I stood on the high diving board, looking down.
Nope, nope, nope.
I was 10 years old, at the pool at Twin Lakes Tennis & Swim Club. That’s where my family went on hot days from our weekend house in Stamford, Ct.
The usual suburban club: Moms with deeply freckled chests. Tennis whites. Cheeseburgers, defrosted crinkle-cut fries, ketchup in mini white paper cups. Bee stings in the grass. Fit, year-round kids in matching swim-team Speedos. A low board, and a high board.
I’d been eyeing the high board for a couple of years, thinking, “That looks fun but not yet. Today, I’ll satisfy my longing for adventure and accomplishment with a frozen Snickers.”
Then, one day, I decided to get off my Garfield towel and go for it.
I questioned that choice the whole time I waited in line to climb the ladder, and deeply regretted it when I got to the top.
Nope, nope, nope.
Was it the impact of hitting the water that scared me? How much higher-up it looked from the top than it had from the ground? The idea that I’d spend 2 seconds in the air, wishing I hadn’t done this? Getting water up my nose?
Yes. To all of it.
But I knew what I had to do.
I took a deep breath, bounced a couple of times, prepared for the run-n-hop I’d learned in diving class.
And then, I turned around and asked everyone on the ladder to get off so I could climb back down.
That’s always been my approach to fear:
Avoid! It’s bad for you! Eat a snack instead!
I once saw Will Smith talking about fear on The Tonight Show.
He said, if he’s afraid of anything, he has to go do it. Like, if there’s a high cliff over water that looks scary, he MUST jump off.
What is that?
Why can’t I be made of that stuff?
Instead, I’m made of my grandmother, who thought street curbs were a dangerous height to step down from and made me zip up my windbreaker in late May because otherwise I’d “catch my death.”
Still, once in a while, I try to channel Will Smith (minus the Scientology part).
That’s why I occasionally agree to public speaking gigs.
I did one on Sunday, and the lead-up went just like last time. It’s always the same.
Here are my 20 Stages Of Public Speaking.
- Me, speak at your event? I’d be honored! Sounds fun! Yes, let’s discuss.
- OK, put me down as a yes, maybe. Have to see how a few things shake out in the ol’ calendar. But probably.
- OK, yes. Yes, for sure. Put me down. I said I wanted to speak more. Right? Let’s do it.
- Dear event organizer, Is there wiggle room to pull out if I need to? That week might actually be kind of hairy.
- No, no, I’m in, definitely.
- I’m so glad I agreed to do this. I’ve got an important message to share. What that is, I don’t yet know. Ideas gotta marinate!
- Dear event organizer: How many people are you expecting, again?
- Even if just a handful of people are there, that’s good. It’s like a practice run. No presh.
- It’s in a month. What am I going to even talk about?
- It’s 3 weeks away. That’s plenty of time to figure out what I’m saying. I’ll block out the whole week beforehand and practice for 2 hours a day.
- One week away. I could probably figure it out on Thursday while I’m getting my eyelash extensions done.
- Dear event organizer: Could this just be a panel discussion instead of me giving a “speech”?
- NOBODY ASK ME FOR ANYTHING! No, I can’t pick up half and half. Don’t you know I’m speaking this week?
- I can always practice in the shower tomorrow. Plus, maybe it’s more natural if I wing it.
- I will never again say yes to speaking. Too much stress. Not worth it. Stress causes inflammation, which is what makes old peoples’ noses grow so big. I like my nose as is!
- Today’s the day. FUCK ME. But later this day, it will be done and I’ll be free. Shit, this dress has too much boobage.
- There’s a microphone in my hand. Where am I? Who am I?
- Is that person engaged and taking notes? Or bored and doodling?
- THEY’RE CLAPPING AND IT’S OVER! I DID IT! I FUCKING DID IT! WHY DON’T I DO THIS ALL THE FUCKING TIME?
- I need to eat everything. Give me a muffin. Give me jellybeans. Take me to dinner.
Say yes, regret it, do it. Rinse, repeat.
Now you.
Do you dive right into the fear? Or run to the snack bar?
Are you Will Smith, or my Grandma Helen?
Do you do public speaking? Does it tie you up with a monthlong freakout?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS.
Hahaha! I am laughing 🙂 I can totally relate for sure!
Love it! This is one of the great article I have ever read. You made my day. I still remember grandma saying, ” I couldn’t do it but, you can and you have an opportunity to make it happen, so don’t waste it.
Just to let you all know that I am more productive after 2 shots 🙂
Keep up the great work!
I think this is my favorite post ever. Hilarious and boy can I relate!! Our grandmothers would get along great. My grandmother’s mantra is “stay safe,” which she repeats during every conversation whether pointing out puddles or people. I’d love to claim I’m a lot like Will, but the truth is I’m more like my namesake. Bless our frightened little hearts.
I’m going to see a hypnotherapist that was recommended for this next week. Because I’m fascinated by woowoo solutions. And because I want to avoid Toastmasters. I’ll report back!
x
Last night I spoke at a Pecha Kucha. 20 slides. 20 seconds per slide. In front of a whole messload of people.
Leading up to it I was like BAH! It’s only around six minutes. I mean, I can stand in front of people for six minutes right? I went to the rehearsal a week before all puffed up like, yeah, I’ve got this. And I stood there in front of the other presenters, blurted out my talk and then they said I lost them when I started talking about how white blood cells turn into foam cells after they eat the cholesterol that’s passed through the endothelial…..
See there I go again. Getting too technical. They told me to use a metaphor. JEEZ. The pressure of a metaphor. I came up with a pacman/zombie metaphor and hoped people would get that.
So last night was the night. It was outside and it also happened to be raining, so I was hoping the only people in attendance would be the other speakers and my mom. But dammit. People still showed up! And worse, I had to go second out of all the speakers when I was looking to be smack-dab in the middle. I downed a few glasses of wine (Cause drinking was encouraged at this one thank GAWD.) I busted out my zombie metaphor and they actually got it! After lots of high fives from other speakers I was thinking TED Talks, here I come.
Could you be any funnier?! I definitely need more of you in my life! You were fantastic Sunday!
Sometimes I’m Smithing it out (especially if it’s physical) but if not, usually at the snack bar, rocking back and forth and stroking my hair with one hand while holding a Don Julio to my mouth with the other.
Didn’t seem like enough boobage from the picture.
OMG Laura, it’s getting scary the way you channel my inner voice. Seriously. I wish I could write it down as well as you do (yes, I am taking the Copy Cure course).
Thanks for the laughs,
Mary
Does this mean I’m normal, then? What a relief! Love it!
The first house I lived in was right around the corner from Twin Lakes! Glad the talk went well, I love hearing you speak!
Yep, that pretty much sounds like my process. Ugh, I shudder at the thought. Public speaking is the worst! I only remember one time where I did it well and with less stress than usual.
I was in 9th grade. Everyone in my English class had to get up in front of class and recite a monologue from Shakespeare by memory. As if every word you’ve every known doesn’t fly right out of your head the moment you get up there in front of people!
When it was my turn, I stood there for what seemed like a million minutes before the teacher gave me the go ahead, but was actually probably 3 minutes. While I waited, someone else in the class said “Maybe we should compliment each other before we speak, so we’ll be less nervous” Then she said, “I like your pants.” To this day, I still remember what pants I was wearing that day, light blue denim jeans with white flowers printed all over them – I was in 9th grade, and it was the early 90s, so cut me some slack. Ok, maybe it was the mid-90s, but still…
We all laughed, and then I recited my monologue and did everything I was supposed to (looking around the room, making eye contact with people, speaking with energy). I was calm, cool, didn’t forget a word, and got a perfect grade!
I think it was because the other girl cleared the tension by acknowledging that we were all shaking in our printed denim pants. I realized that I wasn’t the only one, and that I wouldn’t be shamed for forgetting something or faltering a bit.
So I guess the lesson is: Where is that girl now, and can she come to every speech I have to give?
Sister, I did something worse than agreeing to public speaking: PUBLIC SINGING! Like, really? JUST THIS MORNING, I considered backing out. Now I can’t after this. Damn you.
Oh my dog I TOO spoke last week, despite it going against every single introverted, risk-adverse, mouse-gremlin fibre of my being! I mean, we’re copywriters… who said we’re supposed to be able to talk – out loud – too? Crazy, right? But it felt good. Well, not before. And maybe a little during, alternating with waves of nausea. But after. And now. And especially reading your post knowing that celeb copywriters get nervous too. You go girl. Way to represent!
OMG! Thank you for making me smile this morning. I can totally relate!
Sometimes I feel like I have a doppelganger that goes around agreeing to do things, like giving talks, and then I’m stuck doing the real work.
It’s kinda like when people have a drunk alter ego…
But in the end it’s usually worth it!
1) I would think a dress with too much boobage would simplify things: you wouldn’t have to worry about what you’re saying because everyone will be paying attention to said boobage.
2) Your 20 stages sorta reminds me of Charlie Brown’s approach to the book report on Peter Rabbit. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZEmxby8g8A if you’re unfamiliar with it)
OMG, girl. You are me (or i am you?). I’m doing a workshop tonight and I’m literally shitting frisbees everywhere because of nerves. Congratulations on speaking! Your story helped me a lot. You are awesome.
“Shitting Firsbees”. I’m laughing and I’m not even in the same room as you.
Pull that one on stage and you’ll be an instant hit.
Go for gold, girlfriend.