I stopped writing for a moment and looked up. The empty UNMC lecture hall stared back through my Zoom window. For years, I’d relied on my ability to speak off the cuff – to draw on expertise and experience to find the right words in the moment. But here I was, trying to memorize a script, feeling like an academic fish out of rhetorical water. I imagined my fellow TEDx Omaha speakers – natural performers who seemed to dance with their words. One even gave his speech balancing a spoon on his nose.
I felt unmoored.
When TEDx Omaha selected me, I decided to do what I always do: understand the material deeply and trust my ability to explain it. After all, I’d spent 20 years talking about innovation. What I didn’t expect was TEDx Omaha’s insistence on preparation, on crafting, and honing every word. That’s not how I work.
The coaches kept asking one question that made me squirm: “How do you want the audience to feel?” It wasn’t enough to understand my talk – I needed to inhabit it. They wanted more than my usual improvisational riffing on expertise. They wanted precision, intention, and impact.
Then something shifted.
In that empty lecture hall, watching my own recordings, I started to understand. This wasn’t about rote memorization or perfect recitation. It was about knowing my words so well that I could finally stop thinking about them. Only then could I focus on what really mattered – how the audience would feel in each moment.
The script became a partner rather than a constraint like learning chord progressions before you can improvise jazz, or mastering basic steps before you can really dance. The more I internalized the words, the more freely I could move within them, finding new moments of emphasis, and new ways to let the meaning shine through.
I am profoundly grateful to TEDx Omaha. They didn’t just give me a stage – they gave me a process, a journey that transformed not just my talk but my understanding of what it means to truly connect with an audience. Their patient insistence on preparation, and their unwavering commitment to impact over improvisation, helped me find a voice I never knew I had. Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t the freedom to wing it, but the guidance to get it right.
a candle, unlit 