Speaking in Public

An amalgamation of skills acquired across a lifetime continues to intrigue and also puzzle me. My skill set offers surprises, too. Where did it come from? Were there models in my life that I emulated that led me to them?

Public speaking is a primary one. My evolution as a speaker was a gradual one. I never envisioned when I was in my late teens or early 20s that I’d become someone who would eventually speak before a myriad of groups, and deliver a host of disparate topics, mainly after the age of 40.

When I was a player attending classes mainly to maintain my spot on the Maine Black Bears fall baseball roster and so I could pitch for John Winkin, I enrolled in Public Speaking 101. The class of primarily freshman and sophomores—most of whom dreaded getting up to speak—offered me that first taste of the thrill that I’ve always experienced standing before a group, and the sense of power inherent in being able to do that. While most people equate speaking in public with fear, cold sweats, and ostracism, I was learning back in 1980 that this skill was a valuable one to have in your back pocket.

At 18, I wasn’t committed to my craft. I simply chose a topic and basically got up and riffed on a few things I knew, threw in a joke or two, and thought I was something special. I wasn’t. What allowed me to pull this off back then was some belief I managed to summon from somewhere. I believed I could do it. Continue reading

Anita Hill 2.0

Today is the “big day” on Capitol Hill. Brent Kavanaugh will have to answer to and about the allegations made against him. Several women have alleged that he at best, acted in an aggressive and sexualized manner towards them. At worst, he was/is a sexual predator.

Mark Peterson photo/Courtesy of The New Yorker

Since Mark was killed, I boomerang between days and weeks where life seems like it’s returned to “normal.” I go off and do one of my various freelance activities, or I’m working on one of the one or two articles I turn and get paid for by the auto trade magazine I’ve written for since the summer of 2015. The activity allows me to push aside the pain that comes with losing someone central to my life.

Inevitably, something becomes a trigger, and I can go from “nearly normal,” to freefalling into an angry funk. When this occurs, it’s hard to want to care about anything for a day, or longer. I’m angry at the woman who hit and killed my son. I’m angry at people who seem to be so self-centered and oblivious about others and their pain. I’m sick of thinking about how I’m going to scrounge up some additional income, and a host of other emotions related to grief and loss. This week, it was something that someone who I thought had my back, said. This person once again indicated what an absolute shit they are and have been since Mark’s death upended my life and Mary’s. But it’s always about them and always has been. I must remind myself of that and breathe. Continue reading