It was just about go time. I’d had months to prepare my talk for Throughline conference, and because life, work, and who I am, I still put it off until late December. The concepts had been mostly outlined in the book, and this was about introducing some new framing, a couple new comparisons, and building out a new deck. All part of the job.

I love giving talks. It’s one of my favorite things to do. In the before times, I got to take the stage a few times at Confab, once at a conference in Montreal, plus a lot of internal work-type conferences. In March of 2020 I had PixelUp lined up in South Africa and Utterly Content in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. Both pivoted to online. Talk to the little green light. Not the same.

 I’d done a tech rehearsal to make sure my sound and audio were working fine, and that my swimmers wallpaper wasn’t too busy. The week leading up to the conference, I’d been in Toronto for work. It had been an average temperature of a tundra, so any off time I had, I spent in my hotel, rehearsing. I like to run through it enough times to get some of the language consistent, but not too much that I’m just running through a script. It’s a balance.

Still, online or in person, I go through the same arc of emotion: damn excited, dread that I have to do the work up until the very peak dread of about to go on stage when I think, “why do I do this to myself,” and then the downhill thrill of being on stage, until the ride finally comes to a stop and I think, “I can’t wait to do that again.”

But this time was different. I was in the virtual green room, all set to go. Minutes. Intro is happening. I clicked share to make my presentation visible, and suddenly I got an error. Zoom and Figma had not integrated. I WAS ON THE WRONG COMPUTER.

In the green room chat, I said something to the effect of “tech problems I need a minute,” and the gracious production staff said I had all the time I needed. Did I want to try and connect Figma and Zoom? Would they both make me quit? Would I need to restart everything?

“Panic,” I wrote in the zoom chat.

The production staff DM’d me on Slack. I wrote back, “I’m going to log in from my other computer. I’ll quit and be right back.”

I shut down the laptop. Opened the other one. Logged in. Found the file. Went into Presentation Mode in Figma. The intro was still going on. It had all only been minutes. The little green light went on, and away I went. 

I introduced myself. I read from my notes, but not too much. I told the stories I wanted to tell, in the way I wanted to tell them. My cat, Bean, jumped up on my lap as she always does when I’m talking to the little green light. Around slide 20, she bit me. I kept going.

Throughout all of it, I was unable to regulate my physical reaction to the visceral panic I had just felt. I took deep breaths to the best of my ability. I tried to release any tension I was holding. 

At one point I tried to dig around in my desk drawer to see if I had any beta-blockers in there. I did not. 

My brain was in two places at once: it was giving the talk, and it was also acutely aware that I was experiencing panic and stage fright in a truly physical way that I had to suppress in order to overcome it. My mouth was forming coherent thoughts while my brain raced with generalized anxiety, fight or flight, and trying to troubleshoot coping mechanisms. Panic. 

I finished the talk. I made it through a Q&A. The little green light went out. I stood up, shaking, and took many deep breaths. Never had I been through anything like that. In fact, I’ve always been so thankful that I have never had stage fright, that I can give a talk that feels good and gets good feedback without an overworking of preparation. One of the biggest talks I ever gave, I did so about an hour after finding out my father had died. That’s another story. One day. 

So why was this different?

Because I was already keyed up. Because my baseline right now is already on high alert. Because I read the news and see the stories. Because I see how other people are showing up. Because for most of the conference, the primary theme was how to find any modicum of success or satisfaction when all this is going on. 

After my vital signs returned to normal, I checked back in the conference Slack to see the reaction to the talk. Back when we had Twitter, the post-talk ritual was seeing what people Tweeted about you. What wonderful little validation snacks those were.

Oh fuck. It appears I did not keep my cool to myself. Not at all. I had actually typed “Panic” where all 300+ attendees of the conference could see it. Cool, cool. 

In her exceptional talk, Candi Williams talked about having outsized reactions to things. Slack messages that send you over the edge. DMs that make you want to throw your computer into the sea. I felt this. I feel this. This isn’t just your run-of-the-mill burnout (also bad!), but about surviving in these times. Because they are a lot. 

This is all to say this: right now, it’s really hard. Everyone’s baseline is already at fight-or-flight. Everyone is going through it. More than before. So it is ok if you’re not living your normal life, or having your normal reactions. It’s ok if the same things that you used to do are having different outcomes. Have some grace with yourself. Find a break wherever you can. I’m playing a lot more music. An hour at the piano keyboard is an hour away from the computer keyboard. Find your break, take a rest, and try to calm your nervous system. Even if there’s a calico cat biting your arm. 

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