The Risk of Putting Yourself Out There
I have this recurring nightmare. It’s like the one where you are late for class or show up at school in your underwear. In my dream, I’m presenting to a large group of people and no one can hear me — or wants to. Everyone in the audience is either distracted, obscured behind physical barriers, on their phone, or talking to someone in the room. I move hastily around the room, speaking as loudly as I can, but it doesn’t help. No one can hear me, and no one will pay attention.
I think the dream is about my insecurity, my inner fear that what I’m saying is irrelevant.
The dream happened in real life last week. In this version, I was slated as the speaker during the attendee lunch at a large conference. Before I went on stage, though, it was apparent that we had a problem. The convention center hadn’t accounted for the number of people eating all at once, so lines formed across the large auditorium, out the door, and down the hallway. It wasn’t until 45 minutes had passed that the end of the line got its food.
My presentation began while people were still out in the hallway.
One of the lines strung across the back of the auditorium, far from my view. The other line stretched along the front of the auditorium stage, creating a row of bent heads over their phones between the audience and the platform where I was speaking. They naturally cared more about getting their food than what I was saying.
Then, just when the line diminished, someone quietly walked to the stage to inform me that my presentation needed to end much sooner than scheduled to accommodate for unplanned logistics. The organizers were naturally more concerned with attendee traffic flow than whether I got through my material. Flustered and confused, I rushed to completion.
When it was over, I wasted no time leaving the building. My car ignored the GPS and drove to the nearest supermarket, where I found my way down the aisles to a bag of comfort food. And on I drove with my bag, feeling the isolation that comes from putting yourself out there and getting very little back.
My recurring nightmare is probably somewhat profession-specific. My work (it feels like a “calling,” actually) requires me to put myself out there. I write a weekly article like the one you’re reading. I present to groups, post videos of myself on LinkedIn, and develop new research. Often, it feels like it matters. Sometimes, though, it seems no one can hear or cares to listen.
Keep going, I remind myself. Even though I sometimes wonder whether it makes any difference, I can’t give in to the insecurities and isolation. My value doesn’t come from what others think of me. If I put myself out there, I can expect some “nightmare” responses. And getting through them builds courage.
Dale Carnegie’s Rule 1 was: Act. Do something. Action creates courage.
This awareness deepens my appreciation for the artists, the entrepreneurs, the inventors, and the advocates. My respect goes out to my friend Bob, whose platform for the City Council is available for all to see on his website, even though most will never go look at it. I’m reminded of the preachers, teachers, fundraisers, writers, performers, and activists. The thought leaders, speakers, coaches, and all those people making their pitches.
They put themselves out there.
There are plenty of times when they might feel like no one can or wants to listen. But they don’t stay quiet.
As Theodore Roosevelt beautifully said, “The credit belongs to the person who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming.”
Being in the arena doesn’t come without failure and insecurity. While the details of my recurring nightmare may be profession-specific, I’ll bet you have similar opportunities to put yourself out there. And when you put yourself out there, expect some nightmares of apathy and rejection. That’s what happens in the arena.
How could you put yourself out there this week?
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