In Search of Connection, Inside Out

Welcome to Part II of my TEDx adventure. For those just joining, here is Part I: In Search of Connection. This is a story of not just the making of a TEDx talk, but my own search for connection through correspondence. In this essay I explore Anger and Ego, and a host of other pesky personas who I came to know better in my attempt to script my “idea worth sharing”. I found that the connections I made were not only with my pen-pals, but also with myself.

Our calls were often towards the end of the day. Usually the fresh fragrance of a brand-new day turns a little less floral, somedays bordering on stinky, about 4:00 PM. The verve and enthusiasm that I muster at 5:00 AM starts to wane around about then, shortly before my family makes their noisy but reinvigorating trek back to the homestead.

I remember one day being deflated for a variety of long-forgotten reasons, but I gathered the energy for our weekly telephone conference. By “our” I mean myself and Myrna — the woman who was guiding me on all things TED and helping me avoid making a fool of myself on a global stage.

I was on a roll. After all, I had made great progress (hadn’t I?) and I was so looking forward to the praise I was sure my coach would shower on my latest draft. I love it when people gush over my work. Who doesn’t? Far from being a sign that we are insensitive, selfish egomaniacs, knowing that we’ve touched someone provides more fuel for the ride, amirite? Anyways, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it…

Well, this wasn’t going to be that kind of a call.

Expecting the taste of sweet approval, I was served up with the bitterness of an unexpected critique. No Grammy Award! No Nobel Prize! I could feel the briny heat rising behind my eyes. Nope. Not going to happen. You’re not going to cry, I instructed myself. As I willed these salty little drops back to their watery hell, I felt a new flame rising. Oh, hello Anger, my friend (and my last line of defense). Did you hear what I just heard, my Good Bully? What are we going to do about that?

So the malicious cackling of Anger and Ego replaced the sighing Angel and seething Devil on my shoulder and began to bicker. A brawl was on the horizon.

Anger: This coach has no idea what she’s saying. She’s an idiot.

Ego: You’re the idiot. You’re writing about connecting through letters. No one cares about your “idea worth sharing”.

These two usually wear themselves out before my Rational Mind finally asserts itself with its steely stamina. The steadfast Rational Mind likes to watch from the sidelines (laughing, I’m sure), where it continues to doggedly hum along in the background, unnerved by the cacophony. It usually comes around to pick up the pieces, albeit in its own jolly time.

And so, a little battered, I continued to write and revise my TEDx talk. For a slew of days, mounting into weeks and months, the melodrama lingered at the edge of real drama, but then I saw that with each rendition, a tangible “whole” was starting to take shape, and my confidence began to grow. It wasn’t what I had originally set out to write, but I don’t think TED Talks usually are. (Perhaps this is true in every genre where Creativity is required but remains bound in Ego’s embrace.) TED talks have their own shape and cadence and conforming to this rhythm required me to accept a new form of discipline. A discipline I had to wrangle with before we became acquainted. I eventually made friends with Discipline. Then Senora Discipline re-introduced Monsieur Ego to their mutual companion, Humility.

And then there were the disagreements with my coach over my feather earrings. I wanted nothing more than to be my Authentic Self on stage and that absolutely must include my beloved feather earrings (I knew better than to push the cowboy hat). I guess apparently if people are staring at your hypnotizing earrings as they sway alongside your chin while you speak, it doesn’t matter what kind of self you are presenting because no one is paying attention. Or, that is what I was told. Fine. I compromised with a scarf imprinted with feathers. The cowboy boots weren’t up for negotiation.

And then the day came. Breathe. Pray. Breathe. Pray.

Repeat.

I came on stage to share my search for connection in my talk Letters from the Heart: How Words Change Lives. I walked off with a new and unexpected connection. A reconnection to myself.

Why? Because I had dared to ask for help, to trust others and to tolerate, even with affection, my imperfect self, as I faced off with Anger and Ego (and their compadres). It was uncomfortable, but trudging through it, uneasy and, yes, scared, gradually I built a new confidence that I hadn’t known before.

What precisely had I learned? Maybe it’s that the serenity of genuine self-confidence really has little to do with strutting through life as if it were one long slam-dunk contest. The hubris of Anger and Ego aren’t the real ballers. What counts, I learned, is the humility to accept criticism with grace and equanimity, combined with a certain flint of character and a willingness to spit out the “magic pill” of instant gratification, drinking instead from the turbulent waters that can change rough rocks into smooth stones — through both time and constant abrasion. And smile, resolutely, through the salty heat of swallowed tears.

To read the first part of this tale, see: