Emily’s Story at the We Can Move Event: "Connection is Contagious"
Emilys Story of Telling a Story
Recorded whilst talking on stage at the AG We Can Move event to an audience of over 200 people on audio on my iPhone then put into Chat GTP. This is to demonstrate the ease to which we can listen deeply and ‘grab’ stories for evidence, and comms and to inform decision-making.
I asked GTP to turn this into a story, It's written with storytelling flow, conversational tone, and emotional resonance. I could have also asked for a report, to pick out what enabler physical activity, what are the barriers for physical activity, what works to get a community moving, and so on and so on. ( I normally spend time editing and refining too).
Emily stood centre stage at the We Can Move event, a quiet smile on her face as the hum of the room settled. She didn’t open with stats or frameworks. She opened with a simple, steady line:
“When we tell stories, it’s contagious. But how often—really—do we stop and listen to stories?”
There was a pause. The kind that makes people lean in.
“I’ve spent the last year working with the AG team to help capture stories. But something’s been nagging at me. We spend so much time telling stories to others—hoping they’ll shift, hoping they’ll change. But what about us? Do we ever listen closely enough to notice how change happens? What it took?”
She lifted her hand, as if switching hats.
“So here’s me—research hat on. If you just give me a story, I can do something with it. I can trace the influence, unpack the steps, learn from it. But here’s the thing—you don’t need to be a researcher to do that. You just need to be curious. Evaluative. Willing to notice.”
There was a stillness in the room. She let it sit.
“Because behaviour change? It’s not just about persuading others. It’s about creating the conditions—conditions where people feel supported to make different choices. And today, we’re not talking about ‘them’. We’re talking about us.”
Then she did something no one expected.
“Alright,” she said, “let’s get moving.”
She asked the audience to stand.
“Stand up if you’re part of a network. Stay standing if you’re part of many. Now stay standing if all those networks are formal—with agendas and minutes and governance…”
Most people laughed and sat down.
“Exactly,” she grinned. “Because most of our influence happens through informal networks. And that matters.”
Emily went on to tell a story from her own research. A simple two-question survey:
Who do you think is the go-to person for physical activity?
Do you think you are the go-to person?
“It created a messy, beautiful web of connections. Some dots dense and buzzing. Others sitting quietly on the edge. And what it showed people—was that they’re part of something bigger. Even if they didn’t realise it.”
She pointed to an image on the screen behind her—a colourful, spaghetti-like network map.
“We all play different roles. Some of us are right in the thick of it—exhausted, juggling, showing up everywhere. Some of us are bridgers—connecting people who’d never otherwise meet. And some are quietly observing, but still part of the web.”
Then came the moment of truth.
“The biggest danger to networks like ours?” she asked. “We’re drawn to people who are like us. That’s natural—but it’s risky. Because then the sporty talk to the sporty. Local government talks to local government. And we miss the connections that could change everything.”
She paused again, softer now.
“I used to say: we don’t need more sports jocks. The kids we’re trying to reach don’t relate to them. They need someone like them.”
And then, the big idea:
“Influence doesn’t just move one-to-one. It ripples through three degrees of connection. Which means: from this room—here in Kingsland—we can influence the world. Genuinely.”
She smiled, then pointed back at the same messy map.
“I ran the same survey a year later. The network had grown. People chose to connect more—just because we showed them how connected they already were.”
The room was quiet. Reflective.
And then Emily closed her laptop.
“Now it’s your turn. Grab a brew. Talk to someone you haven’t met—from health, faith, local government, wherever. Ask what they do. Swap emails. And do something with it.”
She stepped off the stage with a warm grin.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes. Go make a friend.”
And that’s how change began—one story, one connection, one brew at a time.
