Perry Parrot flew home upset and confused. He sat dejectedly on a sturdy branch; his head shoved under a wing.
“Whatever is the matter?” his mother asked.
“I hate my stupid beak!” Perry blurted, sounding very pouty.
“Why do you hate your beak? I think it’s beautiful,” his mother replied.
“All the other birds have much cooler beaks. Sol Spoonbill, Frank Flycatcher, Pearl Pelican, Hunter Hawk, Pippa Pigeon, Earl Eagle, and Finola Finch. All of them!” Perry sighed dramatically.
Perry’s mother sat silent for a moment, thinking. He may be right, she thought to herself. They do have very cool beaks. However, I would prefer he was happy just being Perry. What shall I do? “I think you should pay a visit to Brains Macaw, Perry,” she said after a moment. “Brains Macaw is a wise parrot who lives in the tallest tree in the forest. Yes, she’ll know what to do.”
So, Perry Parrot flew to the tallest tree in the forest and located Brains Macaw.
“Excuse me, Brains,” said Perry. “Do you have a moment? I have a problem.”
“Oh, Perry,” said the wise macaw. “Everyone has a problem once in a while. What is your problem?”
“I have a stupid beak,” Perry blurted out. “I would like to know why I cannot have a cool beak like Sol Spoonbill, Frank Flycatcher, Pearl Pelican, Hunter Hawk, Pippa Pigeon, Earl Eagle, and Finola Finch. All of them have really cool beaks.”
“Tell me, Perry, do you like eating worms and crustaceans?” asked Brains Macaw.
“Yuck, yuck!” responded Perry. “Worms and crustaceans? That would be completely unthinkable!”
“Well, that’s what the spoonbill’s beak is designed for. Eating worms and crustaceans. How about flies?”
“Flies?” squawked Perry. “You can’t be serious! They eat filthy and disgusting things. They carry filthy and disgusting things on their feet. I am sure I would rather starve; I tell you.”
“A flycatcher’s bill is about catching insects—including flies—so that’s a non-starter,” commented Brains Macaw. “What about fish?”
“I could think of nothing worse,” said Perry emphatically. “Fish stink!”
“So, the pelican’s beak would not work for you either. Well, what about rabbits and mice?”
“Are you kidding, Brains?” asked Perry. “I feel sick just thinking about eating them.”
“In that case, I suggest you avoid aspiring to have a hawk’s beak,” said the Macaw calmly. “Let me see. How about wheat, oats, and corn?”
“Cereal?” exclaimed Perry. “I don’t think so.”
“OK. Scratch a pigeon’s beak. Ducks and reptiles?”
“Are you joking? Ducks and reptiles—never!” fluffing his tail feathers emphatically.
“Then that lets out eagle beaks,” said Brains Macaw patiently. “How about small seeds? Finch beaks are designed for small seeds.”
“I could choke down a few I suppose, in a pinch, but my favorite is Brazil nuts,” said Perry, eyes brightening at the very thought.
“That is very fortunate. You are in luck. I think I have some here. Would you like one?”
Perry Parrot’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please.” The sound of cracking began almost immediately.
“Tell me Perry, if you had the beak of a Spoonbill, Flycatcher, Pelican, Hawk, Pigeon, Eagle, or Finch, would you be enjoying that Brazil nut?”
The sound of cracking stopped. Perry looked at Brains. “Uh, oh. I guess not,” said Perry, his mouth full.
“You see, my young friend, you have been designed a certain way—with a special beak and unique skills, attributes, and tastes. Stop wasting your life being envious of the uniqueness of others. Make sure that you identify your own uniqueness, know what you are good at. What you can do well.”
“What is special about my beak?” asked Perry.
“For starters, your beak,“ explained Brains Macaw, “is a hookbill. Curved, sharp, and pointed on the end. You can use it for manipulating things, for climbing, for crushing objects—and for cracking your favorite Brazil nuts. It is unique. It can do something that none of the other beaks you mentioned can accomplish.”
Perry slowly nodded his colorful, feathery head.
“Did you know that Brazil nut shells are so hard to crack that Capuchin monkeys have to hammer them open using a stone, much as an anvil?” asked Brains Macaw.
Perry shook his colorful, feathery head vigorously. “Wow! All I need is my beak!” he exclaimed. “That’s awesome.”
“You are still growing,” continued Brains Macaw. “Estimates are that a large parrot has the bite strength of 500 to 700 pounds per square inch—close to that of a large dog’s bite. You can crack a Brazil nut and rip a large branch into shreds. Your beak also has blood vessels and sensitive nerves.”
“Oh,” said Perry. “I did not know that. No wonder Ma can kiss me so gently with her beak.”
“There you have it,” said Brains Macaw. “The next time you feast on Brazil nuts with that special beak, you can choose to be happy Your bill is totally unique. Here, take another one with you. While you eat it, think about what you are good at and why you are here.”
“Thanks for telling me about my unique beak,” said Perry. Brains Macaw nodded. She would have smiled, but her beak was not that flexible, so she was content just ‘thinking’ a smile.
The wiser and more contended parrot flew back home, a large Brazil nut grasped firmly in his unique, specialized, powerful, handy hookbill. He could hardly wait to tell his mother what he had learned from Brains Macaw. Now, Perry Parrot wouldn’t have it any other way!
The first time it happened, the parents had rushed their 13-month-old son to the local Emergency Department. Eyes wide with terror, Jason had been pale, sweating, gasping for breath, and on the verge of collapse. “Stung by a bee?” was a first question. The answer was no. “Food allergies?” was the next question. The answer there, too, was no. Gradually the child’s breathing had stabilized, his heart rate had returned to normal, and color had seeped back into his skin. The doctors and nurses had been at a loss to account for the sudden onset of symptoms. Fortunately, Jason’s condition returned to normal following minimal treatment.
Twice more during the next 18 months, Jason had been rushed into the Emergency Department for similar symptoms. On the third such visit, the doctor noticed that the hair on the back of Jason’s neck was standing up. “That suggests the child was terrified by something,” said the Doctor. He questioned the parents carefully about what had been happening when Jason evidenced symptoms of what had appeared to be a life-threatening emergency.
The parents had looked at each other, confused. “That’s just it,” said Angie, the boy’s mother. “Nothing was happening!” Her husband, Alex, agreed. Nothing was happening. At least, nothing unusual or unexpected. Angie, Alex, six-year-old Nella, and little Jason had been grocery shopping when the most recent episode has occurred. Jason hadn’t eaten any food or drunk any beverage while in the store. In fact, he had been riding in the grocery cart, snugged securely with the cart-belt. No bees or wasps had buzzed around them. No one could remember anything unusual or untoward. It was definitely a puzzle.
“Any time your son begins to show signs of anxiety,” said the physician, “pay close attention to what just happened, what is happening at the current moment, or what is about to happen. That may give you some clue. Jason’s symptoms are consistent with what happens when a person experiences large amounts of anxiety, which is a form of fear.”
If Grammy hadn’t twisted her ankle, it might have taken years to solve the puzzle. One evening, as luck would have it, the entire family, including Grammy, went to watch Nella, now in 1st grade, act the part of a little angel in the school play. As Grammy started to get out of the car, she stepped on a rock and badly twisted her ankle. “I fear it’s broken,” said Grammy. “It hurts badly. You better take me to the Emergency Department.”
The family split up—temporarily. Nella and Alex would attend the play while Angie took Grammy to the Emergency Department. If all went well, they’d be back in time to see at least some of the play. Jason could choose what he wanted to do. After some indecision, the little boy decided to accompany his mother and Grammy.
At the hospital, everything went like clockwork. An orderly came out to the parking lot and helped Grammy into a wheelchair. Once inside, another employee wheeled Grammy off to Radiology to have an x-ray taken of her ankle. Angie and Jason settled themselves in comfortable chairs to wait. Angie was half-way through reading a story to Jason when it happened, again. His little body suddenly went rigid. Eyes staring-wide, his breath came in great gasps. Following Jason’s gaze, Angie saw a man standing just inside the door. Sitting quietly beside him, leashed, was a little black poodle. Puzzled, Angie glanced back at Jason just in time to see his eyes roll back in his head and his little body go limp. Fortunately, another exam room was available. “He saw a dog!” Angie told the triage nurse. “That’s all that I could see happened. Jason saw the little black poodle and passed out.”
Once the little boy had been revived, the doctor pulled up a chair and smiled at Angie. “Okay, now we know at least one thing that triggers Jason’s terror. Dogs. Tell me about Jason’s history with dogs.”
“There is no history,” Angie replied, shaking her head in confusion. “We’ve never had a dog in our family and none of our friends have dogs.”
The doctor thought for a moment. “Well, on the off chance that cellular memory is at work here,” he continued, “Tell me about your history with dogs.”
“What is cellular memory?” asked Angie, a puzzled look on her face. “And I don’t have any history with dogs, either.”
The doctor explained briefly that the science of epigenetics (meaning everything that is not genetics, including lifestyle), has established that a variety of environmental influences can imprint a memory, perhaps on protein strands in the nucleus of cells. These influences can include nutrition, stress, emotions, and unusual situations that have happened in the person’s life. “In fact,” the doctor explained, “this type of cellular memory can be passed on to a person’s biological offspring, perhaps for three or four succeeding generations.”
Angie shook her head. “I didn’t have dogs growing up,” she began.
“Have you or the boy’s father ever had a bad experience with a dog?” The doctor was nothing if not persistent.
Angie shook her head question after question. Suddenly she sat up alert. “I just remembered something!” she exclaimed. The story tumbled out pell-mell. Toward the end of her seventh month of pregnancy with Jason, Angie and Nella had been enjoying themselves at the park. Nella had been playing in the sandbox while Angie had been relaxing on a blanket spread beneath nearby trees. Out of the blue and with no warning, a little yellow streak had shot by Angie and pounced on little Nellie. The terrier had tried to snatch the candy from the child’s hand, tearing her dress in the process.
Lumbering to her feet and hurrying to the sandbox, Angie had grabbed Nella by the arms and lifted the little girl into the air. The little yappy terrier, however, would have none of it. It began jumping, scratching, and biting at Nella’s feet. “I remember screaming hysterically,” said Angie. “I was yelling and turning in circles trying to get away from the dog. Just when I thought I would faint from fear and dizziness, a park official came running to the rescue.” The guard had captured the dog and hauled it away for testing at the local animal shelter. Little Nella had been examined and except for a few scratches was otherwise unhurt.
Now, as Angie relived the experience, she herself began to shake with the memory and her breath came in gasps. “I was a basket case for days,” Angie continued. “I didn’t want to leave the house or go near the park. I was even afraid that Jason might be born prematurely….”
“Bingo,” said the doctor. “My best guess is that every time Jason has experienced these types of symptoms, he had just seen a little dog, whether or not you noticed the creature.” When Angie left the Emergency Department with Grammy, her ankle in a walking splint (fortunately there were no broken bones), her son was once again back to normal. Angie also had a referral to a child psychologist.
“If this hadn’t happened to our family,” Angie told her husband back at the school auditorium (in time, mind you, to witness Nella as a little angel in act two), “I probably would have pooh-poohed anything described as cellular memory!” The concept intrigued her, however, and she could hardly wait to meet with Dr. Rose.
“I can’t understand how, while Nella was the one to actually get scratched, she doesn’t seem to be terrified of dogs,” said Angie, when she and Jason had their first appointment with Dr. Rose. “Jason was in utero at the time. How could he be afraid?” Dr. Rose explained that different brains often have differing responses to a similar incident. Sometimes the difference is related to what happens directly after the disquieting incident.
Indeed, upon further questioning, Angie recalled that on their return home from the park, she had collapsed, shaking, on the bed. She had sobbed herself to sleep from thinking about what might have been. Nella, on the other hand, had been cuddled by her father. Alex had told the child stories about good dogs and naughty dogs. One of Nella’s favorite stuffed toys at the time was a soft little terrier. Nella’s father had petted the little stuffed animal and told her that Fifi was a good little stuffed dog who never barked or scratched anyone. “Looking back, I think the whole incident was much harder on me than it was on her!” Angie exclaimed.
“Much harder on Jason, too,” added Dr. Rose, smiling. “The fetus can experience the emotions that the mother experiences.” Now that they had uncovered a possible triggering incident, they could proceed with some recovery options. There were several. One involved desensitization. “Have you heard the expression ‘hair of the dog’” asked Dr. Rose. Angie shook her head. It is a small measure of drink, intended to cure a hangover. Think of it as a type of desensitization. Take Jason shopping. Let him pick out a toy dog. Help him select a big stuffed animal that is very different from the little yellow terrier. Be patient. It may take several trips to the store, with your role-modeling a desire to bring home a big stuffed dog before he agrees.”
At first, Jason refused to even look at stuffed dogs of any ilk. Period. Once, when a well-meaning clerk tried to hand Jason a toy dog that resembled a terrier, Angie had jumped in and calmly said, “We want a big dog that can curl up on the beanbag with us while we read stories.” Obligingly, the clerk had reached up onto a high shelf and snagged a Pluto. Soon, both children were giggling at the clerk’s attempts to get Pluto to stand on his own four legs. Pluto would have been three feet tall at least, could he have been made to stand. He was so soft and so floppy, however, he just collapsed on the floor looking for all the world like a curly chocolate pillow. Jason laughed outright when the clerk tried to bark out the words, “Pick me, pick me, little boy. I am big and soft and floppy. Take me home with you.”
Angie told the clerk they’d think about it. That evening after dinner, Angie and her husband tried another of Dr. Rose’s suggestions. Snuggled safely on his father’s lap, wrapped securely in his arms, Jason heard the story about a naughty little yellow terrier. A naughty little yappy dog that had, once upon a time, tried to snatch Nella’s candy right out of her hand. Jason listened carefully as his father explained how Angie and the park official had saved Nella from getting bitten. Angie then told the children how frightened she had been when that had happened. She said that since Jason had been growing inside of her at the time, he had probably been frightened, too. They were completely amazed when Jason nodded his head vigorously and said, “Yes. That dog barked and scratched.”
Another trip to the store and Pluto, a big dog that never barked or scratched, became a member of the family. Jason wanted his parents to tell Pluto the story about the little yappy dog that had tried to snatch Nella’s candy right out of her hand. Once again, Jason listened intently. Again, he nodded his head vigorously and said, “That dog barked and scratched.” Later that evening, to everyone’s surprise, Jason dragged Pluto to his bedroom and informed everyone in a matter-of-fact voice, “Pluto wants to sleep on my bed.”
Jason’s fear of little yappy dogs didn’t dissipate immediately, although he often asked to hear the story. One day Angie overheard the children playing with the two stuffed dogs. “Pluto!” said Jason. “Sit on that little dog so it can’t bark and scratch.” Occasionally, when the family unexpectedly came upon a little yappy dog, Jason would try to leap into his parent’s arms. Gratefully, there was never a repeat of symptoms severe enough to require a trip to the Emergency Department.
“The whole thing almost seems surreal,” Angie said on one of their last visits with Dr. Rose. “As I told my husband, if it hadn’t happened to our family, I probably would have pooh-poohed anything described as cellular memory!”
“I believe that knowledge is power,” said Dr. Rose, smiling. “The brain can deal with what it can label and describe. You and your husband helped Jason to label and describe his sensed terror. You were able to assist him in learning that not all dogs need to be painted with the same brush.”
“I am so grateful to have gotten to the bottom of this,” said Angie. “Do you suppose everybody is affected by it?”
Dr. Rose nodded. “It’s part and parcel of being human. The emerging information about epigenetics—while still the stuff of science fiction to some—is amazing and can help to explain many puzzling things.”
Having said that, Dr. Rose thought to herself, If the extent and power of cellular memory were really known, most people would be stunned!
“I can’t wait to see you!”
The words hung in the air between us. I liked their sound, felt nurtured by the sentiment they expressed, and saw the pleasure of anticipation. At the same time I felt a vague dis-ease and heard myself reply, albeit with laughter, “Well, you’ll simply have to wait!”
Driving home I pondered my response. At this stage of my personal and spiritual growth journey I would never consciously do anything to put down another’s exuberance. So from where did that retort spring? What old tapes were playing so automatically?
Fortunately I’ve learned that a reaction to something in the present is rarely about the present. Rather, it’s usually a signal that something in the present has reminded the brain of events from the past. And often, that something from the past hasn’t been addressed and processed. Once again it was time to do some family-of-origin work.
Days went by. There were no recalled memories. Nothing. Nada. Zip. It was so frustrating, accustomed as I’d become to rather quickly being able to process this type of information! Finally one day in desperation I cautiously and experimentally used those exact words with another family-of-choice member. “I can’t wait to see you.” Immediately I felt some measure of anxiety and discomfort and experienced a sense of impending punishment. Hmmm.
At bedtime that night I used a favorite technique of metaphorically writing with my non-dominant hand on the blackboard of my brain (even in this day of technology it still pops up in my mind’s eye as a blackboard or a whiteboard) and asked my brain to give me some history about those words.
The bulk of what the brain knows lodges in our subconscious. Estimates are that only 5% of that information comes to our conscious awareness. I wanted my brain to provide me with answers and it did—in a dream. A dream about an exuberant little sprite with blond hair and blue eyes who absolutely loved life. A girl who eagerly looked forward to each new adventure and who, when it was one of her favorite activities would burst forth with: “I can’t wait! I just can’t wait!”
Alas, there were a plethora of well meaning but misguided adults who, perhaps in an attempt to prepare the child for the realities of life or to help her learn to delay immediate gratification, regularly responded with, You’ll just have to wait. You’ll simply have to wait. Or, Stop saying you can’t wait. You CAN wait! If you say that again you won’t be able to do such and such.
Consequently, the child had scrubbed those words from her vocabulary. They hadn’t crossed her lips for half a century. After all, she wouldn’t want to miss any adventures because she’d verbalized excitement! In adulthood she hadn’t stopped anticipating the carrots she regularly scheduled on her calendar but she had refrained from affirming the expectation. And if anticipation is half the pleasure, some of her pleasure had been definitely diminished.
I awoke. Abruptly. Eyes wide open. Wow! With that recall, I could do something about my responses. With this information in conscious awareness, there were many options at my fingertips. I could turn down the volume on the old tapes, record a new internal message, reown a portion of myself that I’d temporarily misplaced, and so on. Yes, there was some discomfort in the recall but I know that I can only choose to get out of a trap if I recognize I’m in one!
And so the journey continues. As I round each bend in the road, place one foot in front of the other and climb the next hill, I experience an ever-expanding view. Another section of the puzzle clicks into place. Another piece of baggage rolls off my back and I’m a step closer to becoming the person I was intended to be in all of my innate giftedness.
Oh, I can wait. I take life one day at a time. Sometimes one minute at a time. But my vocabulary of anticipation need be restricted no longer. I am free to burst into song (metaphorically, of course) from the sheer pleasure of thriving.
Yes, I live in the moment as much as possible. And when I feel the words I can’t wait! I just can’t wait! bubble up from the innermost child-like part of me, I know something really good is about to happen.
The word if has never been a favorite of mine. There seemed to be so much inconsistency about what it represented, if not downright negativity.
Many of us heard phrases in childhood such as: If you don’t stop crying right now I’ll give you something to cry about. I never handled that type of situation very well. I mean, what type of choice is that, especially if you have a frontal right brain lead as I do and tend to express all manner of emotion through tears? Why even the thought of the something usually prompted me to cry even harder, which would bring on the very consequences I was trying to avoid, the thought of which only increased my tears, and so on. Talk about double jeopardy!
Or how about this one: If you don’t stop laughing immediately you’re going to be in big trouble. Great! Another impossible choice! When one can usually identify something amusing in every situation without even trying to do so, being told to stop chuckling is like asking a vampire mosquito to stop singing (or vibrating, whichever it is) when it’s hungry for blood.
Recently, however, I caught a new perspective of the word if. It happened while I was watching the new Disney cartoon, Hercules. In this adaptation from Greek mythology, two little imps were plotting ruin against Hercules (who, I might add, was on a personal growth journey to research his family-of-origin and to discover who he really was).
At one point, the no-good pair were discussing the desired outcome of their diabolic machinations. Their conversational sequence went something like this: If we do this, and if such-and-such happens, and then if that happens, then Hercules will be history. They looked at each other for a moment and then cracked up. The first little imp said with feeling, If is good!
I laughed aloud. For the first time in my life I began to think of if in a new way. The more I thought about it, the harder I laughed. The more I laughed the better I liked the word and the new concept it could portray.
For example, if you are on a journey of personal and spiritual growth¾if is good. If you are identifying your innate giftedness and matching the bulk of your activities to that ease of functioning¾if is good. If you are moving from a position of barely surviving toward one of thriving by design¾if is good. And if you are role modeling a better way to live and having fun in the process¾if is more than good. It’s fantastic!
How is if in your life?
In mine—if is good.
I watched her, slumped in the chair, her body language a mixture of despair and defensiveness. “It isn’t my fault,” she protested for the umpteenth time, her voice projecting antithesis from taking responsibility for her own personal growth.
“The issue isn’t who is to blame,” I began, “but whether your life is working for you. And,” I hurried on before she could interrupt, “if not, what strategies can you implement to help you thrive?”
I might as well have saved my breath. “There is no way!” (The woman went on as if she hadn’t heard my comment and she may not have.) One after another she continued to name people and factors that she believed had conspired to block her success. As the recital droned on I kept hearing the phrase, “There is no way!”
Finally, when she paused for air, I raised my hand in a stop-sign gesture. Hoping an illustration could help, I began with the words, “Once upon a time…”
…It was one of those reportedly simple do-it-yourself projects that had turned into the proverbial nightmare. The workers had tried everything they could think of to thread the cord through 100 plus feet of 18 inch corrugated tubing. Of course it would have been ideal to insert the cord before the sections were glued and screwed together, but the instructions had not been clearly specific about that step and who had known? At this stage of construction, the upshot was that the L-shaped contraption was too small for any of the workers to wriggle through.
They were not without ideas. We’d watched several of them, the most recent of which had involved a fishing pole taped onto the end of a broom handle, the idea being to shove the cord it Arlene half way and then snag it from the other end.
“Dad gumm it!” The sound of a very frustrated voice split the tense stillness. Melissa (the owner’s daughter) giggled and then laughed aloud. I tried to catch her eye without success. As much as I was in favor of laughter it might not be her best choice at this precise moment.
“There has to be a way!” Another voice offered. “We’re all adults here,” a third voice opinioned. “We do not want to dismantle and start over!” More silence. (I paused and glanced at my listener. She was still tuned in!)
“I can make a way!” a little voice said. It was Melissa, her eager eyes turned upward.
“Sure, honey,” someone said, patting her head absently. “Sure, honey.”
“But I can,” the little girl persisted. No one paid her any mind. One minute she was there and the next instant her little body was disappearing into the tube.
“Wait!” a voice called. “Come back!”
“Oh let her go,” another ordered and then added, “What can it hurt?”
Fearing she might become frightened in the darkness, her father bent down and spoke into the tube.
“I’m okay. I’m making a way!” she called back reassuringly. Slowly but surely Melissa made her way around the elbow and met up with the end of the fishing pole. Gripping the cord in her little teeth (smart girl to leave her hands free) she began backing out the way she had come. Before long we could see her feet, then her plump little rump, and finally her tousled little head. Jumping up, eyes shining, she flung herself into her father’s arms and cried triumphantly, “I made a way!”
I concluded the story by saying, “And she had. When none of the workers could come up with a solution, Melissa made a way.” Silence.
Finally the woman stirred. “How old was Melissa?” she asked.
“Five.” The woman’s eyebrows registered surprise.
“It’s not always one’s chronological age that makes the differences, it’s one’s attitude,” I explained.
“Hmm.” Another pause. Longer.
“Rehearsal is an important part of recovery,” I said, breaking the silence, “but unending rehearsal without implementing a personal plan of action rarely leads to thriving.”
The woman’s face broke into a rueful grin of recognition. “I’ve been rehearsing for the last nine years,” she admitted. (I bit my tongue. I really did!) “I need help with some strategies.” (I nodded encouragingly.) And then, tentatively at first, but with gaining resolve, she added “I can make a way.”
Ah, now we could get somewhere—toward thriving!
Is perfecting performance possible? It likely depends on your definition of perfecting, how well you know yourself, and whether you are up for the work. Performance can be defined as a public presentation or as the process of executing an action. In reality, a public presentation requires the execution of several actions—some in advance and others during the performance. Perfecting can be described as the process of improving, making something better, or polishing something.
A performance may begin with a personal desire, an educational requirement, a professional assignment, or a simple request. Obviously, it is wise to select a topic you know well from education, personal experience, and developed skills. It can be performance suicide to blather on about something for which you lack training, experience, or skills and are just blowing smoke in the wind. Basic strategies for success can apply to differing types of public presentations, although details may need to be tweaked with the help of a coach in your genre. Once you have gathered the necessary topical research, assembled a first draft of your presentation, and edited it for spelling, punctuation, word usage, and style, the real work of improving the performance begins. Although nothing humans do is absolutely flawless, performances by Zoom or in person can be improved.
Here are seven strategies to help you polish public speaking performances:
1. Use Actual and virtual rehearsal. You might begin by reading your script aloud so you gain an idea of how the audience will ‘hear’ it. Make it conversational, easy to follow and be understood. Define unfamiliar or scientific words. When you have made tweaks as necessary, “perform” it in front of a couple of family members or best friends. Ask them what worked and what didn’t. Once you have a final draft, use virtual rehearsal. In your mind’s eye, picture yourself being introduced, walking to the podium, adjusting the microphone (if needed), smiling, recalling what you want to say, and speaking—having a conversation with your audience. Studies have shown that virtual rehearsal can be as helpful as actual rehearsal—unless, of course, you are in the estimated 3-5% of the population that cannot “mentally picture something in their mind’s eye.” You can place your script on 5 x 8 index cards in sequence, or memorize it, show bullet-point slides, or use a teleprompter. Select what you are most comfortable with and practice until you can deliver the content smoothly and conversationally. Speaking in a hurried monotone is a non-starter.
2. Hone your credibility. Although imitation may be the highest form of flattery, authenticity promotes credibility. Unless your performance requires you to mimic what someone else has done, as in a movie or stage play—and then hopefully you have had acting lessons—be “the real “you.” Copying body language and gestures that are foreign to you tend to look contrived and phony. No two brains on planet earth are identical, and each has a special giftedness. Figure out what yours is. Be clear about what you know and what you yet need to learn. It has been said that a little knowledge is dangerous. The Dunning–Kruger effect suggests that poor performers often show little insight into performance shortcomings, presumably because they suffer from a double whammy. Knowledge deficits prevent them from producing correct responses and from recognizing that the responses they produce are inferior to those of others with far more education and experience. If questions are permitted, pretending you know the answer to every question asked—unless you truly do—is a major faux pas.
Bluffing or pretending has always been dicey. In this age of global social media, it is downright dangerous. It can take a long time to build a solid reputation for credibility, and only an instant to blow it to smithereens. If you do not know the answer to a specific question, say so. No one person knows everything. Filibustering is a dead-end street. Remember the old saying, empty cans make the most noise. If you have not a clue about how to answer the question, just say, “My brain is not giving me an answer to that question.” If you know information that relates to the question, you might say, “From what I know, my opinion is that such and such may be the case.”
3. Manage performance choking. Jeff Wise described performance choking as a “social type of fear, a variety of performance anxiety related to stage fright or a form of panic attack.” It has also been referred to as Paradoxical Performance. In situations of fear or stress, the brain directs its energy and attention toward the reptilian brain, where stress reactions (e.g., fight-flight) are located—a process known as downshifting. Being self-focused (rather than task-focused), creates anxiety and performance fear that can trigger downshifting. The resulting automatic stress reaction may include trembling, cold or sweaty hands, tight throat, nausea (or worse), rapid breathing, dry mouth, changes in vision, the mind going blank temporarily, collapsing backstage or even running off stage. The antidote to performance choking is staying task focused. Pay attention to what you are doing and saying. Avoid thinking and focusing on yourself, e.g., how the performance sounds, your own self-worth issues, what the audience thinks of you, or expectations. Remain centered on the presentation tasks. Choking need not be an inevitable flaw of performance. Use STP to remind you of how to avoid it:
4. Build Self-esteem and Confidence. They are linked because confidence is built on your level of self-esteem. Think of self-esteem as how much you value yourself and what you tell yourself about your worth. Confidence is a clear belief that you have the ability to acquire the skills needed to meet any challenge or dilemma in life—which sometimes means asking for help. Everyone needs a support system, a group of individuals that can help you learn those skills. Every brain has tasks that it does energy efficiently, easily, and well. Every brain also has tasks that utilize enormous amounts of energy and require a struggle to complete. Part of self-knowledge is knowing which is which for your brain. In life, everyone has to complete some tasks that are energy exhausting. Minimize those when you can. Understanding this can help you to avoid beating yourself up for doing some tasks less well than those that match your brain’s innate giftedness. Thank your brain for helping you perform these energy-exhausting tasks as successfully as possible and avoid allowing them to tank your self-esteem and lower your confidence. It is normal—commonly occurring—to experience butterflies flitting around in your stomach prior to a performance. After all, every performance is unique. Paul Larkin put it this way. “It is a one-off. There is an interaction between that one audience and that one speaker in that one place. It will never happen again. It is special. It is a performance.” A balanced sense of self-worth and a healthy level of confidence can help you manage the butterflies. Picture them with anticipation and excitement rather than anxiety or worry.
5. Raise Your Level of Emotional Intelligence (EQ). The higher your level of EQ the more likely you are to avoid JOT behaviors: Jumping to conclusions, Overreacting, or Taking things personally. EQ skills along with self-awareness not only help keep you centered in the reason you are making the presentation; they also can thicken your skin enough to help you brush off some of the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” as Shakespeare put it in scene three of his play, Hamlet. The more you are in the public eye, the more likely you are to receive unsolicited comments—subjective opinions of other brains—about your performance that can range from thankfulness to outright putdowns. Anais Nin has said that “We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” EQ skills can assist you in evaluating input in a balanced way, considering the way you are receiving it, learning what you can from the suggestions, and letting the rest go.
High EQ can also help you avoid the trap of plagiarism like the proverbial plague. It can undermine your credibility and image. In a sense, there is nothing new under the sun. Somewhere, sometime, somehow, another individual has likely written, spoken, or opined about your topic. If you have gained additional insights from listening to or reading what others have written, or increased your understanding from published research, give credit where credit is due. It does not minimize the way in which you are presenting the information. Fortunately, information itself—including book titles and even specific words—cannot be copyrighted. The way in which the information is presented can be. Therefore, present the information as accurately as possible in your own way, always being generous with crediting. There is plenty of recognition to go around.
6. Hone Your Image. How you look and act matters! While you may have the right to show up in your birthday suit, it may also get you cited for indecent exposure. Findings from a study led by Michael L. Slepian of Columbia University reported that the type of clothing one wears impacts an individual’s cognitive (thinking) processing style. Wearing formal clothing over casual styles tends to increase abstract thinking in the mind of the wearer. An ability to summarizes or concentrate the essentials of a larger topic can be invaluable, and abstract thinking contributes to that skill. Studies report that you have 1/10th of a second in which to make your initial impression—likely reinforced in the next 6/10th to 9/10th of a second, and that six months later, their first impression was the one that people remembered, even after they had gotten to know the individual. Think ahead. Look the part for your presentation. If you are likely to be making multiple presentations, you may want to obtain consultation on types of clothing that look best with your body type, hair styles that better match your face shape, and colors that compliment your skin tones. Picture in your mind’s eye your plan, smile, and focus on your task; 1/10th of a second is all you need to make a positive and confident impression.
7. Enjoy what you are doing. It is a compliment to be asked to make a presentation. Have fun. If you are comfortable and having an enjoyable time, most likely so will your audience. If you make a mistake—and you will—it is simply evidence that you are human. Course-correct and go on. If you can laugh at yourself, typically your audience will relax and laugh with you. If you are planning to say ‘should’ and a four-letter word slips out instead, pause, look horrified, and say, “Did I really—oh, never mind. I must be more nervous than I thought. I certainly hope my mother does not hear about this. I might be uninvited for both Thanksgiving and Christmas!” (or something that sounds like you). I actually fell off the pointed end of a wedge-shaped stage once during a seminar performance. Landed right on a mother-board two feet below, I did, to the raucous accompaniment of a cacophony of sounds. Two men from the audience rushed over and helped me back up onto the make-shift stage. Having learned to look for the humor in everything, and unhurt, I started laughing so hard I could barely get out the words: “Well, that was a first and certainly not intended to be part of this presentation!” The audience laughed with me, even harder when a teenager near the front called out, “Will there be an encore?”
Know and accept that not everyone will like your performance. Their impression may be linked with their past experiences. If you did no performances, you still might be criticized for that! Make your goal to say something that will help another brain on its journey through life, which makes your efforts worth the work and is rewarding for your brain. Competence involves an ongoing learning process of perfecting performance. Affirm what you did well. Acknowledge what needs improvement. Continue polishing. You can present a performance that leaves a positive and informative impression in the brains and hearts of your audience.
Watch your thoughts, they become your beliefs.
Watch your beliefs, they become your words.
Watch your words, they become your actions.
Watch your actions, they become your habits.
Watch your habits, they become your character.
—Vince Lombardi
His first words were, “What do you know about choking?” The question came from a physically fit young man who sat slumped on my office stool.
Smiling, I replied, “Well, there’s choking that involves something getting stuck in your throat, and choking due to constricted bronchial tubes, and choking because of a scary game kids sometimes play, and performance choking linked with failure under pressure…”
“Performance choking linked with failure under pressure,” Bryan interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I’ve joined the ranks of Wimbledon’s Jana Novatna and golf’s Van de Velde. Not that I wanted to join, you understand.
Experimental findings have associated choking under pressure with four pressure variables: audience presence, competition, performance-contingent rewards and punishments, and ego relevance of the task. I explained these variables to Bryan and suggested he describe his most recent episode.
“The game was on the line. I missed both free throws. It is crazy! I’ve sunk 25 baskets in a row—in practice.”
“What were you thinking just before you threw the ball?” I asked.
Bryan shook his head. “I wanted those points desperately and knew the entire team was depending on me. I guess I lost my confidence, played scared, and started analyzing what my muscles should do instead of just trusting my skills.” A puzzled look spread over his face. ”It was like being back at the beginning when I first learned how to play.”
His explanation was on the money. Bryan had become incapacitated by his own thoughts, exerting too much conscious effort instead of trusting his highly honed skills. Referred to by some researchers as paradoxical performance effects, choking under pressure can be defined as inferior performance despite striving and incentives for superior performance. It certainly represents inferior performance in comparison with what the person can do.
A couple of theories may help you better understand what is happening:
The human brain sometimes fails under pressure. Millions have witnessed this phenomenon in the unexpected catastrophes of Olympic trials and in almost any high-stakes sports event—although the reasons may be worlds apart. In his article “The Art of Failure” (2000), Malcolm Gladwell describes the difference between panic and choking:
“Panic involves too little thinking and reverting to instinct, while choking represents too much thinking and a loss of practiced instinct. Although most people get nervous at some time or other, not everyone either panics or chokes.”
Matthew Syed, in his book Bounce: The Myth of Talent and the Power of Practice (2010), explains choking this way:
“Experts and novices use two completely different brain systems. Long practice enables experienced performers to encode a skill in implicit memory, and they perform almost without thinking about it. This is called expert-induced amnesia. Novices, on the other hand, wield the explicit system, consciously monitoring what they are doing as they build the neural framework supporting the task. But now suppose an expert were to suddenly find himself using the wrong system. It would not matter how good he was because he would now be at the mercy of the explicit system. The highly sophisticated skills encoded in the subconscious part of his brain would count for nothing. He would find himself striving for victory using neural pathways he last used as a novice. This is the neurophysiology of choking. It is triggered when we get so anxious that we seize conscious control over a task that should be executed automatically.”
“Choking does not have to happen,” I told Bryan. “It is not an inevitable flaw of performance.”
Recently Daniel Gucciardi and James Dimmock, psychologists at the University of Western Australia, studied 20 experienced golfers with handicaps ranging from zero to twelve, analyzing their success under three separate conditions. The best results were obtained when the golfers stopped thinking about the details of their swing or how to position their hips. When they contemplated a generic and vague cue word or phrase (e.g., “Smooth,” “Balanced,” “Enjoy this”), their performance was no longer affected by anxiety. The positive adjectives did not cause the athletes to lose the flow of expert performance or overrule their automatic brain.
Bryan and I discussed steps he could implement to avoid performance choking. “Keep it basic and simple,” I suggested. “Try using the acronym STP:”
“We have a big tournament coming up first of the year,” Bryan said, as he stood to leave. “I have some STP work to do between now and then.”
A team of neuroscientists in London used MRI studies to gain insight into choking. They found that as people got excited about potential rewards, activity tended to increase in a subcortical brain region (ventral striatum) that is dense with dopamine neurons. However, as the participants began playing the video game (albeit inside a brain scanner), activity in the ventral striatum changed. The brain activity became inversely related to the magnitude of the reward, i.e., larger incentives led to less striatum activity. And decreased activity led to decreased performance.
Loss aversion is a well-documented phenomenon: People feel worse over a loss than they feel good about a gain. For example, the pleasure of winning $1000 is less intense than the pain of losing the same amount. Although there were no actual ‘losses’ in the London experiment (e.g., participants were never punished for failure), the researchers theorized that the act of playing the game led the participants to count chickens that were not yet hatched and to think about wins that had not been achieved. Because of that, the ventral striatum that focuses on rewards showed less activity as the brain worried about possible failures. In fact, the most loss-adverse participants showed the largest drop in performance when the rewards were increased.
This suggests that some individuals ‘choke’ under the pressure of the moment because they care too much. They want to success and want to win so desperately that they unravel. The activity’s pleasure has vanished. What remains is the fear of failure, of losing, which can trigger choking.
“I didn’t do it!” the voice shouted when I answered the phone. “No—I mean, I did do it!”
Recognizing Bryan’s distinctive accent, I laughed, moved the phone further away from my ear, and asked, “Which is it?”
“It’s BOTH!” he shouted. “I avoided choking and we won.”
“Excellent,” I said. “What made the difference?”
“I stopped thinking about failure. Every time a negative thought crossed my brain, I changed it to a positive thought. I told my brain what I wanted it to do. You know, the STP strategy.” There was a pause. “There’s an exhibition tournament scheduled for early in the New Year. I would love for you to be there. Would you like a ticket? Shall I send you one?”
My answer was yes and yes.
Learn from the mistakes of others.
You can’t live long enough to make them all yourself.
—Eleanor Roosevelt
“How could I have missed the sign?” Shelley moaned. On a trip to England, she had just been taken to task by the tour guide for eating a candy bar in Westminster Abby.
“There was a sign at the door saying eating is prohibited in this cathedral,” the guide said ponderously. Apologizing profusely, Shelley heard virtually nothing during the remainder of the tour. She was too busy castigating herself for making a mistake.
Do you typically punish yourself for:
Learning from the mistakes of others is enhanced when you understand the difference between healthy guilt (you recognize a mistake and know you can choose a different behavior in the future) and false guilt (an expectation that either you can do things flawlessly or that you must flagellate yourself for being a mistake).
If you are struggling with this area, start by identifying the ways in which you punish yourself for your “mistakes.” Assign each mistake to one of two categories: healthy guilt or false guilt. Learn from healthy guilt and let go of false guilt.
Some very successful individuals believe that success actually consists of making mistakes and learning from them. In fact, some who have struggled with a lifetime of perfectionistic expectations have reduced their stress and altered their behaviors in a positive direction by consciously choosing to make one small mistake each day. When the sky fails to fall in on them, it helps put mistakes into perspective. “Deliberately sprinkling some pepper on the white tablecloth,” one man was heard to remark, “and then asking myself what difference it will make 10 years from now, has been life-changing for me.”
One morning I noticed a toddler making an unsteady path across the hospital lobby. Without warning she suddenly sat down on her round little bottom, kerplunk. Did she beat herself up because her walking skills were still under development? No. Neither did the group with her. Rather, they encouraged her to get up and keep practicing. In adulthood, one would hope that she will not punish herself for making mistakes as she hones new skills.
Stepping into the elevator at one of my hospitals, the Chaplain’s colorful placard caught my eye, “The one who makes no mistakes doesn’t normally make anything.” I laughed aloud. It has become patently clear that I’ve learned more from my mistakes than I ever have from my successes! When I make a mistake, usually I can figure out choices that contributed to it or at least brainstorm ways in which to avoid a similar situation in the future. Once the stress of trying to perform every activity flawlessly took its proper place on the shelf, I was able to view mistakes more as a gift.
Instead of punishing yourself for your mistakes, reward yourself for living life to its fullest—and learning from it. That’s a much more constructive way to use your energy! And, as the old proverb goes: nothing ventured, nothing won.
She was a trifle unsteady and leaning on her walker. Her knees trembled as if they might become entangled. But her eyes twinkled merrily and the million wrinkles on her face curved upward. Waving a utensil dramatically in her free hand she said in a cheery voice, “Remember to save your fork!”
At that precise moment a masterpiece cake rolled into the room on a silver teacart. In the shape of the Eiffel Tower it paid homage to Paris, her favorite city) It was Bette’s 98th birthday. We were gathered to celebrate Bette’s 98th birthday, wish her well, and support her goal to live to be at least 100.
As the festivities wound down, the birthday girl struggled to her feet to thank us for our presence and good wishes. She concluded by repeating the words: “Remember to save your fork.”
A reporter from the local paper waved to ask: “Why did you say remember to save your fork?” We already demolished the Eiffel Tower.” Everyone laughed.
“As a child,” the birthday celebrant explained, “we were poorer than proverbial church mice. On rare occasions when I heard that special phrase, I knew the best was yet to come.” She paused. “Those words became my motto for life.”
Indeed, Bette’s history had not been without its deep dark valleys but she’d always bounced back up to the next mountain peak. No wonder, with a motto like that. We clapped again for her spirit, example, and accomplishments.
When the room had quieted, Bette, holding herself erect with immense dignity, added, “Living that motto has made all the difference in my life. In fact,” and here her face molded into the wry and humorous expression many of us had grown to love, “when I die, I want a giant fork displayed at my memorial service. Even then, the best is yet to come.” Everyone applauded again, many through misty eyes.
Metaphorically, many individuals, who have been adapting away from their innate giftedness, have neglect to save their fork in life. In their disappointment, discouragement, fatigue, and even depression they believe that the best is behind them, not ahead. How sad! Knowledge plus informed application can change this perspective.
As Wayne Dyer put it, You’ll See It When You Believe It.
Remember: save your fork!
Because we were jammed together so tightly in the shuttle, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation. Back and forth the verbal ping-pong sped until finally, in biting, tight-lipped, clipped phrases these words spilled out into the crowded car: “Oh, just shut up with your new ideas already. That’s the way it’s always been around here and that’s the way it’s going to stay!”
I was truly expecting them to come to blows at any moment and there wasn’t room for blows without some of them falling all over the rest of us passengers. Relieved to be out of there as soon as the doors opened, I headed for my gate and the flight home.
As I settled myself in the window seat, I recalled something that a mathematics professor had shared with me some time ago. The piece was entitled “Primate Committee Thinking Experiment,” and it went something like this.
Place five apes in a cage. Hang a banana on a string and put a set of portable stairs under the banana. Before long, an ape will go to the stairs and begin to climb towards the banana. As soon as the ape touches the stairs, spay all the apes with ice cold water. Turn off the water.
After a while, another ape will make an attempt to climb toward the banana. Again, spray all the apes with ice cold water. Turn off the water.
If, later on, a third ape tries to climb the stairs, the others will try to prevent it even though no water sprays them.
Now, remove one ape from the cage and replace it with a new one. The new ape, seeing the banana, goes to the stairs and starts to climb toward the banana. To its horror, all the other apes attack it. After a second attempt and a second attack, the new ape learns that if it tries to climb the stairs, it will be assaulted.
Next, remove another of the original five apes and replace it with a new one. The newcomer heads for the stairs and is attacked. The previous newcomer takes part in the punishment with enthusiasm.
Again, replace a third original ape with a new one. The new one makes it to the stairs and is attacked as well.
Two of the four apes that beat the newcomer have absolutely no idea of the reason they were not permitted to climb the stairs or the reason that they are participating in the beating of the newest ape.
After replacing the fourth and fifth original apes, all the apes that have been sprayed with ice cold water have been replaced. Nevertheless, no ape ever again approaches the stairs.
The reason? There could be many contributors. Transmitted knowledge. Because that’s the way it’s always been around here mindset. Peer pressure.
Sound familiar? Even when the words are not audible, people’s behaviors often reflect one or more of those perspectives.
How is it in your cage of life?
What’s keeping you away from the stairs?
It was my first night shift on the obstetrical unit, my first hands-on experience outside of clinical labs. As a nursing student I’d recently finished the OB/GYN course work, which made me eligible to work as a nurse’s aide. Such a deal, and I needed the money!
After receiving the shift-change report, the charge nurse gave me my assignment. With flashlight, clipboard, and mercury thermometers standing upright in a metal carrying tray, I took TPR’s on all my patients and carefully recorded the results on the worksheet’s midnight column. That task finished, I was to answer call lights, assist the charge nurse as needed, physically look in on each patient at least hourly, and take vital signs or perform other patient-care procedures as ordered.
Before long two women arrived in differing stages of labor and I helped with their admission process. One delivered quite precipitously (it was her ninth child), and I watched the nursery RN take the little bundle down the hall to make it more presentable. And then it was time for rounds again. Taking my trusty flashlight and making as little noise as possible, I checked the patient in the first room. She appeared to be sleeping. So did the second and third patients, as well as the fourth, a post-partum mother who had birthed twins the day before.
Out in the hall and ready to move on to the next room, I became aware of a slight sense of dis-ease. I paused but there was nothing to put my finger on. Everything had seemed to be okay with that fourth patient. What is this? I thought. Shall I ignore it? Maybe I’m just tired. After a moment’s deliberation I reentered the previous room.
The woman was lying motionless, eyes closed. Her breathing sounded normal, but the sense of disquiet persisted. Gently I touched her arm and spoke her name. No response. Hmmm. I took her pulse. Thready. Her vital signs had been within normal limits at my last check. Hmmm, again. I placed my hand on her abdomen to feel for the fundus of her uterus, hoping I’d recognize if it felt okay. It didn’t. The word boggy came to mind. Now what?
Carefully lifting up the bedcovers, I peeked beneath them and gasped. I don’t know what I had expected but it wasn’t the bright-red blood that was seeping out from under her gown. I went flying out the door to the nursing station and reported the situation. The charge nurse listened to my brief recital and immediately went into action. She grabbed the telephone handpiece with one hand, began dialing with the other, and ordered me back to the patient’s room to start fundal massage.
The largely silent and semi-dark ward came alive with lights, sounds, and movement. The house supervisor arrived, increased the flow rate on the first IV and started a second. An intern dashed into the room on the heels of the OB resident, who took over the fundal massage. A classic glass bottle showed up from the Blood Bank and, after its contents were verified, was hooked to the second IV. “Run it wide open,” the OB Resident barked, “and find her husband.”
Within minutes a 6-foot hunk burst into the room, hair disheveled, black stubble standing out against pale skin, and sweats that only partially hid red-and-white stripped trunks. The man’s fear was palpable as he sagged against the wall. The OB resident briefly explained what had happened and the measures that were being taken. Watching with anxious eyes, the husband murmured periodically,“How could I live without her?”
My job was to track and report vital signs. As blood and IV fluids flowed into her veins I pumped up the sphygmomanometer again and again. What a relief to hear the blood pressure rise to a safer range and to feel her pulse stabilize and strengthen. A second unit of blood was started and the patient gradually began to move restlessly. Before long she opened her eyes and was able to answer questions coherently. “Good,” the intern commented, “looks like we were in time to avoid brain damage.”
When the OB resident finally announced that that she was out of danger, the room gradually emptied and I went to the nursing station to catch up on charting. A few minutes later, the patient’s husband stopped by to express his gratitude. The charge nurse pointed in my direction and said, “This little student nurse is the one who discovered your wife’s hemorrhage.”
Taking my hand in both of his (mine completely disappeared from view), and with tears trickling down his cheeks, he said, “I will never be able to thank you enough.”
Startled and a bit flustered at being singled out, I mumbled something about that was the least I could do. Simultaneously I experienced a new and rewarding sense of elation. I, a little student nurse, had actually done something to make a positive difference in the life of this family! I will always remember the gratitude that shone from his eyes as he returned to his wife’s room.
Next morning I had no difficulty staying awake in class. My mind kept wandering back to the events of the night before. What if, I thought to myself, I had fudged on my rounds? What if I had ignored my sense of unease and failed to investigate further? Good grief, the patient might now be dead, her husband a widower, and the twins motherless, to say nothing of the grief among extended family and friends!
That experience changed my life. For one thing it gave me a new perspective on my aunt, my mother’s older sister, in whose nursing footsteps I had followed. She was the charge nurse on duty that night, having agreed to work a double shift. The memory of her grace and competence during the crisis, and the credit she accorded me for my small part in the drama, have lingered over the years, especially since that was the one and only time she and I worked together in a hospital setting.
It also increased my interest in the human brain and the way in which it functions. It triggered a commitment to pay attention to my intuition, hitherto somewhat disregarded based on rhetoric I’d heard growing up. And it created a conscious desire on my part to craft a personal mission—to make a positive difference in the lives of others, on purpose. Funny thing. In the search for ways to fulfill that mission, the life I’ve probably impacted the most has been my own.
—June 8, 2005
In ancient times, so the story goes, a homeless old man was befriended by a young boy in a similar plight. The old man’s name was Trocanthio; the boy’s, Marcos. An orphan, Marcos made his way from village to village in search of food and a roof over his head. More important, however, than his search for a full stomach and a comfortable, dry place to sleep, was his quest for something else—a reason.
I wonder, the boy thought to himself, why must things be as difficult as they are? Do we make them so ourselves, or is it just meant to be that we should struggle as we do?
Wise thoughts for a boy as young as Marcos. It was just this type of thinking that prompted him, one day, to approach Trocanthio, who happened to be traveling the same road. I’ll ask him a question or two, thought Marcos.
Marcos noticed that the old man carried a large, covered, woven basket on his back, a basket that appeared to be very, very heavy, especially for someone as old and tired as he. When they stopped to rest beside a small brook, the old man wearily settled his basket on the ground. To Marcos it appeared as though the man carried all of his worldly goods in that one basket. In fact, it seemed a much heavier load than even a younger, stronger man could carry very far.
“What’s in your basket that makes it so heavy?” Marcos asked. “I’d be happy to carry it for you. After all, I’m young and strong, and you are advanced in years.”
“It’s nothing you could carry for me,” Trocanthio answered.“I must carry it for myself. One day,” he added, “you too will carry a basket just as weighted down as mine.”
Over many days and many roads, Marcos and the old man walked long, wearisome miles together. And although Marcos often asked old Trocanthio questions about the lot of humans to toil as they do, there were no answers. Nor could he learn, try as he might, what treasure of such great worth was stowed in the old man’s basket. Sometimes, late at night, at the end of a long day’s journey, Marcos would lie down pretending to sleep and would listen to Trocanthio quietly talking to himself as, by the flickering light from a small fire, he sorted the contents of his basket. But in the morning, as always, he would say nothing.
It was only when Trocanthio could walk no more that he revealed his secret. In their last few hours together, he explained to Marcos not only the secret of the basket he carried, but also the reason that so many humans struggle as they do.
“In this basket,” Trocanthio told the youthful Marcos,” are all the beliefs about myself that were untrue. These are the stones that have weighted down my journey. On my back I have carried every pebble of doubt, every grain of uncertainty, every millstone of misdirection, and every putdown that I have encountered. Without these, I could have gone far. I could have lived the dreams I once harbored in my mind. But I have ended up here at the end of my journey with my dreams unfulfilled.” And without even unwrapping the braided cords that bound the basket to his shoulders, the old man closed his eyes and went to sleep for the last time.
Before Marcos himself bedded down that night, he untied each cord that bound the basket to the old man and, lifting it free, carefully set it on the ground. When he had done this, Marcos just as carefully untied the leather straps that held the woven cover in place, and lifted it aside. Perhaps because he had been looking for an answer to his own quest, Marcos was not at all surprised at what he found.
The basket that had weighted old Trocanthio down for so many years—was empty.
What are you carrying in your basket?
Want to be healthy and live a long time?
It starts in your brain—where you lose or win.
“It’s obviously hopeless,” she said.
“It’s totally discouraging,” he said.
“What you say sounds both helpful and doable,” she said. “But then we recall our parents’ lives and how long they lived.”
“And we end up feeling doomed,” he said.
“We recently read that this generation may be the first in the history of the United States to live shorter lives than their parents. Lifestyle, especially obesity, was cited as the main contributing factor,” she said.
“The bottom line,” he said, “is this: What difference would changing our lifestyle make? Would it really matter?”
Honestly, I tried not to laugh. I really did! But rarely have my office chairs held two such discouraged and pathetic-looking individuals. Instead, I coughed. Twice.
When I was certain not to fall off my chair in uncontrollable laugher, I said, “Please tell me why you two are so discouraged, hopeless, and—to quote you—doomed. Maybe I can help you reframe that perception.”
“My mother died at the young age of 49 from diabetic complications,” she said. “I am 41, and the doctor just diagnosed me with diabetes type II. I figure I have about 8 years to live—if I am lucky.”
I nodded but held my tongue.
“My father died of complications from both prostate and colon cancer at 52,” he said. “I figure that, with any luck, I have about four years to live. I’ve already been told I have an enlarged prostate. You know how it goes, like father like son!” He sighed. “We wanted to live to know our grandkids, but it looks like we may not survive long enough to even see our four children get married. Never mind grandchildren!”
“We’ve been hearing about strategies to help a person stay healthier and younger for longer,” she said. “But, honestly, even if we did change our eating and drinking habits, and used alkaline and hydrogen water, and got enough sleep and more exercise, with our genetic history what difference could it possibly make? We’re doomed, so why bother?”
This time I could not contain my laughter. It just bubbled up. “I understand your fears. In fact, I had similar concerns about my genetics, but guess what? I have already outlived both of my parents and a fair number of aunts, uncles, and cousins.”
“Really!” she said. “How did you…” Her voice trailed off.
“I just saw a news release about how today’s children may live shorter lives than their parents,” he said. “That is frightening!”
“It is,” I agreed. “Especially for the parents and their children. Some are saying that the children may live as long or longer but are at high risk of spending their older years in poor health. Either way, it’s ugly. But there is good news!”
Here is the good news I shared:
While human beings are a combination of nature and nurture, these two factors do not contribute equally.
Nature involves genetics: your genome—the genes and chromosomes inherited from biological parents. The genes contain “blueprints” for the building blocks of life. Created from proteins, they include those needed for repair of cellular structures and for the replication of cells. Nature is responsible for about 30 percent of who you are. Many factors, however, influence how blueprints are read, interpreted and implemented.
A factor in this—perhaps the KEY factor—is not genetics (nature); it is epigenetics (nurture).
Nurture involves epigenetics (your epigenome) and encompasses everything that is not genetics, including what happens to you, the choices you make, the habits you develop, the behaviors you exhibit, the stressors you are exposed to and how you respond, your job or career, both your personal and professional relationships—and your lifestyle.
Epigenetics does includes your lifestyle: where you go, what you do, whom you hang out with, what you listen to, what you read, what you watch, the sports you play, and the music you like, what you choose to eat and how much and when, what you drink, and whether you choose to smoke (vaping included) to name a few.
According to research by Rudolph E. Tanzi, PhD, and Deepak Chopra, MD, epigenetics appears to contribute about 70 percent of how long and how well you live because it includes your total lifestyle. Epigenetics is so powerful that it can even impact genetics—positively or negatively, based on personal choices. More than half of all the strategies that have been found to impact health and aging are factors are within your partial—if not complete—control.
Your brain and immune system are designed to work hand-in-glove to keep you well and—when sick—help you heal. Together, they constitute the most amazing healing system on Planet Earth—maybe in the known Universe. They are, however, impacted by nature and nurture: genetics and epigenetics. Especially by epigenetics, which includes all lifestyle factors.
“So, you see,” I said, “it is neither hopeless nor discouraging. Unless you stick your head in the sand and leave it there, you are far from doomed! If you become informed, make positive decisions, and work on epigenetics—the 70 percent contributor that includes lifestyle—you both can create healthier futures for yourselves.”
“Actually,” he said, somewhat ruefully, “we have read some articles about how dehydration is linked with dementia and how sleep deprivation is linked with memory problems and the reasons physical and mental exercise are so important. But we’ve been mired in ‘What difference would it make?’ and ‘Would it really matter?’” A bit short-sighted perhaps…”
“More like ridiculous!” she said.
Since they were both smiling, I decided to have the last word. “Knowledge is power, if you practically and faithfully apply it. Epigenetics is the reason for all the health-related strategies I embrace. The universal human problem, however, has been credited to a rather concise comment by Confucius: It’s not that I do not know what to do; it is that I don’t do what I know. You can make a difference choice.”
“Where are you two in the genetics-epigenetics equation?” I asked. “Starting now to implement researched strategies is not a minute too soon. “
To anybody who might be feeling discouraged and “doomed,” think of the many who love and care about you. Maybe children or grandchildren. Or even future grandchildren. So, time to get cracking. The goal is to raise the bar on your state of well-being as high as possible for as long as you live. By embracing longevity-lifestyle strategies as part of your daily, ongoing choices, you can make a positive difference in your life¾and in the lives of those you love and care about.
If epigenetics matters more than genetics—and it appears that is the case—then it’s worth it.
And that is why you bother!
Watch your thoughts, they become your beliefs.
Watch your beliefs, they become your words.
Watch your words, they become your actions.
Watch your actions, they become your habits.
Watch your habits, they become your character.
—Vince Lombardi
His first words were, “What do you know about choking?” The question came from a physically fit young man who sat slumped on my office stool.
Smiling, I replied, “Well, there’s choking that involves something getting stuck in your throat, and choking due to constricted bronchial tubes, and choking because of a scary game kids sometimes play, and performance choking linked with failure under pressure…”
“Performance choking linked with failure under pressure,” Bryan interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I’ve joined the ranks of Wimbledon’s Jana Novatna and golf’s Van de Velde. Not that I wanted to join, you understand.
Experimental findings have associated choking under pressure with four pressure variables: audience presence, competition, performance-contingent rewards and punishments, and ego relevance of the task. I explained these variables to Bryan and suggested he describe his most recent episode.
“The game was on the line. I missed both free throws. It is crazy! I’ve sunk 25 baskets in a row—in practice.”
“What were you thinking just before you threw the ball?” I asked.
Bryan shook his head. “I wanted those points desperately and knew the entire team was depending on me. I guess I lost my confidence, played scared, and started analyzing what my muscles should do instead of just trusting my skills.” A puzzled look spread over his face. ”It was like being back at the beginning when I first learned how to play.”
His explanation was on the money. Bryan had become incapacitated by his own thoughts, exerting too much conscious effort instead of trusting his highly honed skills. Referred to by some researchers as paradoxical performance effects, choking under pressure can be defined as inferior performance despite striving and incentives for superior performance. It certainly represents inferior performance in comparison with what the person can do.
A couple of theories may help you better understand what is happening:
The human brain sometimes fails under pressure. Millions have witnessed this phenomenon in the unexpected catastrophes of Olympic trials and in almost any high-stakes sports event—although the reasons may be worlds apart. In his article “The Art of Failure” (2000), Malcolm Gladwell describes the difference between panic and choking:
“Panic involves too little thinking and reverting to instinct, while choking represents too much thinking and a loss of practiced instinct. Although most people get nervous at some time or other, not everyone either panics or chokes.”
Matthew Syed, in his book Bounce: The Myth of Talent and the Power of Practice (2010), explains choking this way:
“Experts and novices use two completely different brain systems. Long practice enables experienced performers to encode a skill in implicit memory, and they perform almost without thinking about it. This is called expert-induced amnesia. Novices, on the other hand, wield the explicit system, consciously monitoring what they are doing as they build the neural framework supporting the task. But now suppose an expert were to suddenly find himself using the wrong system. It would not matter how good he was because he would now be at the mercy of the explicit system. The highly sophisticated skills encoded in the subconscious part of his brain would count for nothing. He would find himself striving for victory using neural pathways he last used as a novice. This is the neurophysiology of choking. It is triggered when we get so anxious that we seize conscious control over a task that should be executed automatically.”
“Choking does not have to happen,” I told Bryan. “It is not an inevitable flaw of performance.”
Recently Daniel Gucciardi and James Dimmock, psychologists at the University of Western Australia, studied 20 experienced golfers with handicaps ranging from zero to twelve, analyzing their success under three separate conditions. The best results were obtained when the golfers stopped thinking about the details of their swing or how to position their hips. When they contemplated a generic and vague cue word or phrase (e.g., “Smooth,” “Balanced,” “Enjoy this”), their performance was no longer affected by anxiety. The positive adjectives did not cause the athletes to lose the flow of expert performance or overrule their automatic brain.
Bryan and I discussed steps he could implement to avoid performance choking. “Keep it basic and simple,” I suggested. “Try using the acronym STP:”
“We have a big tournament coming up first of the year,” Bryan said, as he stood to leave. “I have some STP work to do between now and then.”
A team of neuroscientists in London used MRI studies to gain insight into choking. They found that as people got excited about potential rewards, activity tended to increase in a subcortical brain region (ventral striatum) that is dense with dopamine neurons. However, as the participants began playing the video game (albeit inside a brain scanner), activity in the ventral striatum changed. The brain activity became inversely related to the magnitude of the reward, i.e., larger incentives led to less striatum activity. And decreased activity led to decreased performance.
Loss aversion is a well-documented phenomenon: People feel worse over a loss than they feel good about a gain. For example, the pleasure of winning $1000 is less intense than the pain of losing the same amount. Although there were no actual ‘losses’ in the London experiment (e.g., participants were never punished for failure), the researchers theorized that the act of playing the game led the participants to count chickens that were not yet hatched and to think about wins that had not been achieved. Because of that, the ventral striatum that focuses on rewards showed less activity as the brain worried about possible failures. In fact, the most loss-adverse participants showed the largest drop in performance when the rewards were increased.
This suggests that some individuals ‘choke’ under the pressure of the moment because they care too much. They want to success and want to win so desperately that they unravel. The activity’s pleasure has vanished. What remains is the fear of failure, of losing, which can trigger choking.
“I didn’t do it!” the voice shouted when I answered the phone. “No—I mean, I did do it!”
Recognizing Bryan’s distinctive accent, I laughed, moved the phone further away from my ear, and asked, “Which is it?”
“It’s BOTH!” he shouted. “I avoided choking and we won.”
“Excellent,” I said. “What made the difference?”
“I stopped thinking about failure. Every time a negative thought crossed my brain, I changed it to a positive thought. I told my brain what I wanted it to do. You know, the STP strategy.” There was a pause. “There’s an exhibition tournament scheduled for early in the New Year. I would love for you to be there. Would you like a ticket? Shall I send you one?”
My answer was yes and yes.
