Oh Boy - I Blew It up - Badly
I Lost the Plot on Stage, and Nobody Minded
A heart attack story, a garden tangent, and 20 seconds I never got to use
The Clock Started at 9:27
Last night, digital room, second speaker slot. So far, so good…
Dr. Jane Bormeister runs a rehearsal room for people who want to get better at public speaking: reading a room, holding attention, not folding under a countdown.
I joined because learning something new has never made anybody stupider. And because it’s fun.
Before me: Dr. Heidi talking about her Pink Zones, her own version of the blue zones idea, adapted for how women thrive through midlife.
She was eloquent enough that I stopped rehearsing my own opening in my head and just listened. Good problem to have. Then Jane called my name, introduced me and started the clock.
Five minutes is the gold standard in that room. Five minutes feels like forever while you’re preparing. It is close to nothing once you’re actually inside your own story.
Numbers, Then Soil
I opened with numbers, because numbers carry authority and people lean in when they hear them. I told my heart attack story. True, lived, and I know exactly why it works: nothing beats something that actually happened to you.
Then I made the turn I had planned. I asked if anyone in the room had a garden. A few hands went up.
I started explaining what happens underground when soil is alive, the microbes, the mycelium network, the whole invisible economy running under every healthy patch of ground.
I was in full swing, heading somewhere, and I hadn’t even reached the part where I connect the soil back to the heart attack.
That’s when Jane held up a piece of paper. The words on it: “5 minutes.”
My time was gone. OMG!
I wasn’t even close to the end. I tried to explain that it fit perfectly in rehearsal. I still don’t know why it grew…
When the Story Gets Its Own Current
The listeners were kind about it. The feedback was warm; some of it was convincing, some of it was laughing with me, not at me. But they never found out what microbes have to do with a heart attack. I left them in the middle of a sentence. That’s the real shame…
(See the link at the end of this post… )
Here’s what I keep coming back to: rehearsal can prepare the words, but it can’t prepare the room.
Once you’re actually speaking, the story finds its own current, and it doesn’t ask your permission before it takes you somewhere else. Like a piece of wood trying to swim against the current in a river. It loses. Every time.
The Lesson Wasn’t About Speaking
My plan was solid.
The moment had other ideas, and I went with it instead of fighting it back to the outline.
That happens anywhere you’ve built a plan around a version of yourself that doesn’t show up exactly as scheduled: a diet, a career pivot, a hard conversation you’ve rehearsed for days.
The current takes the wood. The question is whether you fight it or read it.
If you’ve rehearsed something for weeks and still watched it fall apart the moment it mattered, that’s worth sitting with for a week, not fixing overnight.
That’s the whole idea behind my service called One Brave Week: one small, doable structure that lets you practice showing up imperfectly, on purpose, for seven days, instead of waiting until you’ve got it perfect.
During any major life transition, the hardest thing isn’t the change itself. It’s knowing what to actually focus on. A good accountability partner doesn’t give you answers - they make sure you’re asking the right questions at the right time. If you’re not sure what those questions are, or whether they apply to you, this is worth reading.
Two Rooms Worth Visiting, and News I’m Excited About
Before I close, three people from that room deserve your attention.
Dr. Heidi Lescanec, who spoke before me, writes about how women actually thrive through perimenopause, menopause, and midlife. Her research into the Pink Zones is worth your subscription: Dispatches From The Pink Zones.
After my heart rate came back down, I got to enjoy Nikki Finlay’s talk. She explains the last few years of US economic turbulence in language a fifth grader could follow, and that’s a rare skill. If the state of the economy is anywhere on your mind, subscribe to Economics for the Rest of Us.
And Dr. Jane Bormeister, who ran the room and held up that piece of paper.
I got even more curious about her work afterward, reached out, and she said yes to a live conversation on Substack.
Not just about public speaking, but about what pulled her into the science of the spoken word in the first place. Subscribe to Captain Rhetoric so you don’t miss it.
I still owe that room an ending. If you want to hear the version where I actually get to the point, it’s on my YouTube channel: The Microbe Principle
Daniel
“Let’s regenerate the world, starting with yours.”
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First thing, you didn't blow it. You raised the bar on what it looks like to speak captivatingly (in a non-native language) about an intense medical emergency, with humour, potency, and charisma. Yes, towards the end you rounded the corner off-script, but you brought us with you, wild gardens and all. It was a ride!
Thank you for your generous words about my talk. I'm genuinely excited to learn more about your work, and glad to know where to direct the many men I meet who are curious about the larger issues — because the midlife conversation needs more voices like yours in it.
Daniel, thank you for writing this.
One of the things I admired most yesterday was how calm and good-humored you stayed. You lost your place for a moment, but you found your way back—and that’s a skill every speaker needs.
And, because you like specifics… 😊 I checked the recording of my timer afterwards. You finished after 6 minutes and 37 seconds. Not because you spoke too fast or too slowly, but because once you’re in front of a real audience, a talk takes on a life of its own.
That’s exactly why I created the Rehearsal Room. Some things simply can’t be discovered alone. They only become visible once an idea meets a room.
Thank you for trusting us with your talk. It made the room richer for all of us.