Why (Good) Coaching Matters: Lessons from American Idol

June 15th, 2010

As a performer, the worst directors or coaches I ever had barked out a result and expected me to fulfill it.

“Be more angry,” they’d say.  Or  “I need you to be more vulnerable.”  And I’d scratch my head, wondering, “how the heck do I do that? Give me something to DO?”   Because, as my acting teacher, Michael Howard, used to say, you can’t play a RESULT.  And acting is DOING.  The way to achieve a result—on stage or in life—is to make a choice  and take action– to DO something specific.

As an example, when I work with a presentation skills client to help her bring greater volume to her voice,  I don’t simply say “Speak louder! (a result). I ask her to imagine that I—or the members of her audience—are slightly hard of hearing and to speak accordingly.  She’ll automatically make adjustments to the way she’s speaking to accommodate the direction, most often resulting in a louder voice.

Great coaches and directors focus on doable actions rather than results.  They also instill a greater sense of clarity and confidence in their clients by reflecting back their strengths.  I was reminded of this during this past season of American Idol (yes, I watch it, and you can stop laughing now) when several  guest mentors /coaches were asked to help the contestants perform more effectively.

The singer and producer, Usher, turned out to be my favorite Idol mentor/coach. As one of my own coaching clients observed,  after watching Usher work with the Idol hopefuls, “He really connected with those contestants. And he gave them specific stuff to DO!”

Exactly!

“Take those glasses off and really look at me,” Usher said to one contestant, Andrew, wanting to help him dial down his nervousness by getting to him to connecting more deeply –with himself and another person– while singing.  Andrew did, and, as result, he sang with more focus and connection.

With another contestant, a young woman named Katie, Usher suggested she “connect with one person, and tell him your story.”  Again, he gave her something specific to DO, which resulted in the song’s meaning being delivered with more clarity and specificity, creating a deeper connection between Katie and the members of her audience.

To Didi, another contestant, whose teary, emotional connection to the song threatened to make it less effective, he said “Wait for the end of the song to show your emotion.”   She did, resulting in a more, more accessible, less emotionally indulgent performance.

Finally, and most impressive of all, Usher spoke from his heart to Lee Dewize, a good singer plagued by self doubt.  “You have an incredible voice.” He said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, especially considering the kind of talent you have. Believe that you belong here. If you don’t believe it, they won’t.”  Those words, which were, coincidentally,  repeated in a video clip literally before Lee stepped out on stage to sing his number, lifted Lee’s shoulders and brought out a whole new level of confidence.  He sang the heck out of this song, provoking the notoriously negative Idol Judge Simon Cowell to say “this night might have changed your life.”  It did, in fact, pushing Lee ahead to eventually win the title of American Idol– thanks in no small part  to Usher’s kudos and coaching.

Business coach and guru, Alan Weiss, writes “What we need are people who can help us believe in ourselves and jettison the accumulated baggage that impedes our actions.”   The best coaches – like Usher– do just that, by not only helping us to see and embrace our own strengths, but by encouraging us to take specific actions.  And actions—what you choose to DO– create real, and lasting– results… in your life, and in your presentations.

To find out more about Eleni’s work as a presentation skills coach and trainer, visit www.s-p-e-e-k.com.  Eleni also helps women move forward in their life and in their work through her BlueSkyCoaching program (www.elenispeaks.com).

From the Heart: A Tribute to Andy

May 24th, 2010

“First it takes your money.
Then it takes your freedom.
Then it takes your life.” 

The words were, raw, bare, and gritty with feeling.  Behind him, pale, still, tattooed, and in a brown wooden casket, lay his son, Andy.  Dead at 24 from a two-year dance with heroin. 

The mourners–snuffling, sobbing, shifting– listened, devastated but rapt.   The man’s wife and four daughters huddled an arm’s length away, propping each other up with trembling shoulders.

The father pointed to the young people facing him, his son’s childhood friends, newly-minted adults squirming in unfamiliar suits and ties, sitting puffy-eyed and shock-stunned on hard folding chairs. “I left this casket open so you could see for yourself what drug addiction can do.” 

“Don’t let Andy die in vain!” He said. “Don’t let him die in vain! Take a stand in his memory! It’s up to you, it’s up to all of us, every member of this community, to stop the drug dealers from killing our kids.”  

Choking on a sob, he stopped, laid bare in front of us. Then he walked, unsteadily, to the casket, and, for a long, heartbreaking moment, laid a hand on his son’s unlined forehead. 

Then, he pivoted and faced us, his eyes fierce:  “Tomorrow morning, the sun will come up again.  And you will be there to see it.”   He was silent for a moment, the unspoken statement filling the room:  “But Andy will not.”  

His voice now rose, took hold, half plea, half command, like a preacher, or a general, calling us to action:  “As you move forward in your lives, let Andy’s death be a signpost, a turning point, a symbol for the moment you decided to take charge of your life and make yourself a better person.” Vulnerable, challenging, impassioned,  he was convincing and compelling beyond measure. 

Afterwards, bursting through the doors to the funeral home, we blinked in the midday sun and collectively exhaled the weight of our emotions. A perfect spring day materialized around us, in all its bee-buzzing, grassgreen glory. My stepson lit a cigarette with a shaky hand, and unbuttoned the tight collar of his dress shirt.  We stood largely silent: After that eulogy, there really wasn’t much more to say.  But, it seemed, there was certainly a lot left to DO, in Andy’s name. 

Because, like the greatest of the world’s preachers, teachers, politicians, public speakers, and commanding officers, Andy’s father had used his spoken words to touch our souls, stirring our deepest feelings and renewing our sense of purpose and commitment to take action.  And he did this by being fully present with us, speaking simple words of truth, from his heart. Nothing is as memorable, powerful or persuasive. 

Ferdinand Foch said “The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.”  Andy’s father is a soul on fire, a fire sparked by the tragedy of his son’s death. I have no doubt that, from this moment forward, he will give new meaning to his life, and the too-brief life of his only son, by speaking out, passionately and sincerely, against drug use. And, in so doing, he will save others from Andy’s fate.  

I’m grateful to Andy, and to his father, for reminding me that sometimes the greatest tragedies and circumstances can spur us into new action, new directions and a new commitment to changing our lives – and the lives of others–for the better.
 

 

SETTING THE STAGE FOR SUCCESS: A Presentation Tip from an American Idol Standout

April 1st, 2010

As some of you already know, I watch American Idol.  I do this for many reasons, not the least of which is that I get to observe performers come through under pressure, which provides fodder for articles like this.

Last week, one of my favorite of this season’s performers, Crystal Bowersox, knocked Kris Kristofferson’s classic song, “Me and Bobby McGee” out of the park.  As usual, she was relaxed and emotionally available, grounded, solid and, seemingly, utterly herself– Everything I strive to help my clients achieve when they step onto the speaking platform.

At the end of the performance, after rave reviews by the various judges, the host, Ryan Seacrest asked Crystal “What’s the deal with the carpet?”  The camera panned down to the floor, where her sandal shod feet were resting on a small oriental rug.

Crystal smiled, sat down cross-legged on the carpet, inviting Mr. Seacrest to sit down beside her. “It’s plush,” Crystal said, patting fabric beside her. “It’s pretty.  And you know, the stage is cold and grey.”

Brilliant, I thought. The choice to lay down a cozy little rug on a cold, bare floor created a warm, homey playing space that allowed the talented Ms. Bowersox to feel more comfortable.  She did what she need to do to herself be truly present, so she could bring her best self to her performance.

This kind of thinking is common to great actors, great musicians, and great presenters. They ask themselves “What do I need to do to help myself really show up on stage?”  Because something as simple as wearing your favorite pair of shoes, using your own tried and true microphone, brightening the stage with a vase of your favorite flowers, or keeping a photo of your mom or a mentor in your pocket can help make a bare, unfriendly stage feel more like home. Which can help you bring your best self to the moment.

When you step onto the speaking platform, it’s your time in the sun.  So set the stage for your success: Do whatever it takes to stack the deck in your favor.  Do whatever it takes to help yourself feel grounded and human, and well, truly yourself.  Because as Crystal Bowersox demonstrated, sometimes something as simple as a scrap of rug can turn a bare stage into your living room, and your presentation into an intimate, powerful and memorable experience.   

SINKING THE PUTT: Treat Your Presentation Like a Game of Golf!

December 21st, 2009

When I was a kid, my dad decided I was going to be a golfer.  As he explained, golf was a game that would pay off for in me in the business world someday.  Besides, I was long and lean and athletically inclined, and, according to my golf pro, looked like I belonged on the cover of Sports Illustrated.  And as I whacked ably away at the line of balls he teed up for me, and watched them arc into the distance, I half believed him.

But practice was one thing; playing was another.  Whenever I actually played 9 holes of golf (18 was reserved for grown-ups), it was a whole other story.  Time after time, I’d slice that darned ball into a bunker, or the rough, or an inch away from my brother’s head.  More often than not, and especially under pressure, those potentially hole-winning putts drove me to my knees.  The more I tried to beat the guy next to me, or hit a hole-in-one at every tee, the more frustrated and disappointed I became with my performance.  No amount of post-game ginger ale and crunchy grilled-cheese sandwiches at the 19th hold could take away the sting of a tough game. 

After a while, I decided the only way to play golf was to pretend I was practicing and to work on each shot as it came up.  I noticed I played better when I made a decision about what I was going to concentrate on that day—as in “today, I’m just going to focus on staying relaxed while I putt.”  That allowed me to leave each game feeling like I’d been successful at realizing my very specific intention, even if I didn’t beat my boasting brother.

Years later, I used the same general principle to help me better my abilities as an actor—a principle reinforced by my greatest acting instructors.  “Pick something specific to work on each time you run through the scene,” they’d suggest.  “Work on something tangible– like listening well, or staying fully connected to your fellow actors moment by moment.”  Concentrating on a specific action allowed me to focus on something I could control in an otherwise out-of-control situation.  And it kept me from focusing on things that could pull me off my game, like the critic scribbling away in the third row.

It all came full circle the other day, as I worked with a new coaching client who was struggling with the anxiety that popped up every time he turned his attention to an upcoming presentation.  When I suggested that every time he work on his presentation – in rehearsal and even when he finally delivered it–he try focusing on a simple, specific, doable action or intention, he practically leaped out of his chair:  “That’s what I do with my golf game,” he said. “Every time I play, I pick one thing I want to improve, and then I focus on it!”  We then launched into a spirited conversation about the practice of golf as it related to the practice of speaking. And he left the session intent on applying that same principle to his presentation, feeling sure it would work for him.

I had to smile:  My dad was right about those golf lessons.  They really did pay off!

BRAGGING RIGHTS: WHY IT’S FINE TO SHINE

October 1st, 2009

I see it all the time:  Amazing, capable women who choose to give their power away by disowning or belittling their considerable accomplishments.  It happened just this weekend, at a public speaking workshop that I facilitated.  Not one but two women stood up, gave presentations about their life’s work, and essentially pooh poohed the astonishing evidence of their brilliance and determination.  “So, I kind of put together several conferences,” said one woman, describing the growth of a conference series and a foundation she’d established to help bring awareness of her son’s rare genetic disease to the world at large… “and, oh, yeah, we’ve even had some international experts speak at them, so that’s been pretty good…” She tossed off her remarks in a tiny voice and in an offhand manner.Another woman spoke somewhat tentatively about the services provided by her health care company.  When she was done, and someone commented on the importance of her company’s unique services, she she seemed shocked:  “Really?” she asked. “Do you think so?”

These incredible, capable women willingly soft-pedaled their remarkable accomplishments and were uncomfortable taking credit for them.  And when I asked them to try once again to verbally express their achievements in a more confident and defined manner, they were flummoxed and flabbergasted: … “Brag about myself? That’s just so HARD,” one of them exclaimed, “I don’t know how to DO that?”

“Well, guys sure do,” said an older man, a CEO of several successful companies. “If you were a man, you’d have no trouble standing up there telling us what you’re good at and what you’ve accomplished.  It’s what we do!” 

Unfortunately, I did not disagree with him.  And for the millionth time, I had to ask myself: Why is it that men embrace their bragging rights, while women avoid them like the plague?

To answer that question, all I have to do is look back at my own childhood and remember  one of my dad’s pet expressions: “Don’t Toot Your Own Horn.” He’d toss those words at me like a grenade whenever I was overflowing with enthusiasm and pride over some accomplishment or other. I’d hear those words and automatically shrink, like a balloon, to a size that I figured was more tasteful to my father and to the world in general. I got the message:  It was, apparently, very bad form to claim your accomplishments publicly, or to declare your involvement in something that was successful, especially if you were a girl.  Girls – especially good girls (and, oh, I was such a very Good Girl) were modest, quiet, self-effacing; they NEVER bragged.  Because bragging smacked of conceit and arrogance; bragging might make you unlikable.  Worst of all, it might make you stand out, and standing out was to be avoided at all costs. Which was ironic, considering that, as a six foot tall girl in the 8th grade I already stood out like a sore thumb.  I shrugged off everything I accomplished:  Straight A’s? Oh, I had to work my buns off for them. The lead role in a zillion plays? Luck, pure luck.  Athletic Prowess?  Just a willingness to try hard, that’s all

The Good Girl syndrome still plagues full-fledged girls and fully-grown women, even in what we might consider a more enlightened 2009.  I picked up and read Rachel Simmons’ excellent book, The Curse of the Good Girl: Raising Authentic Girls with Courage and Confidence (The Penguin Press) to find out more on the subject (http://www.rachelsimmons.com).  Ms. Simmons’ hands-on work with girls, and her extensive research, underscore what I witness almost daily with the women I coach and train:  That, among other unsettling things, the Good Girl syndrome demands modesty, discouraging girls (and ultimately, women) from committing to their strengths and goals.  It also demands that Good Girls diminish and quiet their voice (literally and metaphorically), and tone down or eliminate assertive body language.

Good girls work hard at working hard, and at being perfect, compliant and ultra-nice.  They get very good at tamping down their needs, desires and true, authentic feelings in favor of pleasing other people, fitting in and being liked. And then they go out into the world and into the workforce, where the rules radically change.  Where, if you want to succeed in business, it’s not enough to be whip-smart and work your buns off:  You also have to be able to promote yourself, negotiate and receive feedback.  And Good Girls are woefully unprepared to do any of those things.  Which is one of the reasons why, once they’re out in the work force, the same Good Girls who were dynamos in middle or high school, will be in fewer positions of leadership, earning less money and asking for fewer raises than men.

The issues “Good girls” face continue to be issues for us as grown women. Because unless we are aware of these issues, and actively work on them, we won’t outgrow them.  

The women I work with wrestle with many of the same issues (i.e. an undeveloped sense of self; an ability to express their authentic voice; an inability to claim their worth) as the “Good Girl” teens Ms. Simmons describes in her book.  For example, at her Girls Leadership Institute, Ms. Simmons watched a bright and articulate teen girl struggle to complete an assignment in which she had to list her many talents and strengths. When asked why she was having such trouble with the assignment, the girl replied “I don’t want other people to think I’m conceited.” Which is eerily similar to the answers I get when I query coaching clients –grown women– struggling with the same exercise.

I’m not going to pretend I haven’t spent the better part of my own life grappling with – and coming to terms with– these same issues; it’s probably why I’m so passionate about helping other women overcome them. When I arrived in NYC as a young actress, I figured that my mere presence would somehow titillate the atmosphere to such a degree that the professional acting world would magically find me and offer me acting jobs. Needless to say, that did not occur.  Finally, I realized, no one would find me—and discover my talents– unless I helped myself stand out.  Which meant marketing my abilities and (sorry, Daddy) tooting my own horn. Because if I didn’t toot my own horn, who the heck would?   20 years later, I’m still tooting my own horn –in the right circumstance, for the right reasons:  I do this every time I pick up the phone to have a meaningful conversation about my services with a potential client who is considering hiring me to speak at their conference or to train their team.  They’re not interested in having a conversation with – and potentially spending money on–someone who pooh-poohs their own abilities and accomplishments.  They need to feel and hear –in my voice, words and attitude–the confidence I feel in what I have done in the past, and in what I can do for them in the future.So, ladies, I challenge you:   Stop apologizing for being fabulous and capable. Stop backing off of your abilities and accomplishments and embrace them with all your heart..  Have the courage and the pride to take credit for what you’ve done and who you are.  Stand up straight.  Look people in the eye. Speak so you can be heard. And claim your bragging rights. Because if you don’t toot your own horn, who will? 

 

PHYSICS AT WORK: EXCITE YOUR ATOMS AND ENERGIZE YOUR SPEAKING!

September 15th, 2009

I can’t tell you how many speaking clients complain to me about their inability to hold people’s attention while they’re giving a presentation.  I tell them, “You get back what you put out.””  And then I turn on my trusty camera and videotape them doing their thing.  During playback, my clients get to see themselves as they actually come across: Well meaning, usually articulately, but often lacking energy in body and voice. Which, as speakers,  makes them about as compelling as a leaf of wilted lettuce.

So, how to solve this dilemma?  The answer lies in a sentence from Gary Zukav’s wonderful book on Quantum Physics, THE DANCING WU LI MASTERS. In a discussion of spectral analysis, Zukav explains that “exciting” an element (like a particle of sodium) means literally adding some energy to it.  The key word there is ENERGY!  Excitement creates ENERGY!  And a speaker or actor who walks onto the stage in a body that is energized and alive commands attention and inspires an equal amount of energy in her audience.  In acting class, we weren’t allowed to begin to do our scenes or exercise work without warming up our bodies and our voices so that we were relaxed, alert and energized.  We understood that if we were willing to stir ourselves up, emotionally and physically, we could also stir up our audience.  As an actor, and  I made a commitment to bring my most energized, alive self to the stage. Which is a commitment I also bring to my work as a speaker.  You can do the same.  Here are four simple suggestion to help you think like an actor (and a physicist!) by energizing yourself so you can energize your audience:

  1. GET PHYSICAL:  Before you go onstage, run in place, do a set of jumping jacks or push-ups, or do five minutes of a Tai Chi form.  It will get your blood flowing, and your heart beating. Afterwards, make sure you give yourself enough time to center yourself by inhaling and exhaling deeply three times before stepping up to the platform.
  2. WORK WITH INTENTION: Give yourself a purpose you can get excited about. “My intention is to convince audience members to support this new initiative” will keep you much more physically and emotionally involved than “my intention is to tell audience members about the new initiative.”
  3. SPEAK ON SOMETHING YOU’RE PASSIONATE ABOUT:   I know, I know, I can hear you now: “but I’m delivering the year-end financial statement at our annual conference?  How can I get passionate about that?” Actors deal with that dilemma all the time.  They have to get up on stage and say the same lines, night after night after night and make them seem fresh.  Or they have to find a way to play a character they don’t necessary like.  Follow their lead: Do your darndest to find something about your speaking topic that excites, energizes, or moves you.  If you can’t, then find a way to deliver it that excites you:  Bring elements into your speech or presentation that you’ll have fun doing, like poems, songs, music, personal stories you love to tell, or hidden talents (juggling?) you’d love to share. The more turned on you are, the more you’ll turn on your audience.
  4. ACT LIKE ROYALTY: Would King Arthur or Queen Elizabeth have schlumped in their thrones or hunched over and shuffled their feet as they as they greeted their loyal subjects?  Of course not!  Think and act like royalty! Practice walking, standing and entering a room like a king or queen, knowing –and liking –that all eyes are on you.  Imagine that you’re wearing a crown, and want to show it off in all its glory.  Hold your head high, keep your shoulders back, let your voice ring with energy and intention as you direct it to specific members your audience.  And let the energy that flows through your body continue like a beam of light through your extended arm and fingertips whenever you make a gesture.You’ll inspire more people into action, keep more people from doodling on their handouts, and help more people remember the key points of your content when you are willing to stir yourself up and energize yourself, body and soul.  
  5.  Remember: What you put out you get back.  And isn’t that, too, a law of physics?    



 


    

      

A CHALLENGE TO MICHIGAN ENTREPRENEURS: Shout Out and Share Your Great Big Voice!

September 1st, 2009

I don’t follow tennis much, but I am well aware of tennis stars Venue and Serena Williams, sisters who turned women’s tennis into a power game with their sheer physical domination.  Picking up the newspaper last night, I read an article about these exceptional athletes, and was struck by a statement that Venus Williams made after advancing to the  finals of the 1997 Women’s Open:  “I’m tall,” she said, “I’m black.  Everything’s different about me.  Just face the facts.”  Venus doesn’t apologize one whit for who she is, and what makes her different: she just accepts it and embraces her Great Big Voice.  When tennis buffs were put off by her colorful and bold courtside clothing, Venus simply kept wearing her colorful outfits.  She is who she is, just as her sister, Serena is who she is.  And tennis has changed immeasurably because of it.

Now, I may not smack tennis balls around, but anybody who has ever met me, or seen my TOUCH THE SKY musical keynote program, knows that, like Venus Williams, I’m tall and don’t exactly fit in the typical mold. Which is fine by me. After many years of struggle, I finally decided to fully accept and celebrate everything I am.  And that message– choosing to TOUCH THE SKY, to fully show up in all your uniqueness in spite of obstacles or challenges– is at the core of my TOUCH THE SKY keynote program, and the basic premise of my work as a presentation skills coach and trainer.  My mission is the same whether I am working as a presenter or as a presentation coach or trainer: To show up– in word and deed– as fully as possible, so that I can encourage others to do the same… even and especially when the temptation is to “shrink to fit.” It takes guts to simply be who we are, fully and fearlessly, especially when what we are is, well, different from the norm.  Sometimes, when we do show up in all our uniqueness, it can scare the heck out of people, make them uncomfortable, or even drive them away.  But it can also attract towards us those people who are looking for exactly what we have to offer. And that’s why, when I delivered my TOUCH THE SKY keynote to several hundred entrepreneurs at TechTown’s Fast Trac to the Future conference in Detroit recently, I said the following words:  “Can you tell by now that this is not your usual business keynote? The guitar is a dead giveaway, huh?  This is not your usual business keynote, because I’m not because I’m not your usual business keynote speaker.  I mean, do you see any flow charts here?  How about statistics? Nope, they’re! Instead, my presentation is filled the very things that you ordinarily don’t see in a business setting.  It’s filled with the very things that make me unique: A larger than life personality and presence, an undeniable theatrical flair, and original songs and stories designed to make you feel and think! Those very things, those very qualities that make me–and this presentation, unique, will draw some of you to me, and push some of you away. I guarantee it. That’s the risk I take by choosing to be completely who I am on this platform.  And that’s exactly the risk you must take as entrepreneurs, when you go out into the world and declare your big idea with passion and purpose.  Because some people are going to call you and your idea crazy, and run screaming in the other direction.  But some people are going to want to hitch themselves up to your wagon and invest in your business and your big idea.  And the only way you’re going to find the people who want to support what you have to offer, is if you’re willing to risk showing up fully and fearlessly…. ” Venus and Serena Williams changed the face of women’s tennis by taking that risk: By being exactly who they are, whether people liked it or not.  In so doing, they’ve become world champions, inspiring others to embrace their own uniqueness, talents and abilities. As entrepreneurs, you have the power to do the same– by embracing your Big Idea and your marvelous uniqueness with every fiber of your being,  no matter how many no’s you hear or how many obstacles you face.  Because as entrepreneurs, you are the backbone and the great hope of the state of Michigan. It’s entrepreneurs like you that will put this state—and the city of Detroit—back on the map and back in business. So choose to TOUCH THE SKY:  Have the courage and the will to Shout out and Share your Great Idea and Your Great Big Voice!  The right people will hear it, support it, believe in it and be changed by it.

Preparing to Perform: Lessons from Miss Eartha Kitt

February 11th, 2009

I recently watched a PBS special about the life and career of singer, actress, cabaret artist and all-around stellar performer, Eartha Kitt.  Miss Kitt– who many of you will remember as the purring, growling, sinewy Catwoman from the original Batman television series) died this past Christmas day at the age of 81.  When asked by the interviewer how on earth she was still able to do what she loves– and do it so very well—Miss Kitt replied:   “You have to prepare yourself to do what want to do you.”  Then she went on to explain that, for her, preparing involved thinking the right thoughts, eating the right foods, and keeping negative people away, among other things.  I smiled when I heard this, having seen for myself just how seriously and thoroughly Miss Kitt took the notion of preparation. I had, in fact, spent some time in her company at a Jazz festival booked by my husband, Jim, and presented at the famed Grand Hotel on Michigan’s Mackinaw Island.  At the time, she was 79 years young. 

Jim and I went to pick up Miss Kitt at the ferry docks the evening before her performance. I fully expected Miss Kitt to be as expansive, slinky, glittery and diva-esque as the persona that I had seen slithering across  a television or teasing the lyrics of I WANT TO BE EVIL in her vixen’s voice.  Instead, the woman who came forward to meet us was a silent, tiny, plain-clothed little thing, without a shred of makeup, as reserved and pulled tight as an oyster.  She barely spoke a word to us as the horse drawn carriage pulled us up the steep hill towards the long, white-pillared porch of the Grand Hotel.  As a performer myself, I knew enough to respect her need for silence and distance.  I simply shut my mouth and joined my husband in accompanying her to her sunny, airy, stunning hotel suite.  She took in the panoramic view of the smooth cobalt surface of Straits of Mackinaw, put her hands on her hips, rolled her eyes and spoke:

“If I had known it was going to be this fabulous,” she said, “I would have brought a man.” “Well, Miss Kitt” said my husband, “that can ALWAYS be arranged.”

She smiled.  We smiled. She spoke again.

“What time am I performing tomorrow “2 pm, “ Jim replied. 

“God,” Miss Kit said, rolling her eyes, “ it’s HELL being Eartha Kitt at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.”  And then she put her hands on her hips and laughed, a big rich throaty laugh. 

When I look back, I realize that that simple question, “what time am I performing tomorrow,” catalyzed the start of Miss Kitt’s preparation countdown and her metamorphosis into the Eartha Kitt (Big E, Big K) people would be paying to see.. Because the Eartha Kitt we expected to dazzle us required time, work and preparation, emotionally and physically.  And I was privileged to observe some of that preparation, which occurred in phases over the next 12 hours.

At 9 am the following morning, Miss Kitt showed up at breakfast, five hours before show time, wearing a silky turban, long fluffy false eyelashes, a face gilded with makeup and a colorful kimono—a far cry from the undecorated woman we’d met at the ferry docks the evening before.  Wide eyes turned toward her as she swept into the dining room, holding herself like a queen, flirting with maitre D as he seated her.  Once fortified with breakfast, she made her way down to the Grand Hotel’s tea garden stage to do an official sound check with the members of her trio.  As my husband and I finished our breakfast, we could hear Miss Kitt warming up her voice with a song or two. Then she put the band through their paces, going over parts of a song again and again. Next, word trickled up to us that Miss Kitt required a lounge chair and a tuxedoed waiter to serve her champagne for an improvised bit during her show.  My husband scurried to procure them.  Miss Kitt was exacting and specific.  She knew precisely what she needed and wanted.  After all, as she had declared, “you have to prepare yourself for what you want to do.”

An hour prior to her 2 o’clock performance, Miss Kitt retired to her dressing area.  No visitors allowed: she needed space and silence.  Again, this was all part of her preparation ritual.

At 2 o’clock, I sat eager and breathless in the front row, ready to see the final iteration of Miss Kitt. The emcee hushed the audience and spoke: “Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Eartha Kitt”

With upraised arms, Miss Kitt swept out of the wings, swathed in a dramatic, long cloak held aloft by a small, scurrying assistant.  The assistant whipped off the cloak with a swoosh, revealing  Eartha Kitt, Big E, Big K in all her gloriousness:  Hair perfectly coiffed, nails long and red, heels glittery and high, stretch velvet gown slit up to there and revealing a very toned leg.  She growled.  And then she did a backbend that brought the back of her head almost perpendicular to the ground.  The crowd gasped!

For two hours, Miss Kitt sang, kicked up to her nose, teased grown men enough to make them blush, made us laugh until we cried, made us cry until we laughed, and otherwise showed us how to take the stage (and an audience) prisoner.  As I watched Miss Kitt in full fiery performance, I thought of the silent, unadorned, reserved woman I had met the night before at the ferry dock.  In less than 24 hours, she had done whatever it took to bring herself to full performance power.  Relying on a lifetime of training and preparation—countless dance and yoga classes, vocal and dance warm-ups, attention to nutrition, costume, makeup, song choices, hours of rehearsal– Miss Kitt had helped transform herself into the stunning, incandescent performer who had me hanging on her every word and gesture.  And she had done so even though– and especially because—as she’d put it, “It’s HELL being Eartha Kitt at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.”

And here’s the kicker.  We– the audience that stood to give her an ovation at the end of her remarkable show– never had a clue that Miss Kitt had just been diagnosed with the cancer that would eventually take her life. I have no doubt that the years of training, combined with the steps she took to be thoroughly prepared, allowed her to rise above her medical condition, and give a performance that knocked our socks off. If Miss Eartha Kitt was (and in my heart still is) not a poster child for why training and preparation matter, then I don’t know who is. 

 

DEDICATE YOUR WORK AND WATCH IT SOAR!

November 18th, 2008

Last night I watched the semi-finals of Dancing with the Stars while lying in bed eating dinner with my husband and my three cats. Tease me all you want, but it was a whole lot more fun to watch people in satin and sequins salsa dancing and fox-trotting than, say, watching doom and gloom on the TV news, or a blood and guts flick on the Spike channel.

In any event, Lance Bass, a contestant who used to perform with the boy-band, N Sync, did something unusual to help him get a leg-up on the competition:  He brought his beloved granddad to the show and dedicated his performance to him.  Lance was going to do a foxtrot, and figured since his granddad had grown up dancing this particular dance, some of his grandfather’s latent abilities might rub off on him.

As it happened, Lance nailed his foxtrot, even after one of his dancing shoes fell off (!!) halfway through his dance number.  His grandfather was jubilant. Lance was ecstatic:  He got the highest points he’d ever received on any dance routine thus far.

Here’s my point:  By dedicating his performance to his granddad, who was sitting in the audience, cheering him on, Lance imbued his performance with a meaning greater and deeper than usual.  He danced, this time, not just for himself, but to honor another.  And, as a result, he danced better, with more focus and abandon than he had ever done before.

Authors dedicate their work to others all the time:  Open up just about any book, and you’ll notice a dedication at the very beginning.  Actors do this, too:  They’ll dedicate a particular show to someone they love or admire—their mother, a person who is sick or ailing, the ghost of Sir Lawrence Olivier, whatever works for them. And when they do, the act of dedicating their work in another’s honor gives their performance greater focus, meaning and purpose, and often elevates the quality of their work. 

According to Daniel H. Pink, the author or a wonderful book I’m currently reading called A Whole New Mind: Why Right Brainers Will Rule the Future, dedicating your life or your work to someone you admire or something greater than/outside of yourself gives it a richer and more fulfilling meaning and purpose. So why not give it a try? The next time you have a difficult task to perform—a tricky presentation to give, a tough phone call to make– dedicate your task to someone you love and admire.  If it worked for Lance Bass last night on Dancing With the Stars, it can work for you.

STOP PREPARING, AND JUST DO IT!

November 13th, 2008

When I teach presentation skills to my coaching and training clients, I always tell them to prepare to the point that they know their material inside out.  Because, as jazz musician, Bradford Marsalis points out, “If you’re not prepared, it’s too late.”  Of course, this applies to anything you’re trying to accomplish in life, not just public speaking.But then there comes a point where you need to stop preparing and just DO it.  This requires a necessary leap of faith that is terrifying to many people. And so, they keep preparing, and stay stuck.Several years ago, while living in southern California, I participated in a weekend retreat designed to challenge fears and perceptions.  One entire day was devoted to tackling the elements of a rope-challenge course.  For those of you unfamiliar with rope challenge courses, suffice it to say that participants are safely led through exercises that involve the use of ropes in ways that make you come face-to-face with your fears, particularly the fear of heights. Participants work in teams, pairs or alone, building teamwork, trust and self-confidence, doing such hair-raising things as leaping off the top of a tall tree towards a swinging trapeze or walking across a tightrope. It is not for the faint of heart.

Let me say right off the bat, that I have a colossal fear of heights.  So the ropes challenge course both terrified and (strangely) attracted me.

The first ropes challenge I faced was, so I was told, a simple one, in that it did not involve climbing up a rope or a ladder:  “All” we had to do was take turns leaning off the side of a cliff, tethered to two ropes commandeered by the ropes course instructors.  To prepare for the experience, we were carefully instructed in the correct way to strap on the harness we would be wearing while dangling into the abyss, and shown how the belay ropes attached to the harness worked to prevent injury.  We were given helmets and shown the proper way to secure them to our heads. We each took turns feeling the tension on the rope attached to an instructor as she dangled off the cliff.  I, of course, asked a lot of questions:  How secure were the belay lines?  What if something went wrong?  Should we look down?  As far as I was concerned, I would have preferred preparing forever, and avoiding altogether the spine-chilling moment of hoisting myself off the side of a cliff with a wing and a prayer.

I managed to put myself as far back in the line as possible, watching with amazement and horror as person after person strapped themselves into the harness, walked to the edge of a cliff, yelled “ready,” and then slowly leaned out over a 300 foot drop.  The line moved much, much too fast, until, finally, it was my turn to buckle on the harness.  I truly didn’t want to go.  Wasn’t there more to do, more to prepare, so that I would be completely safe?  Was my helmet on right?  Was the rope secure?  The rope course instructor watched me with a knowing smile.  “You’re ready,” he said “just do it.”

And so, I did.  Somehow, I managed to make my feet move toward the cliff’s rocky edge.  “Now let go and lean forward” the instructor ordered.  And I did that too, my heart pounding like a bad headache, leaning slowing out into the cool fall air. “SNAP!” the ropes attached to my harness locked into place.  And there I hung, at a 45 degree angle, the scruffy gray-green of the southern California hills spread out beneath me.  I had done it! And, oh, it was a beautiful thing.

Afterwards, once my pulse had slowed and my legs had stopped trembling, I wondered:  Why had I let myself be so scared?  Because the fact of the matter was this: Actually DOING it wasn’t nearly as hard or scary as PREPARING to do it.  There comes a time when preparation must end and you must just do it, whatever “it” is.

When you must simply pick up the phone and make that call, send that letter, have that conversation, take that action, step onto that stage.  So stop letting preparation stop you from doing what you know you need to do. And just do it.