Jeff "Captain Kirk" Wolfsberg
About a year ago, I was giving an assembly to a large school in the Midwest. There must have been over a thousand people in the auditorium, both students and faculty. It was 8:00 AM and the weather on the way to school was cold and rainy. Because of my schedule, I was speaking a week before finals.
These are not ideal speaking conditions. There is a big difference between a crowd who voluntarily comes to your talk and a crowd who is mandated to come. As students clumsily took their seats and faculty assumed their perch along the sidewalls, cups of coffee in hand, papers to correct in the other, I sensed passive hostility.
Students assume the worst of course. Another guy who going to tell us what to do, faculty if they don’t know me often default to if you’ve seen one drug speaker you’ve seen them all. Students are barely awake and teachers are eager to retreat to their classrooms to prepare for finals.
I walked around the room introducing myself to those students willing to make eye contact. This is a little speaker trick if you feel nervous. Maybe you’ll find a few friendly souls to make eye contact with during your talk. Instead, one student asked, “How long are you talking?” and another said “I saw you last year at another school, are you going to say the same thing?” I was.
I couldn’t help shake the feeling that I was being prepared for sacrifice. I felt like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart when he was awaiting his torture. I don’t care how confident or prepared you are as a speaker, you’re alone up there, you and your ideas. No one is going to save you.
As the crowd settled in, a young man from the IT department said he would take my laptop and get me set up in the control room high above the auditorium. The screen came down, projector came on and I turned my attention to the Head of School bounding down the aisle coming to greet me. As he took the stage, students quieted down and he began with a few perfunctory announcements.
I noticed my visual presentation was not running. I glance up into the AV box high above the auditorium and the young man seemed to be trying to get my attention. All the while, the Head of School was completing my introduction – please welcome “Mr. Jeff Wolfsberg”. I strolled confidently to the center of the stage, breathe, good posture, clear voice, strong start I said to myself.
I glance backwards, no visuals. Over the loud speaker I hear “Mr. Wolfsberg, what is your password so I can launch your visuals?”
I needed the visuals. They were a vital part of this particular presentation. I usually write my password on a piece of paper and hand it the AV guy in advance. I forget this time. Now, this young man puts me on the spot in front of a full auditorium unaware of the conundrum he has created. I lean into the microphone – “Captain Kirk” I say.
Thunder from the rain I thought. No, a roar of laughter from the audience. If you speak for a living as I do, you develop humility and a thick skin. I felt exposed and vulnerable. But something magical happened. My vulnerability and willingness to own it softened the room. There was a distinct and palpable change in the energy in the room as the distance between speaker and audience narrowed.
Whether you’re a parent or an educator, appropriate vulnerability makes us human and can allow us to connect with teens in a new way. We are bombarded with cultural messages proclaiming that being imperfect and vulnerable is synonymous with being inadequate and weak. In fact, nothing can be further from the truth – imperfections and vulnerabilities are what connect us to each other and to our humanity. Vulnerabilities are powerful reminders to keep our hearts and minds open to the reality that everyone is deeply connected and more the same than different.
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