We make mistakes.
We lose our train of thought, or our place in our notes.
We stumble over words.
We stumble over our feet on the way to the microphone.
It happens.
So what?
Here’s what you don’t want to have happen: You don’t want your awkward moment to be the most memorable part of your presentation. You don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it deserves.
I was emceeing an awards ceremony many years back and was to introduce a local venerable who would present one of the evening’s most coveted honors. He had an easy, one-syllable name, so naturally I managed to mispronounce it. But I just didn’t correct myself. I made a big deal about correcting myself, and how I should have known better, etcetera, etcetera. Meanwhile, the gentleman approached the stage gracefully, smiled at me graciously, then stepped to the microphone, gave his full attention to the audience and proceeded with his remarks.
I should have left it there. But I didn’t, of course. In my embarrassment for having made such a silly mistake, I kept referring to the gaffe as the evening wore on. These were intended as witty little asides, you understand; shining moments of my clever, self-deprecating humor. But the audience didn’t laugh. Why should they? It wasn’t funny. It was awkward and tiresome. I wasn’t letting them forget my mistake. From that point, events sort of cascaded into a dark place inside of me. My performance — and authority — as the emcee was compromised.
We learn from our mistakes. What I learned from that one was to give myself permission to goof up. And, more importantly, if and when I do goof, contain the damage briskly and move on.
Mangle someone’s name in an introduction? Stop. Say “I beg your pardon” or “Excuse me,” say the name correctly (if you can; if you can’t, don’t compound the error), then keep going.
Lose your place? Stop. Look at the audience, smile and say, “Excuse me, but it seems my mouth just got ahead of my brain,” or words to that effect. Then take a moment to find your place and continue. No need to panic. No need to rush. No need to make dramatic excuses or apologies.
Lose your train of thought and forget where you were going with your last comment? Stop. Look at the audience, smile and say, “My brain was so involved with what I was just saying that it pushed my other thoughts out of the way. Can someone help me find them again? Where was I?”
Trust me, someone will help you.
Then move on.
A simple, declarative acknowledgement. Then continue.
What’s important to the audience isn’t that you made a mistake, but that you continued delivering your message.
Audiences are very forgiving. They want you to succeed. And if you goof up, your audience may become as uncomfortable over it as you. You see, what they fear is not that you may stumble but that you will melt before their eyes, creating an awkward moment for everyone and diminishing the value of the presentation.
So make it easy for them. When you realize a mistake, just smile, correct the error, regain your composure, then complete your presentation.
By so doing, you will be informing your audience that your message is more important than the messenger. That you accept you’re only human. That you’re grown-up enough to get back up from your stumble, dust yourself off and return to the game.
Isn’t that a more pleasant outcome than the memory of a speaker (or thin-skinned, self-conscious emcee) who cannot accept that he or she isn’t perfect and proceeds to jabber incessantly about it?
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