We are mid-way through the four-part Art of Storytelling Series, and this week we’re taking an intermission between the first and second half of this series. Why? Well, because I get to do that when I’m in charge of the publication :)
Also, very recently, I stumbled into a story that I felt was important to share as it reminds us all about the Most Important Thing when it comes to storytelling - bring your heart. I find it fitting that this point falls so centrally in the series.
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Last Saturday, I participated in an Area Toastmasters Competition in which each contestant gave a 5-7 minute original speech. Judges then judged and a winner was announced.
The tricky part leading up to the big day?
The event was over Zoom, and as of the Wednesday before the competition, I did not have a room in which I could compete.
What about a room in your house, Bobby?
I live in a household with two young boys and a dog, which means there is no room safe from toys, wrestling, and barking. And yes, I have mounted some sound-proofing material on the office door and, in the past, attempted to lock it for important meetings. But all that does is make that particular door all-the-more appealing to our boys who then spend minutes on end knocking and pulling at the locked door wondering why their adventure cannot spill into that particular room.
What about the local library?
Toastmaster competition rules require that the camera capture participants from the waist up. The rooms reserved for individual use at our library are not big enough to capture that amount of my body.
What about a classroom in a church? Church buildings are fairly quiet on Saturdays, no?
I tried. Turns out the local ones were hopping this past Saturday.
So, I shared my desperation with my “Hive,” a group of six entrepreneurs and solopreneurs with whom I meet each week.
“Let me know if you know of a space that might work…” my voice trailed off, and I expected them to nod their heads and promise to let me know if they thought of anything.
And then Trevor said, “What about my house? You could use our studio.”
“That would be amazing!” And I soon finalized the details to head over to his house on Saturday morning for the competition.
—
I spent the rest of the week preparing - rehearsing my speech, editing it, and then rehearsing it a bit more. I arrived at Trevor’s house on Saturday morning ready to go, and… so was he.
“Welcome! What do you need? Water? Food?” His hospitality abounded, though I confessed that it is difficult for me to eat or drink very much before I speak.
We proceeded to head up to his ‘studio’ which was really a spare bedroom that he had spent time clearing out so that it was perfectly suited for a live speech.
He’d taken out the normal rug and replaced it with a thick, duvet insert to diminish any echo effects. He’d covered both windows and set up stage lighting that hit me in such a way that I would be quite visible over Zoom - but also naturally so. He’d also ordered, ironed, and hung a large white sheet over his bookshelves to provide me with a simple, un-distracting background. (Toastmaster competition rules do not allow for green screens and the like.)
(Note the many things moved out of the way to create a ‘studio.’ Also the thoughtful cup of water.)
Though my laptop camera would surely be fine for the competition, Trevor had set up a Logitech camera on a tripod so that the judges would be provided exceptional clarity. Similarly, Trevor proceeded to route my sound through his premium Yeti microphone. If you’re going to give a speech, let’s let them see and hear you at your best!
I marveled at his thoughtfulness around a myriad of details. I also didn’t have time to linger with sentiments, however, because I only had forty minutes before the competition began, and we needed to test everything. And, graciously, Trevor did just that alongside me.
He went into another room in his house, joined me in a Zoom room we’d created for practicing, and we worked out sound and visual kinks for a half-hour.
“Ok,” he said, as the competition moment was less than five minutes away. “I’ll be in the house. Text or holler if you need anything. And good luck!”
I then clicked on the competition’s Zoom link and began my final mental preparations for the contest in which I would speak to thirty blank screens. (Toastmaster competition rules require all screens to be turned off when competitors speak.)
When my moment came… I dove in. A bit too fast, a bit too polished, and with too little feeling. Even as I gave the speech, I could feel a strange, inner disconnect with the material. I noticed, for instance, how I was saying certain words aloud while thinking about others ones that were going to come later in the speech. Ah! I know better!
But maybe I could still slip by to the next round and work out this issue later, I wondered as I awaited the final results a half hour later.
Nope. I lost.
As the winner was announced, I was immediately taken back to the early feedback that I received from one of my very first preaching professors in seminary.
I had recently recorded and submitted one of my earliest sermons for a grade, and this professor was now providing me feedback via her own video.
“You are a wordsmith, Bobby,…” she began.
Yes! I have been seen! I have a future!
I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, of course, but I was pretty pumped.
The lights! (holy, of course)
The renown! (humble, of course)
And the great movement! (righteous, of course)
Ok, maybe it didn’t go quite that far, but still, I felt I was onto something until I heard her finish the sentence:
“… but where is your heart?”
Ummmm…
Truth is, she’d caught me.
Since my high school days I’d had people compliment my ability to speak in front of audiences, but it was not until seminary that somebody called out the disconnect between the polished words and the voice behind them.
I wish I could say I learned my lesson, let go of my need to impress, and simply spoke something genuine each time I stood before people.
But I didn’t. Time and again I’ve wanted my speeches, sermons, and stories to be great, precise, and profound. And, if a contest was involved, I’ve wanted to win.
What is that about?
Fundamentally, I’ve come to see that it’s an insecurity. It’s a desire to be liked, accepted, and somehow have my work (and therefore me) validated.
And the strange thing about trying to speak from a place of insecurity is, yes, it can lead to wonderfully polished and precise speeches, sermons, and stories…that nevertheless don’t ‘land.’ They don’t connect. They don’t really resonate with audiences because…
They lack heart.
Heart, it turns out, can only be found by letting go of perfection and trusting yourself to feel and believe the fundamental thing that needs to come forth.
The guy to whom I lost last week?
I marveled at how well he told a very ordinary story like he was cooking a meal in a country kitchen. Steady, unhurried, and uniquely memorable. It blew me away because even though it was obvious he had worked hard on his story, there was no polish. No searching for that perfect phrase or word. It was heart.
And, of course, heart won because heart is what connects - and goodness do people hunger to connect these days.
—
Admittedly, I’d still like to win one day but I also know the challenging paradox that lies at the heart of this desire: namely, that if I were ever to win a Toastmasters competition, the only way for it to happen would be for me to show up and not care one way or another if I win.
How does one let go into a space where they hold the outcomes so openly?
How does one stop allowing the insecurity and fear to take hold and simply let the heart flow?1
How does one speak not with the aim toward precision, polish, or perfection - but a full, unmediated, heart-filled presence?
It’s no wonder the following words were part of the capstone to Paul’s letter to a church full of people who were talented, gifted, and quite proud, actually, of their spoken eloquence:
If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.
If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.
If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.
Love is patient, love is kind…
(the famous words often used for weddings now follow)
- 1 Corinthians 13:1-4 (The Message translation)
Bottom line: no heart, no substance.
This, of course, is what makes public speaking a lifelong work. And it is what makes all of our work, creativity, and relationships a lifelong work. For finding and offering our heart in those spaces is a continual process of rediscovery and courage.
There is no graduation moment that declares, “And now all that you do from here on out will be done fully, clearly, and beautifully from your heart!” Nope.
Returning to our heart is our forever work.
Fortunately, we do not journey alone.
In moments when…
…we are not attuned to our own heart,
…fears and anxiety take hold,
…the ego is large and in charge,
…there are those like Trevor whose generosity just floors us. The thoughtfulness, specificity, and time given in their care is humbling - perhaps all-the-more so because the Trevors of the world often make their offering in the ‘studio’ of their home that no one will ever see or hear about.
Known any Trevors? Experienced any recently?
Not perfect folks, not folks who don’t battle with the same in-and-out-of-heart realities we have… but folks who nevertheless have shown us what it looks like to offer heart?
Take a moment to say thanks.
And then see if you can’t open yourself to receive what their life is teaching you so that next time you give a speech or offer your work in this world, you can do so…
Freely.
Without worry of ‘success’ or ‘failure.’
With a simple, honest longing to share genuinely what is on your heart and in your heart - and for the world.
All heart, all substance.
This is not to discount the significant amount of rehearsal required to give a great speech. Speaking ‘off the cuff’ hardly equates to speaking ‘from the heart.’ The challenge resides in the integration of significant preparation and a full-heart flow.
I think Trevor is a Rock Star and. A very BIG thing. The story details you shared about how he served your needs was beautiful. That was the best part of the story for me. This should be your next Toast Master speech if the topic will allow. I know you will truly delivery it with heart. Great Job.
Bobby, it's an honor to offer what I can to elevate you in your speaking and storytelling. You inspire so many of us with your words!