I have and will always maintain that a weapon every speaker should carry around in their arsenal is the ability to fire up a genuine beaming smile on demand.
Actually, scratch that statement. Everyone, speaker or no, should learn how to smile on cue. And by smile, I mean the sort of eye-crinkling, cheek raising smile that people give when they are truly happy to be where they are and doing what they’re doing.
Why is being able to smile like this so important? Because genuine smiles show signal to your audience that you are interested in them. They engender trust and foster happiness in both the person smiling and being smiled at. They make you seem more approachable and open. They make you more likable and will trigger your audience to smile back at you.
Even better, a beaming smile can hide the fact that you are nervous, tired, panicky, irate, desperate, generally out-of-sorts, and otherwise freaking out!
“But Lauren,” some may protest, “I just couldn’t smile! Everything was going completely wrong with the presentation/speech/situation!” Ahh, my friends, that is when the ability to feign a genuine smile becomes absolutely necessary. Case in point: a photograph of me performing during a particularly disastrous show at a local Lebanese restaurant.
(Please excuse the odd blurriness of the photo – it is quite hard to get a good shot in those lighting conditions.)
Most people see a picture of a happy belly dancer demonstrating her art, inviting a customer up to dance. Here is an actual summary of the scene:
In the photo, I am imploring the woman – an acquaintance who came out to see my performance – to get up and dance with me. This would encourage other customers to get up and dance, which is quite desirable. That grin you see plastered on my face had been there for well over half an hour, and I was begging, begging, begging her with my eyes to get up and dance.
Believe me when I say that I did not feel like smiling at that moment in time. I was, to put it bluntly, freaking out. But at that time, my job was to be a glamorous belly dancer who entertained the customers while exuding joy, grace, class, musical knowledge, technical aptitude, and general bonhomie. That means smiling. If needs be, I would have smiled until my cheek bones shattered (which, by the end, was exactly what they felt like).
Despite the general wretchedness of my situation and my state of intense panic, the performance was apparently well received. The customers got up and danced, and in an uncharacteristic move, actually tipped me.** Later I found out from my dance instructor, who arranges these gigs, that the musician was heartily pleased with me and very glad that I was so willing and able to dance energetically for the full 45 minutes. This reception is quite contrary to the information my own brain retained, which is best summarized as a long, agonized wail.
I have never been so happy that I can smile so realistically and so relentlessly.
Practice your smile, folks. Figure out how to make it look real. Sometimes it is the thing that saves the situation from utter disaster!
*Due to a faulty set up on the mixing board, the sound on my pre-recorded set went haywire about five minutes into the performance. The in-house musician, who was in charge of the sound system, mixing board, and keyboard, frantically waved my husband over to help, and then tried to skip ahead to my next song. This was a bad move, as I create my sets by re-mixing multiple songs into one single track. I had borrowed this particular MP3 player from my mother-in-law. She happens to like really terrible country pop music. Many belly dancers say you can dance to any kind of music. I disagree. You cannot belly dance to really terrible country pop. It was the most
horrifying hilarious 5 seconds of dancing I have ever had to get through.
**Part of me wonders if they were tipping me out of pity (“oh, that poor white girl is really giving it all she’s got”). Perhaps the tipping was out of admiration for my endurance of the never-ending-set – we usually only dance for 20 minutes. While I can expect to receive generous tips from the Greek restaurants, the regular customers at this particular restaurant are not known to be avid tippers. Different restaurants can have different customs.
Oh, smartphones. I have a very, very conflicted relationship with the damn things. On one hand, I recognize their usefulness for the busy professional. If your office is effectively your vehicle – and I know many people for who this holds true – then they can be a godsend. On the other hand, they do nothing to improve productivity for the majority of people, are generally used as convenient devices for obsessive checking of email/social networks/online game apps, and they’ve made people twitchy and compulsively responsive to their every chirp, buzz, or ring. I’m sure many of you have been to meetings where high-level executives spent more time checking their smartphone than actually attending to the agenda or discussion at hand.
For your end-of-the-week-ha-ha, I present to you an old Rick Mercer Report video (I’ve been referring to him a lot lately, no?) highlighting the dangers of our smartphone obsession. It is still freakishly relevant!
The definition of ‘professionalism’ is as varied as the contents of people’s bagged lunches. What we consider professional will vary greatly depending on our personality, experiences, education, and frame of mind at any given moment.
Some days I see ‘being professional’ as being capable of effortlessly moving from one group of colleagues to another while maintaining an engaging flow of intelligent, insightful conversation. On these days I feel like a corporate superstar, capable of handling even the most demanding conference. Other days, ‘being professional’ means not launching myself across a table and throttling a fellow meeting attendee. On days like that, the best policy is usually to avoid saying anything much and, if possible, get out of as many human interactions as I can.
There are some markers of professionalism, however, that I consider fairly universal. One of them is the use of an open, friendly attitude towards your clients or colleagues. Sometimes this is easy, sometimes this is difficult. The ability to instantly produce a genuine (or genuine-looking) smile helps enormously with this task. Being friendly and taking an interest in the other person will get you much further than adopting a flat, expression-free aloofness, no matter how much you think such behaviour conveys expertise and knowledge.
Another marker is writing style. The use of emoticons, excessive exclamation marks, unnecessary double quotes, and other such devices can distract the reader from your actual message. It might make you sound overly emotional and slightly unhinged. At worst it makes you sound like a teenage girl. There is never – ever – any need for smiley faces in business emails or communications.
In terms of my personal tastes for projecting professionalism, I like to see a person’s capacity for self-control. Self-control doesn’t mean lack of expression – far from it. Easy expressiveness tells people what state of mind you may be in and opens up communication. Rather, I mean that the individual is able to refrain from expression excessive excitement or excessive disappointment. The level of excitement displayed should be proportional to the issue at hand. For instance, I don’t like seeing people reach massive states of thrill when they learn of a new initiative that may possible happen if all the conditions are right. I’d rather see genuine interest tempered with a rational discussion of the likelihood of those conditions being reached. Once the conditions are ripe and the project is actually initiated, then the excitement can build.
What sort of behaviours do you consider markers for professionalism?
This week’s dose of Friday fun is brought to you by Rick Mercer. His rants are works of genius! Consider this a lesson from Rick in both presentation and modern communication.
In public speaking – and in everything else in life – it is impossible to please everyone. To think that in order to be an excellent speaker you must receive universal adulation is an exercise in frustration. Different speaker quirks will enchant some audience members while repelling others. There is nothing wrong with this; it often just comes down to a matter of individual taste. Our peculiarities as individual speakers are what make us interesting and give us distinct styles.
The way I see it is that if there isn’t a single audience member who is riled up or annoyed by something you’ve said or something you’ve done, then you’ve probably delivered one heck of a bland, predictable speech. Provided that our quirks don’t muddle our message to the point of incomprehensibility, we should embrace those aspects of ourselves that give us our spark of originality.
This isn’t a permission slip to get lazy and stop improving areas where our speaking skills could be stronger. Telling yourself “I’m a naturally fast talker and Lauren said that’s just my style on her blog” won’t cut it. I’ll still nag the daylights out of you to slow the heck down when we’re working one on one. The same goes for aimless wandering, making aggravating smacking noises, or not organizing your thoughts. If one of your characteristics is overly distracting or confusing, then you must work on controlling it. But don’t be surprised if you hear one listener saying that they couldn’t stand one of your characteristics while others say they absolutely adore that same trait. When watching Gordon Ramsey speak, I love how he gets so excited that he bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. My friend (a fellow lover of cooking shows) hates it when he does that – to her, it makes him seem unhinged.
Wondering what some of your own stylistic traits may be? Listen for differences in feedback where the same trait is brought up repeatedly. Pay attention to the different reactions people have towards that same aspect. If more people find the trait distracting and confusing, than consider it something that you need to work on or change altogether. If the majority of the feedback is positive, than think of it as a strength and part of your individual style.
A personal trait that I’ve incorporated into my own speaking style is my use of language and vocabulary. I love long, polysyllabic words and use them often while speaking. I then provide a heavy contrast between these formal, florid terms with a bit of earthy slang and metaphor. This is very characteristic of how I speak both casually with my friends and in front of an audience. Most feedback I’ve received about this quirk has been very positive; listeners find the turn of phrases and the new words very interesting and entertaining. Occasionally, however, someone will tell me not to use “so many big words” (that’s usually how the criticism is phrased). Knowing that most of my audiences love my choice of words but some find it challenging helps me not only understand my strengths and style, but also tells me when I need to adapt my style to suit a different audience.
Paying close attention to when you receive negative feedback about your style will give you the insight needed to adapt your style to different audiences. When I know that I’ll be working with an individual or a group of people whose second language is English, I’ll consciously adapt my language to something plainer and less florid than I would normally use. If I’m talking about a specialty subject to people who are unfamiliar with the topic, I’ll shy away from using confusing jargon or acronyms. If you tend to be a very energetic speaker with a fast, clipped rate of speech, you should slow down if you are dealing with a group that tends to be hard of hearing (such as an elderly audience). Having this knowledge at your disposal makes you a flexible, adaptable speaker while still allowing you to maintain your own distinct style.
Just don’t expect everyone to be happy with you 100% of the time!
An “older” video (in internet terms, anyway), but a fun one. Keep an eye out for this girl on future motivational speaker circuits!
Communication is a boon, a blessing, the only way to get things done.
Things that facilitate communication are boons, blessings, necessary to our daily life at work and play.
If the above statements are true, why is burnout higher than ever? Why do we have to manage our communications and contact with so many different people? Why do many of us feel the need to apply a task-management approach more suited for the office to our regular interactions with friends and family?
The problem could be rooted in our attempts to communicate too much. The old adage that you can have too much of a good thing is absolutely true, and when it comes to sharing with other people, we are gorging ourselves sick on constant superficial interactions. At work and at home we are connected with email, internet, land-line, mobile phones, “smart” devices, and an ever-evolving onslaught of social networking vehicles. All of these demand that our brains remain in constant social mode, ready to respond to someone else at a moment’s notice. This is an exhausting state to remain in all day, every day, akin to having your ‘game face’ on nearly every waking minute.
Unfortunately, this constant contact takes a toll on the quality of our communications. We rapidly come to prefer communication methods that appear less intrusive or that allow us to better choose when and where to communicate. We would rather get an email or text than call someone and have a real-time voice conversation. Our interactions then get reduced to little snippets of information that contain no depth and very little real connection. Instead of calling someone to chat about the weekend’s happenings, we “poke” them on Facebook or broadcast a 140 character info-bit on Twitter about Saturday night’s party. Meanwhile, we begin to dread the ringing of the telephone, and eventually start to want to unplug from the social networks and mobile phone (clanging bother-machines that they are).
I certainly fall prey to the lure of these mini-communication moments. My brain gives me a good rush of dopamine when I get a text or someone comments on my Facebook status update. But after a while, the desire to detach myself from that type of communication in favour for meaningful contact with a very limited number of people becomes less of a want and more than a need.
This last week, my husband and I went to an out-of-town wedding and took the opportunity to tack on two days of hiking in the mountains. We reconnected with family we rarely see, and then spent two blissful days out of cell phone range. Not once did I check my email, post a status update, or answer a text. My husband and I chatted a great deal, but also spent a lot of time in absolute silence. The silence was wonderful – we were together mentally and physically, but the noise of the world was hushed out by the tramping of our hiking boots. I didn’t have the slightest desire to post a happy status update or share an Instagram photo of the beautiful trails.
These time-outs should be experienced by even the most enthusiastic and dedicated communicator. If we never give ourselves time to sort out the noise in our own heads without broadcasting it to the world, how will we develop our ability to sort out the noise being exchanged between two people? Communication – even for pleasure – can be difficult and exhausting. We’ve traded quality for quantity. Sometimes, the severe restriction of quantity is the only thing that can improve the quality of the messages we’re trying to get across.
Give it a try. Go out for a day, and leave the cell phone behind. Give yourself the gift of freedom from communication – no status updates, no sharing, no other people’s inputs distracting you away from the communication going on inside your own head. It can be tricky at first, but it quickly becomes wonderfully freeing.
I have a soft spot in my hearts for sports people. It’s their inherently competitive, focused nature; it makes them delightfully sincere and transparent when they are stuck at a podium having to speak to an audience.
Acting is part of life. Whether we acknowledge it or not, we spent a significant portion of our day in one performance or another. Life demands all of us to be a bit of an actor, and most people are remarkably adept at this.
We perform in front of our spouses and friends. We act out specific roles and personas at work. We are definitely performers when giving speeches or presentations, regardless of their scale or importance. Sometimes the act is casual or subtle. Sometimes it is a full on display worthy of an Oscar award.
In my work, I’ll use the term “acting” a couple of ways. One of these is the way most people would define it: participating in a scripted or improvised play, film, or similar performance. Sometimes I’ll call people who do this kind of acting dramatists, just to avoid ambiguity (a rather old-fashioned term, I know. But it’s useful, and I am a Jane Austin fan).
The other way I define acting is: the conscious control of our externally projected emotions in order to convey a specific message for a specific purpose.*
This I’ll also call social acting. Sometimes we do this when we want to show an emotion externally that is different or conflicting with what we’re actually feeling. We might also do this to amplify our emotions for greater effect, or even if we’re trying to convince ourselves of something that we don’t yet quite believe. What we do on the outside, after all, has an effect on what’s going on inside our own heads.
When clients or workshop participants tell me that they’re “not an actor,” I usually dismiss the comment. It simply isn’t true. What the person actually means is that they’re not a dramatist. The majority of people are very adept social actors. We have to be – it’s part of getting along in human society. Social acting lets us communicate clearly, get along, keep the peace, motivate others, do what needs to be done in a different situations. People who truly, truly “can’t act” also usually can’t have normal relationships, whether social, romantic, or work-related.
So when are we social actors? Here are a few scenarios:
These performances aren’t necessairly done to be duplicitous. Social acting is as likely to be an honest act as a dishonest one. Sometimes we are social actors for the benefit of others, sometimes for our own benefit. Have you ever seen someone try to get over a phobia? When someone refrains from screaming or gagging while petting their friend’s boa constrictor because they want to get over their fear of snakes, they’re engaging in an honest bit of acting for their own benefit.
This week, try taking note of the instances where you think you are doing a bit of social acting. You might be surprised at how prolific and accomplished an actor you are!
*In case you were wondering, yes I really do get this nerdy when I’m babbling about work. This is what happens when I get excited!