The invitation wasn't meant for me but I went anyway.
A couple of months after I was laid off from my first-ever technical writing job, I found myself at a gathering of fellow documentation folks at a social gathering in a Glebe pub. The gathering was for past and present writers of that company and I had managed to remain friends with many of them, whether they had remained with my former place of employment, had left for a different or better challenge, or, like me, had left involuntarily.
At the time, I was still looking for work, so it was a great way for me to network and hopefully find my next job.
I sat at the end of a long table, next to and across from two of my old colleagues who were still employed with the company, and their conversation was not focused on work nor on the search for a new job. They were talking about public speaking.
"It's a great way to boost your confidence, whether you have to talk in front of a large crowd or in front of one person," said one of them, Ron, who held the title of documentation architect. It was his responsibility to determine what content was important to an end user of our product and how a manual or guide should be constructed so that the instructions made the most sense. He was sitting directly across from me but was talking to Gordon, who was in the chair beside mine.
"I could never give a speech," said Gord.
"It doesn't have to be a speech," countered Ron, "it could be a slideshow presentation or it could be a negotiation with your boss about a raise."
"Or a job interview?" I asked. Two days after I had been laid off, I had an interview with a large software company and I did terribly at the interview. I had been recommended by someone with whom I had worked at the company who laid me off, but she had left of her own volition. When she had heard that I lost my job, she asked her manager to consider me.
I was still shell-shocked from my lay off that I couldn't stop talking about it, adding that I couldn't believe I was in an interview so soon. I also couldn't remember much about the interview immediately afterwards, only that I knew I wasn't going to get that job.
I needed to pull myself together for the next interview.
"Yes, even how to conduct yourself for an interview," said Ron.
"It sounds interesting," said Gordon, "but I don't know if I could get up the nerve to speak to a room of strangers."
"Come to one of our meetings," said Ron to Gordon. "We meet every Tuesday at the Jack Purcell Community Centre. See how it's run. As a guest, you're not required to participate, other than to introduce yourself. And that can be as simple as telling the club your name. It's up to you."
"I'll consider it," said Gord.
Ron and I always got along when we worked together but he knew Gordon better, and I had been talking to another person to the other side of me, Greg, who had been laid off at the same time as me. In fact, when I had received the notice to attend a meeting (I figured what it would be the axe because the e-mail notice had been delivered to me as a Bcc.) and saw Greg in the room with other extremely talented people from all sorts of departments, I sat next to Greg and said, "Thank God you're here too. Now I know it's not personal." When I had turned my attention to Ron and Gord, they were already talking about this club.
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| Photo: Kyle Nishioka, via Openverse |
But Ron didn't extend the invitation to me, nor did his gaze turn to me when he told Gord that he should go to the meeting. As I saw it, Ron was inviting the employed guy to his Toastmasters club meeting, not the unemployed guy.
In fact, when Ron saw me walk into the room at Jack Purcell, the next week, he had a surprised smile and said, "Oh, you came too, Ross. Welcome."
Ron told me, years later, that he never meant to exclude me.
Gordon and I kept in touch after I was laid off, and it was he who had told me about the gathering of writers at the pub. So, a couple of days later, I contacted Gord and asked him if he was planning to check out Toastmasters.
"I'm not really interested," he said, "but Ron seemed keen to have me check it out, so I thought I'd pay him that courtesy."
"I am interested," I said, "so if you don't mind, I'd like to tag along."
"Sure, I could use some support."
Centretown Toastmasters was a great group of people. There were a lot of government employees but there were people from high tech, real estate, and legal professions. There were university students and retired folks who just enjoyed the social benefits of the club.
As Ron had forewarned, we were invited to introduce ourselves. There was another guest in the room, and she had been invited by another Toastmaster. She gave her name (I can't remember it now) and she said that she was hoping to improve her ability to give talks at work. She said that she often had to prepare reports, which she was good at, but that she also had to present the reports to her department, something she wasn't good at.
Gord went next, telling everyone his name and his profession, and he mentioned that Ron had invited him to check out the club. His face turned pink while he spoke and it was obvious that he was nervous, but he did great.
I went next. I gave my name, told the room that I used to work with Ron and Gord but that I had recently been laid off and was looking for work. I was hoping that the club could help me network and that I would be able to hone my skills at being better at interviews and in being able to sell myself. "I don't have a problem with speaking," I added. "My problem is that I sometimes don't know when to shut up. I trust this club covers this subject too?"
I participated in the club's Table Talks segment, when you are asked a question on a particular topic and must answer the question in no less than one minute and no more than two-and-a-half minutes. I was given an opportunity to share my thoughts on the meeting, at the end, and I admitted that I loved it. I said that I would be back.
Gord told the club members that he enjoyed the meeting, but after we left, he admitted that it wasn't his thing and that he wouldn't be back.
I returned the next week, again as a non-member, and again joined in on the Table Talks segment. I returned the following week with a cheque in hand and became an official member. Over the following nine years, I presented nearly 50 speeches, entered and won contests, became the club's Sergeant at Arms, the VP of Education, the VP, and finally the club president. I mentored several new members (I'll forever remember my mentor, Joanne) and made so many friends.
Ron and I became good friends through the club and we even studied together when we were both working toward our certification as editors.
That first meeting was 21 years ago, this coming summer. I finally hung up my Toastmaster badge in late 2011. So what made me want to write about Toastmasters now, more than 11 years later?
I usually spend my Sunday afternoons writing the bulk of my blog posts for the week or for even much later down the road (I have blog posts ready to go in April). But yesterday, when I sat down to start writing, I had no ideas in my head. I knew what I wanted to write about for Thursday's Beer O'Clock review, but I hadn't had the beer yet, probably won't drink it until tomorrow or Wednesday.
For today, tomorrow, Wednesday, and Friday, I had no ideas for a post.
I don't like writing posts the night before I publish them. I stopped doing that a few years ago because the pressure started to get to me. That was why I took a break from my blog. Last Thursday, I didn't have a post for Friday and I feared that I wouldn't have anything to offer, but then I decided to grab my camera and head out into that foggy night.
I managed to capture an image that I could write about and you got that Photo Friday post.
But I don't like leaving posts to the last minute. Just like I didn't like to leave writing speeches 'til the last minute.
Usually, I'd have an idea for a speech and would write it down right away, weeks before I had to present it. I'd work it out until I was happy and that it was the right length of time, and I'd practice it until I knew it by heart.
Sometimes, when I wrote a speech for Toastmasters, I wouldn't have an idea until a day or two before I was scheduled to present it. I would have only a day, or less, to practice it. And I hated doing that.
One time, for a speech contest, I couldn't come up with an idea, didn't have a speech prepared, and couldn't give the person who introduced me a title for my speech because right up until I was standing in front of a room full of people from all of the Ottawa-area Toastmasters clubs, I didn't know what I was going to say.
The contest was on my birthday. It was my 40th birthday.
"I'm 40," I said aloud but softly, and more to myself than to the audience. "Fellow Toastmasters," I continued, more projected and this time with my eyes looking in to the faces that were looking back at me, until they landed on my former mentor, Joanne, "I'm 40 years old, today, and I'm nowhere that I thought I'd be."
As I had said at my very first meeting, I don't have a problem speaking: my problem lies in knowing when to shut up.
I talked about how, when one of my best friends and I turned 20, we speculated where we saw ourselves 10 years down the road. I was going to have my first novel published. I wouldn't be married but I would have been in a long-term relationship that ended badly, in doing so giving me a great idea for my next novel.
When I turned 30, my life hadn't turned out as I had predicted. I had written a novel—in fact, I had written a mini trilogy—but I had never sent it to a publisher. I shelved the story and started work on another novel.
I was in a long-term relationship but instead of it ending badly, it resulted in a marriage. And I was working in a bank, a job that wasn't what I had planned to have, certainly not at 20, and though I was good at the job, it wasn't my calling. At 30, I had lamented that my life hadn't turned out like I had once seen it.
I was even more depressed at 31, when I realized I had been lamenting my 30th milestone and hadn't done anything in that year to change my circumstances.
And now, in a room full of mostly people I didn't know, I was realizing that I was 40 and that my life was different than when I was 30 and far removed from when I was 20, but that I had lived a pretty good life. I was married to a woman who I loved and was my beacon of stability; I had two amazing daughters who never ceased to fascinate me (and still do to this day); and I had a good home and a good life, full of travel and experiences.
I didn't win that contest but I did come in second place.
I don't like leaving things to the night before, nor to the last minute. And, in the case of this contest, to the very last second.
I thought of Toastmasters because in times when I thought I didn't have much to say, I could always bring something to mind. It may not have been the best idea and it might never be a great subject, but I always told myself to never give up.
That speech that I made up on the spot and delivered got me a second-place result. I thought I had nothing but in a split second, I could show that all was not lost. I had nothing to say when I sat down at my computer, last night. But I just started tapping at my keyboard, and something came to mind.
It's not a great post, but if you've made it this far, it's something.
As a writer, I feel that I need to write, even if it's nonsense, because when the time comes to write something meaningful, my creative juices will already be flowing. I've taught myself to never give up.
That's what made me think of Toastmasters. I never gave up, no matter how unprepared I was. And I was unprepared when I sat down at the computer, last night.
Let's see what I come up with for tomorrow.
