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Fanula loved her role as
second-in-command to the
division president. As the
public face of her boss’s
policies, Fanula got to put her
innate Irish love of language
and her gift with people on full
display.
She told me her goal for our
coaching was to buff up her
public speaking skills. When I
asked what she thought was wrong
she shook her head. “Nothing’s
wrong. In fact I’m just fine,
but ‘fine’ isn’t good enough for
my position. I want to be
terrific.”
I went to one of her
presentations and sat in the
back of the room as people filed
in. My sense was the group was
neutral: she could win them over
or lose them.
For forty minutes, Fanula laid
out an upbeat business story.
She spoke with her natural
eloquence and answered questions
fairly succinctly. When she
concluded, there was a small
murmur that sounded like
approval. One person clapped a
couple of times. Then they all
filed out.
In the empty room afterwards
Fanula said to me, “Do you see
what I mean? There’s nothing
really wrong, but there was no
fire in the room. And I want
those folks to be on fire when
they leave.”
I asked Fanula if I could give
her some feedback about the very
first words she had spoken. She
said sure.
Fanula had begun as many people
do with a rather perfunctory,
“I’m really glad to be here.” On
paper those words seem welcoming
but when I mimicked her delivery
she couldn’t help but laugh. Her
voice had been flat, her face
serious and her head down as she
looked at her pages. Her
physical behavior had not been
at all congruent with her
words—a potentially damaging
non-verbal message for any
presenter.
That small but important
incongruity was the gateway to
larger issue I wanted to address
with Fanula: I felt certain that
by focusing on just one word we
could bring her comfortable
simmer up to a rolling boil. The
word? Joy.
Speakers who exude delight are
unexpected and charismatic.
Nothing is more winning than a
presenter who sincerely
transmits the message “I’m glad
to be here.”
Contrast them with a speaker who
takes her position at the front
of the room and looks as if
she’s facing a group of stern,
disapproving judges. She
unwittingly broadcasts tension
and, no matter how low the
voltage, we sense it. We end up
projecting onto her the very
qualities she’s projecting onto
us: she appears stern and
slightly disapproving. Not a
recipe for success.
But the person who stands before
us with joy seems welcoming and
undefended. She seems to convey,
“I’m completely comfortable with
you looking at me.”
The willingness to be looked at
is a hurdle that trips many
speakers. When I talk with
people about this they say, “I’m
not comfortable being
looked at. I don’t even like
seeing myself in photos!” If
this resonates with you, and if
you want to achieve charisma,
you have to find a way to
overcome this core resistance.
But how?
One way is with video. Imagine
that I tape you making a short
presentation. I’d then ask you
to talk about the person you see
presenting on the tape,
yourself, in the third person.
What would quickly become clear
is that the feelings you
experience while presenting
don’t reflect reality. The
messages in your head listing
all your mistakes (I was too
slow or too fast or using my
hands too much or not enough)
are completely inaudible to me.
And none of those “mistakes”
show up on the tape. Looking at
yourself on screen objectively
reveals that the person on the
tape isn’t nearly as bad as your
feelings would have you believe.
The acknowledgement that you’re
better than you thought lays the
groundwork for your willingness
to be looked at. And that seed
will later sprout into joy.
“I’m willing to be looked at” is
the first of two messages that
joyous speakers convey. The
other is not about how their
listeners will view them but
rather about how they will view
their listeners. The message is,
“I’m going to talk with you as
if we were sitting in a booth at
a diner. And I’m going to
actually look at you and notice
you. I’m going to actually be
present in the room with you.”
That sense of connection
captures us and keeps us
engaged.
When you’re in front of a group
it’s no small feat to really see
the people you’re speaking to.
To do it, you have to free
yourself from any negative
narration about what you see.
That guy with the frown and the
folded arms? Don’t tell yourself
a negative story about him; you
don’t know what he’s frowning
about. Maybe that’s the face he
makes when he’s concentrating on
something he’s really interested
in. That woman texting? Don’t
tell yourself a negative story
about her; maybe she’s writing
down your ideas so she can share
them.
No matter what you see (and you
will see some outrageous
behaviors!), your desire to
connect with people must remain
dominant. If it’s genuine, your
listeners will see it’s not a
performance trick that you
slipped on like a mask. They’ll
see you’re truly glad to be
talking with them and, in
return, they’ll be willing to
have their fires lit.
But, people ask, what do you do
when the business story is
serious and joy’s not
appropriate?
Of course the style should suit
the content. It would be no more
fitting to announce layoffs with
a wide grin than it would be to
announce record profits while
looking funereal.
But even in the direst
circumstances, the underlying
messages you send about how you
relate to your audience don’t
change. In fact, when the
business story is grim it
becomes even more important to
transmit a sense of being glad
to be there—not because you’re
glad about that particular
communication, but glad that
you’re the one to personally
deliver it to people you care
about. You’re willing to
shoulder the burden and to be
looked at during a difficult
time. And you will talk with
them as if you’re in a booth at
the diner. And you will really
see them. And you’ll be glad to
be there.
This willingness to be joyous is
a profound display of The
Look & Sound of Leadership™.
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