Technically, I participated in a speech contest in 3rd grade for the 4H Club. It consisted of my reading aloud a report I had written about visiting Fort McHenry in Maryland where the Star Spangled Banner was written. Yes, I still remember that. I got a blue ribbon for it and everything.
Despite that illustrious beginning, I have not tried my hand at a speech contest again until recently when my Toastmasters club held one in preparation for the area contest and on up. I won our club level contest and came in dead last in the area contest. Whee!
The competitor in me is quite bummed at my standing in the area contest. In my estimation, I totally should have won 2nd place (there were only 3 speakers in the area contest). On the other hand, I'm relieved since I don't advance to the next level contest. Some other feel-good rationalizations include:
- It's good for me that I didn't win anything because it only gives me an incentive to improve for the next time.
- It was a great learning experience to get out and deliver a speech to an audience largely unfamiliar to me rather than the more comfortable and familiar audience at my home club.
- Because it was an unfamiliar setting, I was more nervous and didn't give the best speech performance I could.
Done with whining now. Here's the text of the speech I used for the contests. It was a Project 4 speech in the manual which is meant to train the speaker to communicate ideas clearly, accurately and vividly.
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My earliest memory of water was in the Philippines. I was about 5. I had gone with my grandparents to a northern island where my grandfather grew up to get some beach time. The waves weren't particularly vigorous where we were and the tide was out, leaving a vast stretch of shallow water I could skip through to my hearts content. I skipped to make the biggest splashes possible. I chased some fish through the water until I found myself standing on a small bump in the sand. I stared at the horizon, trying to guess how far away it was when a larger undulation of water took away my sand stool. I remember flailing my hands and feet to keep my head above water. I remember watching my feet and thinking that they looked both very close to me and far away from the yellow sand beneath me. I remember the wind that brought the scent of watery salt to my nose. Most of all I remember not being at all worried that I didn’t know how to swim. I don't know how many moments later when I found solid purchase beneath my feet again in the form of my uncle who had come to bring me in for lunch.
Looking back, I have to marvel at a situation where I had no idea what I was doing and I was completely calm and serene. These days, the very prospect of putting myself into an environment of cluelessness sets my pulse soaring. How do I go back there? How do I regain that state of being? I think I may have found a clue to that.
A few years ago, my husband and I were vacationing in Curacao and decided to get scuba certified. I had only been snorkeling before and even then I stuck pretty closely to the surface where I had easy access to breathing. But the water was warm, the hotel we were staying had beach access to a coral reef. I didn’t have anything more specific planned than lying around the beach anyway, so it seemed like a good idea. After filling out paperwork and watching a few videos, we met our instructor, Shani who outfitted us with the gear necessary to go underwater. Between the four-armed hoses, the weight belt, the buoyancy control device jacket and the air tank, the short trek to the water was a trudge in sand. Once we were submerged, the water took most of the weight. And then we dove.
In water, I fall more slowly. I remember looking up as the surface retreated from my reach and having a moment of anxiety. It was too far away - I would never be able to reach it without air. But I concentrated on breathing steadily, clenching my teeth around the mouthpiece. The steady stream of bubbles going past my head was very loud in the muffled quiet of underwater. As we sank, color washed into shades of blue. It grew colder too. I looked down at the sand below me, at the flounder that matches the sand except for its little beady dome eyes that look slightly cross-eyed. We practiced skills at depth before we could go exploring. Each skill was a variation of what to do if something went wrong - I lose my mouthpiece, I lose my mask, I run out of air. Let’s just say it's not the most relaxing exercise of the vacation.
As Shani was testing my husband on some skill, I watched a large school of deep blue angelfish flow past me heading towards the deeps. Then I caught sight of them. Their sleek, curved forms were clustered near the surface and about forty feet from me. Their clicks and squeaks echoed through the blue as they bantered with each other. “Dolphins!” I wanted to squeal my excitement at my scuba crew but I would only swallow salt water if I tried. Instead I flailed at them and pointed towards the school. All three of us were motionless. I forgot to worry about breathing. I forgot to worry about how far away the surface was. I forgot to worry about whether or not I was learning the skills properly. I merely hovered above the ocean floor, marveling at the real live nature show happening before my very senses unfiltered by the television screen.
And that, I think is the secret. In that moment of wonder, that joy I stopped caring about the things that could go wrong. I was still as clueless about the environment I found myself in. The difference was the wonder. If I can find that with any unfamiliar situation, whether it's scuba diving or public speaking, I can return to that serenity. And that's how I learned how to embrace my inner fish.
Thank you.
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