There’s a moment in which you’re standing at the front of an audience and they’re waiting for your first words, your hook.
This moment occurs at the beginning of taking a risk —when we introduce ourselves, interview for jobs, write to an audience, or publish a post in our digital reality.
This is the moment of my current life stage, just starting, trying to find a spot to establish roots, and it feels like I’ve forgotten everything I meant to do or say.
Maybe this moment has met you in a different hour, but know that you aren’t the only one.
It’s an uncomfortable moment. Expectations from my inner critic, my inner dreamer, and others sound like the feedback of a microphone as I tap to test it.
Like at the beginning of a speech.
Tap-tap. Testing. Hello?
Why are you standing in front of them? What do you bring to the world? What makes you unique?
Start there, you’ve been told.
Then they’ll look for your thesis, your takeaway, then your main points, then your finale. Right, right, done. Is that it? Did you impress them?
Backstage, you had pictured their faces as you speak. You pictured tip-toeing to the verge of their tears, into which you would lean with them, but hold back while they blubber.
You imagined the hushed tones in which they’d agree or they’d admit that such a proverb had never entered their minds. You imagined the room, the people, and their buzzing energy wrap around you like the quilt your grandmother made for the twin bed in your childhood room.
You could hear them -the slapping of palms and whistle pitches that made your first dog come running. You could taste the dryness of your mouth, in disbelief that your spit hadn’t become puddles on the stage.
You hoped for this, but you didn’t add your words in. So you’re stuck in this moment, and you only hear the beating of a drum and your hands tingle.
They’re still waiting for you to start.
There must be a word or phrase for this moment, it’s too intense to go unnamed.
“Collecting your thoughts” doesn’t seem right —they left. all of them.
“Anticipation” would be a nice description if confidence wasn’t also leaving you on the stage.
“A staring contest” seems to most align with their blank stares notice the muscle under your eye that keeps twitching.
“Nightmare” sounds dramatic and as if you could wake up in bed to a new day rather than on a stage expecting to be judged and analyzed and having to prove yourself worthy of space in this dumpster fire world, and not a waste of someone’s time.
You are awake. Wake up!
Why are you standing in front of them? What do you bring to the world? Why aren’t you starting? Why should we listen to anything coming out of your mouth?
No stage manager is waiting to give you a line. There is no line that you remember because you’ve forgotten all the things you’ve done so far in your life. You didn’t plan this well.
Suddenly, you don’t remember how you got here. Did you mean to go backstage? Probably, that seems more forgiving.
Did you mean to be a greeter? That’s it, it’s easier to smile at strangers and direct them away from you.
A ticket seller? An audience member? Maybe. But, instead, you’re here in a staring contest. Maybe someone will cough and jog your memory of what you wanted to say. Anyone?
What did you want to say to them? What do they want you to say?
No, no. What did you need to hear two years ago, five years ago, ten years ago?
Where were you then, and where have you gone since? What have you learned, and what are you learning?
What questions tap on your shoulder gently, and which ones rise like a primal scream from the depth of your heart?
Start here.
It’ll be messy. Profoundness is not guaranteed, and critics are. You might not hear a laugh when you thought it was clever, and your words might lack rhythm. It’s all right. Keep going. This is how you develop your voice, and it’s a lifelong endeavor.
Start here.
You are not a waste of time, you are not fake, there is room for you. Let’s make sure to build the table longer, bigger, more welcoming as we enjoy it. Remember the people who’ve done that for you; we don’t do anything on our own.
What have you learned, what are you learning?
Start right here, right where your heart beats.
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