For example: I gave a speech about my Yankee Chick book this week to a local newcomers group. I have given dozens of speeches on the topic in the seven years since the book was released and I’m actually pretty good at it.
When I first started promoting the book, I simply decided not to be nervous about speaking in public. Most people under most circumstances, when they come to a program like the ones I give, are there with every intention of having fun. These audiences are mine to lose and seeming awkward and anxious is a good way to lose them. So when I step up to a lectern, I banish all anxiety and have fun through sheer force of will.
Of course, I have had some clunker experiences. There was a reading I did for book club that met in a noisy bar. I had to bellow over the racket and I still don’t think everyone heard me. Nobody had fun that night.
Then there was the time I was invited to speak at a community college. The room was full, which was great, but it was an unnervingly deadpan audience. No matter how hilarious I tried to be, I got blank stares in return. When I finally, finally, finally wrapped it up—the longest 45 minutes in history—I found out that my audience was mostly ESL students who had been required to attend.
Some sort of cruel joke?
So anyway, I suppose I have some reason to be nervous about an approaching speech. But nervous doesn’t do justice to the intense feeling of dread I experience as a speech day approaches.
I usually am booked for these things months in advance. When it’s four months away, Sure! Happy to do it! The closer it gets, the more onerous it seems. By the night before a speech, I feel like I’m preparing to face a firing squad.
Once I’m in front of the audience everything is fine (provided my audience speaks English), but what a lot of energy I waste on dread up until that point.
Today, my dread is about a trip to Arizona next week. It’s going to be a great trip, but it requires waking up early a couple of days. One day, I have to be up, dressed, packed and checked out of the hotel by no later than 6:45 a.m. And my flight home at the end of the week is at the appalling hour of 5 a.m. (Using frequent flier miles is getting harder and harder these days.) This means I’ll have to be out of the hotel at about 4 a.m.
I know, I know. Not a big deal. In fact, it’s a pretty small deal. A miniscule deal. Not really a deal at all. So I wake up early--so what? I rarely oversleep, so I’m not afraid of that. I’m just dreading… what? Feeling tired? Having bad hair? Missing an hour of sleep? I can’t figure it out and yet this dread is palpable and it will increase as those days get closer.
Strange.
***
OK, I know you can’t face your weekend without your Dillard’s fix. And here she is. Twice.
Tom sez: “Ooh, which one is worse?” Good question, although the one in the foreground appears painfully crammed into her confusing outfit so my vote goes there.
Oh, and BTW, I got a call from the National Enquirer this week. They are hot on the trail of the Dr. Phil/Robin story. Evidently, they have evidence that the couple is living separately and they are seeking sources to confirm. We can only hope this big news will knock Joe the Plumber out of the headlines because I, for one, am sick to death of him.
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