent decades taking care of my family and others, and I also grew up and lived in an environment of quite very conservative. So as a woman, I was taught not to be so ambitious.
I had never asked myself what I selfishly would want for myself. But writing the essay for MIT made me confront myself honestly for the first time and publicly. So finally, I was able to submit my application a few hours before the deadline. I tried very hard not to think about
what MIT gonna respond, but I fervently pray, oh dear God, may I please be accepted. A month later, I got a phone call. Aang, congratulations, you are accepted into the MIT Sloan School of Management class of 2020.
I called the youth right away and told them the news. I expected them to be jumping up and down, being happy for me, but all I got was, "Oh, cool." I almost wanted to call them back and say, "Hey, kids, come back, come back. I did this for you."
But it was such a thrill for me to know that I will be going to MIT and learning all of the amazing things that the Nobel Prize recipients learned about what they could do to help the world. How am I going to pay for that? How am I going to do that with my full-time job that I only spend 10 to 12 hours every day? Didn't register yet.
Until a week later, MIT emails start rolling in with tuition, registration fee, etc., etc. But I couldn't back out of this challenge. The challenge stopped at me applying at MIT. But if I did not go there, I would admit that we could not dream big dreams. So I called my own three children up and I say, kiddos,
Your mom is doing a very crazy thing. At 64 years old, I'm going to MIT and there won't be any money left for you. We are so happy for you. We're so proud of you. You have to do it. Thank you, kids. I registered for my classes and started school in October 2018.
I pray fervently every day, "Oh dear God, please help me with money for tuition." I almost sold my house twice. I remember sitting on a long bench in front of MIT Financial Aid office pondering the conversation that we just had a few minutes before that. "You have exhausted all of your scholarship." But thank God, with the scholarships, I was able to refinance my house at a very low interest rate.
I cashed out my meager retirement fund. Pam sent me a monthly check. My MIT classmate surprised me with her check. And a dear friend, Danielle, who was almost as poor as a church mouse, sent me $50. Thank God I didn't have to sell my house. And the youth...
they were believing that my dream was coming true. I really enjoy my classmates and my professors. They're coming from all over the world. I learned so much from them. But I didn't have money to pay for the wonderful meals and excursions that they went. I normally would come early, leave early, and I would order very little.
But still, I thrive at MIT. I absolutely love my professors and my classmates. My classmate was so flabbergasted that I never heard of fintech, Bitcoin, or crypto whatsoever.
So with work, work, schoolwork, class times, and living through a very difficult pandemic time with COVID-19, I had about four hours of sleep average a day, no vacation, no day off. On May 2020, I graduated from MIT Sloan School of Management, the most difficult school in the world.
That was the best decision I made in my 60s, and it was one of the best decisions I made in my whole life. The youth who challenged me, all of them applied for college and all went to college. Six of them were accepted at Ivy League schools. The challenge, the double day of the challenge inspired the kids to embrace higher education, but I didn't realize that
It was the very best, the incredible gift I had given myself. The experience of being at MIT has shown me who I really am, that I still can dream. It opened many opportunities. It opened many doors. I have a startup with my husband and two of my MIT classmates.
that we hope will bring economic development to immigrants and refugees overseas and in the U.S. I'm also working on a second startup that targets food insecurity. So at this stage of my life, at the age of 67, I still can dream. As I grow older, my dreams become more complete every day. Thank you. That was Ayn Vu Sawyer.
Ayn tells us that the students who dared her to apply for MIT back in 2018 have all gone on to college. Some have even started their own nonprofit organizations and have made amazing social impacts. Ayn and her family left Saigon, Vietnam, when they were evacuated from the American Embassy rooftop in 1975.
For three decades, Ayn has worked with immigrants and refugees and declared herself a "Daughter of the World." Ayn received her MBA from MIT and is a Harvard Advanced Leadership Initiative Fellow.
Ayn's nonprofit, Cooperatives Without Borders, provides microloans and stipends for women refugees to start their own cooperatives using weaving and embroidery skills in the U.S. and overseas. They produce components of Ayn's other venture, which uses sustainable clothing for ecologically-minded consumers.
Ayn would like to acknowledge that Jenny Zamberlin, who was a year ahead of her at MIT, raised some funding to help Ayn pay for her tuition. That's it for this episode. We hope you derived some life lessons and that you'll join us next time. And that's the story from the moth.
This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns, and Meg Bowles. Co-producers Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch. Stories were directed by Larry Rosen, with additional Grand Slam coaching by Chloe Salmon and Maggie Ceno.
The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Ginesse, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Leanne Gulley, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kaza. The Moth Global Community Program is generously supported by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation,
Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Evan Christopher, Julian Lodge, The Style Council, Michael Hedges, and William Tai.
We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us, your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.