My Failure: My First Speaking Engagement

So this was it: the final week before my first speaking engagement. My material was practiced and rehearsed at length. I received some valuable feedback that I further implemented in my presentation. My confidence and focus were at all-time highs. All in all, I believed I was ready to do this presentation.

I explained in Part 1 and Part 2 how I didn’t exactly kill it with my presentation rehearsals in front of my clients the past two attempts. However, this go-around I was determined to show them I was fully prepared, and unlike the last two times I had typed up some notes to print out to aid me in the cause. Unfortunately, my schedule got the best of me and I never got the chance to print out those darn notes before the final rehearsal. It was definitely on my to-do list, but I just never got to it. I did feel comfortable enough with the material to perform sans notes, though. I had practiced enough without them before, so I figured it wouldn’t be an issue going forward.

I was wrong. The look on my clients’ faces as I explained why I didn’t have my notecards told me I was wrong. I did my best to reassure them that I knew the material like the back of my hand, but I knew deep inside that I should have had them in-hand. But there was nothing I could do at that point–as they say, “The show must go on.” I couldn’t let my misstep shake me. This run-through was even more important than the last two, because not only was it the final rehearsal before their concert, but I would be performing it in front of the clients’ board of advisers. No pressure, right?

Thus, it was time to perform. My hands were ice cold and shaking, but my mind was focused. Time to do what I was called to do, I thought. I opened my mouth to speak, and and out flowed the presentation. Surprisingly enough, I thought I did pretty good! I remembered my lines, I kept my focus, and made it through. Phew, I thought with relief. I made it through the toughest part! Now, it’s time for the feedback, which I’m pretty good at receiving.

The feedback was very constructive but extremely tough to swallow, even for me. I had great vocals, but at times I sounded like I was over-the-top. My eye contact was excellent, but my nerves had me moving and swaying way too much. I used too many “filler” words and needed to be more direct. The information in the presentation was too much to take in and needed to be shortened. And on, and on, and on…

And then, the note cards came up. It was then I realized how much of a critical error I made when I failed to walk in with those notes. My clients ripped me for not having them, since I likely could have minimized many of these issues had I actually relied on them. The board members nodded in agreement. And I also realized that not only would they have given me more confidence in my speaking abilities, but they would have given my clients more confidence in me as well. That really struck home for me.

I stood there, wanting to crumple up into a ball and cower, but taking every shot with a smile and a “thank you”. After all, as much as it hurt, they were there to help me. I apologized profusely for my lapse in judgement as I allowed my pride to get the best of me, and promised to take each one of their comments to heart. It was a truly humbling experience, to say the least.

So let’s fast-forward a bit: I made the proposed adjustments to the presentation, and it’s the day before the concert I will be performing it at. I was to meet at the venue to help set-up and get a feel for the stage. However, as I walked in, one of the clients walked up to me and explained that they wanted to do things a different way: instead of a 8-10 minute presentation which may disrupt the flow of the concert, they would rather have a dialogue, with me explaining one point of research that I did from the presentation. “Sure,” I said understandingly, yet inside I was crushed.

Sadly, I watched as all the hard work and preparation I performed was minimized to a one-minute factoid. My showcase of that one-minute blurb the following night at the concert was marginal at best, and I really felt I failed in every step of this whole experience. At this point, I really wanted to say, “You know what? Public speaking isn’t for me, and I should just move on from this silly dream.” But if you know anything about me, it’s that it takes more than a bad experience to make me quit on myself. Everyone that has gone out on a limb and stepped out of their comfort zone has had a bad enough experience to make them want to quit, and I was no exception. I actually found this thought very comforting. It meant I must not give up after one shot. It meant I must take the lumps and bruises and learn from them, as this experience taught me a lot about myself, motivational speaking, and how to handle clients. It meant I must be appreciative of the value that was gained by giving it my all and coming up short of my lofty expectations.

In sum, It meant I’m fully on the path to success, bumpy road and all.