When I was about eight or nine years old, dressed up for Halloween in a cute little clown costume my mother handmade for me — or maybe it was the year I chose to go as a “car accident” and wrapped bandages all over myself and sprayed ketchup to look like blood? I don’t know, I was a weird kid — my dad had a crazy idea.
He got a giant gorilla suit, and didn’t tell me and my sister.
And then, some time during the evening, while we were out trick-or-treating, collecting all the best candy from the strategically mapped out “Full Size Candy Bar Houses,” he came for us.
Well, the gorilla came for us.
Imagine it: Me, eight (or nine), with some random, full-sized man, racing after us in a giant gorilla costume.
Imagine it: Me, eight (or nine), dropping my strategically gathered candy and running for my life.
Imagine it: Me, eight (or nine),definitely not getting the joke.
I’ve never been so scared in all my life.
Gosh, maybe that’s why I’m a weird adult, too?
You know what else is scary?
Silence. And we all rush to fill it. But, let me tell you this: silence is a superpower.
Why? (And, not just because it’s the opposite of gorilla hollering.)
Because everyone is afraid to do things that scare them, and if they see you standing powerfully in the thing that scares them most? Well, that’s just you stepping fully into your power.
Let me explain with an example from my recruiting days.
As a recruiter, one of the things we needed to get right were the reference checks. We’d spend an hour and a half to three hours interviewing candidates for senior, c-suite positions, but upwards of 18-20 hours performing reference checks with those who saw them in action. Why? Because the person who shows up for the interview is never the one who shows up when the shit hits the fan when everything goes sideways. We needed to know what they were like not just in the best of times, but also in the worst of times. Enter: the reference check.
But, how do you get someone to tell you everything they didn’t want to tell you? Simple: by employing nefarious silence and shutting the hell up. Ask a question, wait for them to finish answering, and then wait. Don’t just jump in with the next question. Just… sit there. It’s the hardest and the easiest thing to do.
We think that their silence is confidence. But, what if their silence was just fear?
Be quiet, count to three, tell them you are taking notes, count to three again. Stifle your evil laugh. And before you can ask the next question? Boom, they start talking. They will fill the uncomfortable space with words, especially the words that they never planned to say, because they just don’t know how to sit in the silence.
Whether you are slowing down a conversation, or slowing down to make a point, here is the one thing to remember: being comfortable standing in your silence gives you more power than rushing in with more and more words.
And I would argue that when it comes to the fear of public speaking, it’s not the speaking that scares you. It’s actually the silence.
The Scariest Thing I Ever Did
Driving my 8th grader home from school one day, I received a call from a friend who happens to be the executive producer of TEDxCambridge. Knowing she was in a bit of a career transition — one that I had energetically encouraged — I felt the responsibility to take the call to make sure everything was going smoothly; being a conscientious, role-modeling mother, I also felt the responsibility to take it hands-free through my car’s speakers. Turns out that the call wasn’t about her career; it was about mine.
Her: “I’ve been reading your latest blog posts. There’s good stuff there. Would you be interested in applying to do a TEDxCambridge talk in front of 2,600 people at the Boston Opera House this spring?”
Me: “Um, hell to the no. That’s scary as f___. Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
And, that’s where all of my excellent parenting (open car cursing notwithstanding) comes back to bite me in the butt.
Him: “Mom, you tell me ALL THE TIME to do that thing which scares me the most. You tell me ALL THE TIME that if my goals don’t petrify me, I’m not setting them high enough. And, you tell me ALL THE TIME that pushing myself into areas where I’m uncomfortable is where the actual growth happens. So, um, what gives, huh?”
Me: “F___.”
Fast forward six months, and I’m all mic’d up and hyperventilating backstage, realizing that I’m about to walk out, sans podium, sans notes, sans any protective armor whatsoever, in front of the brightest lights and fullest house, and just hoping to every possible religious deity that I won’t crap my pants.
(Spoiler alert: I didn’t.) But I did learn a few things.
Your are Limitless but not Fearless.
My dear friend Liane Davey — who wrote an excellent book on conflict that you should check out — said, “What is most surprising… is that you are limitless, but not fearless.”
Limitless, but not fearless. Well, shoot.
I’d never thought about myself in quite that way. But I think it sums up pretty much everything I hope that you will take from anything you read of mine.
We are all limitless.
But we’d be fools to be fearless.
So, how to do we embrace the limitlessness without drowning in the fear?
It’s pretty simple. Plan for the worst, but be ready for the best.
And, It turns out that this is half of the equation that makes people lucky. (I spend an entire chapter on making yourself more lucky in Wonderhell.)
Limitlessly yours,
