‘I can scare you, that’s exactly what I do
If you are prepared, this is what I suggest doing.”
– Bang, the tragically hip
I’m quite afraid of public speaking.
It used to be much worse; I was terrified of it. When I was a master’s student and just starting out in computer science research, I went to a small workshop in Bertinoro, Italy, to present an article I had written. It was the first time I presented my own work in front of an audience that wasn’t other students, and I went back to my room and threw up after lunch every day from Monday to Thursday. I threw up because I was scared to imagine how bad it could end.
And I’m sure you think you know how this story goes; that I actually had the conversation and that it was a great moment of personal development. But in fact, I had the conversation and it wasn’t good. After a week of fairly monotonous conversations from other students, mostly about math and distributed systems, I stood up and talked about some ideas about how I thought operating systems should be built differently. It turns out that the authors of Plan 9, an operating system from Bell Labs, were in the audience and thought, “Here’s finally an article we can fight about.” It was a massacre. They told me for a good ten minutes about all the flaws in my thinking, and when I limped off the stage, I was pretty sure I never wanted to give a public talk again.
But wow, I enjoyed building systems, and I really enjoyed researching and learning about the cutting edge things happening in our field. And there was no real way to advance in that career without having to present my work to the public. And so I’ve explored a lot of ways conversations can go wrong. I froze uncomfortably during the interrogation. I paced back and forth during a recorded conversation, spending most of my time off camera and flying through the center of the frame like a tennis ball about every 45 seconds. At one point I even fell backwards off a stage into the curtains. But it was always the hours before the performance on stage that were the worst. It was the lead-up that gave me the most anxiety, and even today I feel it.
Since I’m having a moment of honesty here, I might as well admit that it’s not just the conversations that scare me. I’ve spent much of my career moving from one anxiety-provoking event to another. There are all the social things you’d expect to terrify an introvert: talking to people in the hallway at conferences, meeting very senior people, being interviewed, and voicing your opinions in group discussions. But they’re also non-social things: pushing for major changes in system designs, starting a company, escalating for help because I know something isn’t working well in a team. It’s something that might seem obvious in retrospect, but I think every moment where my skills – and probably my character – have advanced has meant I’ve felt at least a little uncomfortable.
In retrospect, these scary (and sometimes terrifying) moments are the ones we all learn the most from.
This is not a very new observation. In fact, more than a century ago, the Yerkes-Dodson law stated that there is a clear connection between arousal (say, stress) and performance. And that there is a bell-shaped curve in which we perform optimally under increased stress, but then performance declines because that anxiety becomes overwhelming and distracting. I’m sure we’ve all experienced the range from adrenaline-fueled clarity to freezing panic. The bottom line for me, though, is that fear is actually a pretty good signal that you’re heading into the unknown, that real growth doesn’t happen without a little bit of that accompanying discomfort, and that it’s worth becoming aware of when that happens. Conscious enough to consider actually leaning into it.
As we progress in our careers and into leadership roles, our relationship with fear changes. It’s no longer just about your own courage, but also about helping others take risks. When you think back to those anxious moments that shaped you, I’m sure you’ll agree that they also helped you grow. This is an observation that I find very useful in managing and guiding. Even asking simple questions, such as “What scares you right now?” or “How do you stretch yourself?” can be a good starting point to encourage the people you invest in to push themselves.
Likewise, being attuned to your own fear response, whether it’s shutting down or becoming combative or changing the subject, is something you need to learn to recognize in others, because it’s often a crucial moment when you can intervene and really move a conversation forward. People don’t tend to fear unless they are passionate about an outcome, so as a leader there is almost always something in it.
Courage is not noisy. It is a quiet kind of persistence. I think it’s important to realize that these moments are rarely impulsive, reckless, or full of bravado. It’s the fact that we have to choose a difficult path with our eyes open that defines almost exactly how we’re trying to improve, and if you think about it, I think you’ll start to see these moments all around you. For example, consider the person who rarely asks questions during a meeting when he or she asks a challenging question. Once you see it, it’s a wonderful thing and it’s also a meaningful opportunity to support in the moment or compliment afterwards.
After your week at re:Invent, a bit separated from the routine of the rest of the year, I think it’s worth reflecting on this fact: growth happens on the edge of discomfort. And while you’re thinking about it, maybe ask yourself what you’re afraid of this week, and whether or not you can just go and do it.
#uncomfortable