I’m a writer, OK? I’ve been a professional writer for more than 30 years. That’s what I do – I write. That’s how I communicate. That’s how I spread my ideas. That’s how I can show up without showing off. But guess what? I also have a voice. Not a voice that hides behind words, but a proper voice that makes sounds and everything…
Before I was a writer, I sang: a semi-professional backing singer in a band with a bunch of mates. I loved singing, performing, using my voice to entertain and uplift. But then I gave up the voice and took up the pen.
The singing became a private pleasure (not for public consumption) while the fumbling scribbler became a publisher writer – in a magazine called Sounds. Oh, the irony… Later, I would write for Noise! – HOW LOUD WAS THAT?! – but my words didn’t make a sound.
I became increasingly muffled after that, hiding out in the background – as a manager, commissioner, a quoter of the famous and the would-be famous, a fixer of other people’s words, an invisible mender. It was quiet, painstaking work performed behind the scenes – never centre-stage.
Finding my voice
And still the voice remained in its box. Only a year ago – well into my mid-50s – did I feel a longing to sing again. I joined a choir, and it was a joy – for a while. But the longing remained.
I thought no more of it until I qualified as a human potential coach and joined Inspired Entrepreneur, a community of like-minded souls in search of the work they were born to do. Here was a group in which I felt able to speak my truth. And I thought that was it: my voice would be heard within the community.
Then it dawned on me that I longed for a wider audience. That I might have something worth saying, something that people wanted to hear. And one day, I attended a talk given by Sarah Lloyd-Hughes of Ginger Training & Coaching called Speak Like a TED Talker. Speak like a TED talker? That was setting the bar high.
I’ve had a love affair with TED for a few years now; the best TED talks – my favourites are by Jill Bolte-Taylor and Brene Brown – have stayed with me, resonating like a temple bell. If only I could speak with such authenticity, vulnerability and power – the sort of power that touches millions.
Sarah’s enthusiasm, energy and expertise encouraged me to believe it might be possible. Well, at least to touch up to a hundred. And at the end of the evening, I pushed through my resistance to make the short walk from seat to spotlight.
I stood up and spoke in front of an audience for a few minutes about a subject close to my heart: how I have been a performer all my life, but never my true self. Until that moment. And then the tears flowed.
Pump up the volume
I’d found this little voice and I wanted to make it louder. So I grabbed my inner bull by the horns and booked on to Sarah’s three-day Speak Like a TED Talker workshop. Every member of the group had to wear a badge that proclaimed: Future TED speaker. Wow. That pumped up the volume.
And this wasn’t just about learning how to speak in public. This was about crafting The Talk of Your Life: the one message you feel compelled to share with the world. So that if you died after you’d given the talk, at least your soul had been able to sing – for 18 minutes, anyway.
We all came in with a pretty good idea of what we wanted to speak about. But once we’d initiated the process of searching for our diamond, setting it in platinum, making it shine, learning memory techniques so we could speak without notes and stepping into our boots of power, many of us were plunged into confusion and uncertainty.
Where was this diamond? Why was it hiding?
By the end of the second day I had spent hours poring over the structure of The Talk of My Life – finding key moments, building the action to a climax, formulating a suitable open and close – but by the morning of the third day I had completely changed my mind about what I wanted to say.
What was this talk that wanted to emerge like a sculpture from a block of marble? What was this message that could only be spoken, not written?
Funny, really – because it’s about silence. Or, more specifically, it’s about suffering in silence. Because I would like to live in a world where everyone feels safe enough to express their emotions, enter their pain, speak their truth and sing their soul.
I stood up and gave an edited version of my talk while the other members of the group came up with a name that they felt reflected me and my message. Henceforth I was known as Compassionate Ninja.
I don’t have a catchy, TED-style title for my talk – which is odd, because a journalist’s instinct is to come up with a headline. And I’m still incubating the egg which will hopefully hatch a diamond, if the metaphor isn’t too mixed.
But what I do know is this: I have spent far too much of my life suffering in silence. And if I can help just one other person tell a new story about themselves, one that is big, bold, noisy and true – then it will all have been worthwhile.
I’m still a writer, but now I’m a writer who speaks. Like a TED talker. I like the sound of that.
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