On Public Speaking.

There’s a weird disconnect when on stage talking to an audience. Be it a presentation, wedding speech, or TED talk, Nobody stands on stage and feels like they’re talking the same way they would say, relaying a well-rehearsed funny story at a small dinner party.

Ok, not nobody, I’m sure there’s some weirdos and psychopaths who’ve done it so much it all feels completely natural to them. But for the vast majority, even those who feel comfortable on stage, there is a strange disconnect between the words coming out of their mouth, and the way those words are heard by the audience in front of them.

I’ve done speeches where my body spent the entire duration in a weird state of low oxygen, as if I was constantly in need of a full inhale of breath I could never quite find, like a recently caught fish bouncing around on the stage, begging to be thrown back into the audience. Yet afterward, the audience reassured me I sounded completely normal and (surprisingly to me) quite confident and not a fish.

I’ve had other talks peppered with embarrassing slip-ups and mistakes, all of which later turned out to be entirely missed by everyone listening.

People say nerves are good for this kind of thing. As if all that awkward stressed-out energy is a little oratory superpower and not a massively debilitating affliction. I assume those same people tell you it’s good luck when a bird shits on you. No no, it’s ok to tell those people, well-meaning as they are, that they’re absolutely wrong.

Having done a few big talks recently, I have discovered a savior, one that can be found in the audience.

You will hopefully find them early. They’re in the first few rows, below the glare of the lights, and they’ve made the mistake of laughing at your first terrible joke and now you’re going to focus on them and them alone, the one person who you can rely on to give yourself the feeling you’re talking to a sympathetic audience of just one.

I got to thank one of those people after a recent talk. It was in Berlin, a city that wears mostly black, yet this man in the second row was wearing a bright plaid shirt and had a huge smile and what felt like a bigger face than everyone around him. He was glorious, and as soon as my gaze found him, the rest of the room faded into darkness and it was just me and him…

Until I got self-conscious and wondered if everyone else was now wondering why I was obsessively serenading a complete stranger I’d creepily decided to zero in on.

For my TEDx Mitte talk, which I was honoured to have the opportunity to do, the organisers arranged a coach for everyone. My wonderful coach Olaf advised that I plant my feet, stay front on, and fully engaged with the audience.

This was great advice, which you should also follow, but for a man who is prone to nervous dancing and a natural pose of putting all my weight jauntily on one leg like an over-energetic pirate mid-jig, it was advice that I would find impossible to maintain.

In many ways, a talk operates the same way as a well-worded article or opinion piece: Bring the audience in, hold their attention, and then leave them with something to take home with them, be it a newfound interest or the need to incite a riot.

In this article, you’ve come to that very point. The point where you assume I’ll offer you a considered, insightful message that will make that upcoming wedding speech or presentation all the more easier…

And the truth is, I’ve already told you everything you need to know to succeed: Nobody doing this ever feels like they’re doing it well, so just plant your feet, gasp for air, plough on through your perceived mistakes and realise that you’re not a fish and that everything that comes out of your mouth sounds completely different (and so much better) than you think.

Break a leg.

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I’ll be back next week, with the loooooong awaited Part 3 of The Exhibition saga!

Here’s Part 1 if you wanted to catch up! -