I was recently invited to give a TED talk at the TEDx Unbound conference. the only word to describe it is “humbling,” followed quickly by tintimidating.
I used to belong to one of those online dating sites. For the sake of anonymity, let’s call it SchmOK Cupid. As dating sites go, it was fairly run of the mill, with a combination of both required and optional essays and questionnaires that would supposedly, the more you answered, find your perfect match.
The question that comes to mind at the moment is the one that posed the following scenario: would you prefer to compete against someone who is a) less skilled then you, b) equally as skilled as you or c) more skilled than you. Like most questions of this nature, there is “correct” answer that you are expected to choose, at least if you want to be seen as good boyfriend/girlfriend material. In a culture in which “work hard/play hard” seems perfectly normal,the “correct” answer, especially in the hyper-competitive world that is the Bay Area, is “c.” For me, I thought that you could at least make a good case for “b.” Two people with equal training and equal skills, but only one person can win. What does it say about the person who emerges victorious? I think this is just as valid a gauge of ability and accomplishment as the equal need to test and improve your abilities against a competitor better than you.
However, going to Massachusetts last week to deliver a TED talk was very much a jump off the high dive into the world of option “c.”
I’m not quite sure why I decided that the first time I would ever attempt to give a public speech would be in the alpha world of TED talks. I mean, you don’t play in the Super Bowl if you haven’t even tried Pop Warner. Still, when I was encouraged to apply for a speaking slot at the conference in New Bedford, it didn’t even occur to me to say no. The magnitude of the task became more clear, and more daunting, when I was actually accepted. Wait, wait,.. wait a minute, I thought. Stephen Hawking, Al Gore, Nelson Mandela… Michael Schwartz. I had voluntarily entered myself in a real-life version of Sesame Street’s “one of these things is not like the other.” I mean, my friend Katie… the youngest woman to row solo across the Atlantic. That’s a great TED talk. Me? I’m just some knucklehead using every last rod and cone my eyes have in the vault to keep going as a filmmaker, a prospect whose endgame is still a bit murky.
What, exactly, was I thinking?
These past several months have been a bit of a high wire act, with adrenaline doing its job at pushing me over the finish line. I have to tell you, TED is the gold standard of professionalism when it comes to public speaking with a purpose. I learned more about how to speak to people in a way that moves the needle emotionally than I would have ever thought possible. I don’t think I’m giving away any TED secrets here when I mention the basic ground rules of a TED talk:
When you walk onstage, you start talking. No “thank you for coming,” “thank you for having me,” or “so glad to be here in front of this distinguished group.” TED and I seem to think alike on this one. Don’t bury the lead.
No bullet points. PowerPoint is often an essential part of a TED talk, but it’s not about the words. They want you to use pictures to tell or enhance your story. As a visual storyteller, this is my wheelhouse.
No gobbledegook or technobabble… no matter how complex the subject matter. Figure out a way to speak about your area of expertise conversationally. Note that this does not mean “dumb it down.” I like how TED organizers assume the audience is very smart and very receptive.
Those are the golden rules. They also discourage you from bringing notes or cards with you onstage. For me, this was going to be a snap, what with the visual impairment and all. Yes, I could have had some Braille notes on 3×5 cards, but I decided to take the Pepsi challenge and give the speech without notes, something I haven’t done since high school debate tournaments. I went with the pneumonic approach, or at least a version of it. First letter of each section or point in the speech turned into a word. Just so you know, my pneumonic was POST-CPA but going through what those letters stand for just would not make sense to anyone but me.
The intimidating part about a TED talk is the part where you start scrolling through the biographies of everyone else at the conference. World renowned physicians and researchers. Nationally known artists. Media stars and nonprofit visionaries. Leaders all.
But in the end, what I found was that these weren’t just overachievers and symbols of accomplishment. They were just good decent people who have a good decent story to tell. As the day of the conference continued, I found myself hanging out in the wings instead of downstairs in the green room, catching every speech i could, because these good, decent people were as nervous as I was, but also determined to tell a good story. That’s really why they were there, and it’s wwhy I was there. I think I have a good story to tell. I’ve used this phrase so often I can reel it off subconsciously: question perceptions, raise expectations, make a difference. That doesn’t mean it’s lost meaning for me. It’s why I get up in the morning. what was so enlivening was that here were almost two dozen other people who have the same message. They deliver it in different ways, through the prism of their own experience, but there it is. And if I couldn’t stand with these fine men and women in support of that message… if I chose “b” instead of “c,” then I shouldn’t be competing at all.
TED gave me a voice, and for that I’m so grateful.
