My father, Warren Bennis, believed that great leaders are made, not born. And I believe that great speakers are made, not born. Great speakers are practicing skills and techniques, whether they learned them from acting teachers, by watching others, or through play as a child (and adult!).

Dad was a wonderful speaker. Here are a few of the things I learned from him about public speaking…Read on.

This week we focus on the 4th of Gottman’s horsemen: Stonewalling. Dr. Jim Coan worked with Gottman and said that when coding couples in the “Love Lab,” they would note one partner literally turn away from the other. Stonewalling is when one partner removes themselves from the conflict rather than going towards it. We can see that sometimes this might be the best thing to do—when we are being baited or lured into a rabbit hole. But if stonewalling is a recurring habit, the relationship suffers. Knowing how to recognize and walk away from a rabbit hole or an unhealthy dynamic is vital; stonewalling is only harmful when it becomes our default.

Gottman says that we stonewall when we are physiologically flooded—often as a result of too much of the first three horsemen!

What’s the antidote? Read on…

What’s at stake when we do not communicate our vision directly? As leaders, it is our responsibility to hold the vision and communicate it clearly and often, while also trusting our teams to be expert in their own realms. If we do not find this balance, we risk misunderstanding, internal squabbles over siloed priorities and resources, and wasted time and energy spent moving in the wrong direction.

As an actor in a play, I see things subjectively, from my character’s point of view. The theater director holds the vision, sees the big picture. They are two different jobs. The director has to allow the actor to discover and develop their character within the vision and world of the play as the director sees it. This is a tricky dynamic, but an important one for all leaders to balance.

Many years ago I was in a profound and disturbing play called Thatcher’s Women about the women who took up prostitution in the 1980s during Thatcher’s reign to support their families. I played two characters, both sex workers. The sets were dark and moody with female body parts protruding. The feeling for the play was bleak, cold, and raw. We did a lot of exploration, visualizations, and exercises to “find” our characters. As my characters revealed themselves, the one who lived on the streets, really came alive for me. I saw her as gritty, messy, punk rock, sassy, sleeping in train stations and waking up with cigarette breath. Maybe not the most original image, but she emerged this way. Despite witnessing my character’s journey in rehearsal, I got the sense that the director didn’t like where I was going. Nothing I offered worked for her, yet she gave me no direction. Her slight look of contempt said it all. I felt negated at every turn, but my questions only received vague hints I could not decode. A week before opening I received my costume: I was to wear bubble-gum-pink fishnets, purple leather shorts, a multi-colored, sequined bustier with my hair teased high, red lip gloss, and an enormous pink bow. Where did this technicolor caricature come from?

Read on….

Anyone here fallen asleep during a production of Hamlet? I may have…Certainly the text is pretty extraordinary. So why might someone be bored or not able to connect to this most human drama? Most likely be cause the story is only told verbally and not inhabited physically. There is no coherence between the words, the expression, the body, and the intention. And haven’t we all experienced the strange pit in our stomachs when someone’s words do not match their expression? Maybe they tell us that everything is “just fine,” while tears pour down their cheeks. Or that they are not angry, though their jaws are clenched tight. Or that they’re listening while scanning social media. When our physical communication is incongruent with our words, the other, the audience, the group, feels that tension. They hear one message and receive another.

Most of the time we communicate without words at all—just gestures, expressions, sighs…read on for ways to find congruence…

I have a vivid memory:

We’re sitting outside eating dinner in that golden hour when the sun makes the world look like it’s been splashed with honey. My father gives me a compliment. I don’t even recall what it was. I just know that I batted it away, as I’d been taught somehow, somewhere, maybe TV? How did Mrs. Brady take a compliment? Mary Tyler Moore?

I already knew the script:

THEM:“Katie, you look so/sound so/are so_______. Your ______ is so _________.”

ME:“No, I’m not. It isn’t. It was just lucky. Did you notice that crack/mistake/mess?”

That night, my father gave me a different script:

Read on…

Many people believe that authenticity involves complete transparency, blunt honesty, and talking about our wayward bodily functions in public. This nightmarish stream-of-consciousness behavior is not only destructive for the speaker, but the listeners may never recover. No, that is not authenticity. Authentic communication includes awareness of the other person and awareness of our own impact.

This week we practice being authentic while being appropriate. How? By being aware of our CRI: Circumstances, Role, and Intention.