I've come to recognize what I call my 'inside interests.' Telling

“I've come to recognize what I call my 'inside interests.' Telling stories. And helping people tell their stories is a sort of interpersonal gardening. My work at NBC News was to report the news, but in hindsight, I often tried to look for some insight to share that might spark a moment of recognition in a viewer.” Thus spoke Jane Pauley, a journalist of grace and humanity, whose career blossomed not merely from the power of information, but from the tender art of connection. In these words, she unveils the heart of her vocation — that storytelling is not simply the relaying of facts, but the nurturing of souls, an act akin to gardening, in which one cultivates empathy, understanding, and truth within the hearts of others.

The origin of this reflection lies in Pauley’s long and luminous journey as one of America’s most trusted voices in journalism. For decades, she stood before the world not as a mere reporter of events, but as a witness to the human experience. Through the storms of politics and the quiet stories of ordinary lives, she began to recognize what she calls her “inside interests” — the deeper calling that moved beneath the surface of her work. To her, the telling of stories was not just profession, but purpose; not just the sharing of words, but the cultivation of wisdom. Like a gardener who tends a living garden, she sought to tend the stories of others, drawing from them the seeds of meaning that could take root in the minds of her viewers.

The phrase “interpersonal gardening” holds within it a world of beauty and depth. The gardener does not create life, but nurtures it; she cultivates the soil, provides care, and trusts the mystery of growth. In the same way, the storyteller — especially one who tells the stories of others — acts as a gardener of the human spirit. She listens, she nourishes, she brings forth the hidden beauty that might otherwise remain unseen. Jane Pauley’s insight transforms the act of journalism from a mechanical task into a sacred practice: a communion of hearts. Through her stories, she sought not only to inform, but to awaken — to stir the sleeping compassion within her audience and remind them that all lives, no matter how humble, carry a spark of the universal.

This way of thinking recalls the wisdom of the ancients. Herodotus, the father of history, did not record wars and kings for their own sake, but to preserve memory — to remind future generations of the deeds of men, both noble and tragic. Likewise, the philosopher Plato spoke of stories as seeds that could shape the soul, for what we hear and tell shapes who we become. Pauley’s “interpersonal gardening” is of the same lineage: it is the belief that storytelling can be an instrument of moral cultivation, that by tending to the narratives of others with empathy and care, one helps the whole human garden to flourish. Her work was not simply to tell the truth, but to nurture the recognition of truth within those who listened.

Consider, too, the example of Fred Rogers, the quiet philosopher of childhood. Like Pauley, he worked through television — a medium often accused of noise and superficiality — yet he turned it into a space of gentleness, reflection, and growth. Rogers did not shout or sensationalize; he cultivated. He planted seeds of kindness, patience, and curiosity in young hearts, trusting that they would one day bloom. His work, like Pauley’s, was an act of interpersonal gardening — a patient tending to the inner lives of others, one gentle story at a time. Both understood that the truest form of communication is not the transmission of information, but the awakening of recognition — that quiet moment when a person sees themselves reflected in another’s story.

In Pauley’s own words, her goal was to “spark a moment of recognition in a viewer.” This is the essence of all great storytelling. When we hear a story that touches us, it is not because it is foreign, but because it reminds us of something within ourselves. The news, as she practiced it, became not a distant mirror of the world, but a shared reflection of humanity. In every story — of triumph, of loss, of perseverance — she sought to reveal that common thread that unites all souls. This is why her metaphor of gardening is so apt: for the garden, too, is a place where diversity thrives in unity, where each living thing contributes to the beauty of the whole.

Therefore, my child, take this teaching to heart: be a gardener in your own relationships. Tend to the stories of others with care. When someone speaks, listen as one who waters a fragile sprout; when you speak, let your words be seeds of understanding, not weapons of pride. The world is filled with noise, but it hungers for recognition — for the gentle light of empathy that helps each person feel seen and valued. Whether in your work, your friendships, or your family, practice interpersonal gardening. Sow kindness. Cultivate patience. Uproot cynicism. And remember that every person you meet carries within them a garden waiting to be nourished by your attention.

For, as Jane Pauley discovered, the truest fulfillment comes not from telling your own story alone, but from helping others to find theirs. When you do this — when you help another soul bloom — you become part of something greater than yourself: a living, growing, ever-renewing garden of human connection, tended by the hands of compassion and watered by the rain of shared understanding.