The stories we tell shape the future
London is unlike anywhere else: a fast-paced, unrelenting metropolis perched on the edge of possibility. Living there for almost three years, I fell in love with so much of it. Its history, culture, diversity, art, creativity, green spaces, the undeniable energy and of course, the people.
Some of my favourite memories live in motion. Running through the city, weaving between strangers on the sidewalk at Oxford Circus, turning the corner into Hyde Park with lungs raw from the crisp air. Zipping down side streets on Lime bikes, dodging black cabs and the big red buses. Mornings going on expeditions with friends to find the best cardamon buns and coffee East London could offer; nights sipping cocktails at bars with symbols as names, or at the mercy of charismatic Italians making negronis downstairs like it’s a sacred rite. And wandering into bookshops with walls lined with volumes that have been read over, over and over again and somehow found their way to this small nook in the back of an old treasure trove.
Home was up 60 narrow timber stairs, tucked above Hoxton Square, a corner of London where more than a few now famous names through history have passed through. I carried furniture, plants, and suitcases up and down, up and down, making it into a home and using it as my refuge after adventures further abroad. And the day to day was accompanied by the low tone of my neighbour’s double bass frequently drifting up as she composed yet another piece to draw out something deeper than the mere humanity of the people it would be played for.
So many days were cold. Bone-deep cold. I wore the sleeping bag coat I swore I’d never don almost 6 months of the year. But when the sun came out, there was no place like it. From Mayfair to Shoreditch, crowds flooded onto street corners and parks overflowed with people drinking beer. The contrast between sunny days and those overcast were like night and day. On dreary days, the city would feel colourless and heavy. But when the sun came out, when the light hit the sidewalks and painted shopfronts and green expanses of the parks, London sings. And nothing compares.
A kind of grief lingers though. It’s not what it once was. Rising crime. Spiralling costs. An ache for what’s been lost and may never return.
But the character remains. And hopefully, it will prevail.
Because London is still a place where people dig deep. Still a city pulsing with the possibility of creation, courage, reinvention. Still a canvas for stories, old ones, yes, but also those not yet written.
A place shaped by what’s been, and alive with people bold enough to shape what’s next.
The stories we tell ourselves shape the futures we build
The optimism of Londoners—the quiet, unspoken effort to make the most of every moment—has stuck with me. Especially as I’ve reflected on my time in London and the culture that shaped it. It’s made me think a lot about not just the stories we live from but maybe more importantly the stories we tell ourselves that shape the story we live out.
Have you ever paused to ask: What story am I living out?
Or even: What story am I helping others believe is possible?
Stories don’t just reflect the world; they shape it. Often, we don’t realise this until we speak out loud something that doesn’t yet exist, but should. In naming it, we reveal what we believe is valuable, possible, and even permissible.
Whether we’re conscious of it or not, we’re always building something, in us and around us, through the stories we carry but also choose to live out. We are story-shaped creatures.
Every organisation, church, startup, classroom or family is living out of a story. Whether they’ve named it or not.
That’s something I only really understood after living in a place so layered with history and narrative that you can feel it in the cobblestones and shopfronts. London is steeped in story. And it shapes what’s possible, not just in the past, but for the future.
All of us have a story, and are living out of a story but I wonder if we know what story are we choosing to live out?
When we look around, it’s not hard to see the dominant narratives at play:
The story of hustle as identity
The story of self as saviour
The story of scarcity, that if someone else wins, I lose
The story of progress, divorced from purpose
But what if we were brave enough to tell a different story? To not let those stories dictate the future but instead stories:
Where beauty, goodness, and truth weren’t luxuries but signposts.
Where justice wasn’t trendy but essential.
Where innovation and integrity didn’t compete but coexisted.
It’s easy to critique what’s broken but it takes vision and courage to imagine what could be. And to start telling that story with your life.
Because stories seed desire, stir movement and spark imagination.
They say, “Here’s what could be.”
You tell a story every time you:
Design something that uplifts rather than exploits
Lead a team with generosity instead of fear
Build a business model that serves people, not just profits
Show up to your family, community, or calling with love instead of self-protection
The stories we embody shape the cultures we inhabit and the cultures we build shape the futures we leave behind.
London still plays on my mind for this reason.
There’s toil and struggle written into the folds of its history. And yet it pulses with life, like someone has taken a highlighter to the hope, the creativity, the colour, and underlined it on every page.
It’s made me think more deeply about the kinds of futures our stories are shaping and what we’re leaving in our wake.
I keep coming back to this passage from Philippians my pastor hand wrote on a card before I moved to the UK. It’s been etched into the way I want to live and lead and create:
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.” Philippians 4:4-9
This is the kind of story I want to live from.
Because the end of one chapter, the closing of a season, the quiet grief of leaving something behind, isn’t an end at all but the moment where a new story begins, one shaped by a new understanding of colour, courage, and conviction.
