Fractals are ever-repeating shapes we find in nature, from trees and snails, to venous systems and plumes of smoke. Similarly, most every talk falls into a simple and universal structure. Plays also follow this pattern. No matter the length, no matter the purpose, most talks fall easily into the exact form we all learned in high school: Intro, three parts or Acts, Conclusion.

When clients first present a talk for me, I take notes, looking for this pattern. It’s very helpful for the speaker to know exactly what the three big chunks are in order to focus the text and learn the talk. It helps to see the form for pacing, emphasis, and arc. Read on…

Gymnasts know how to end a routine. Look at the phenomenal, Simone Biles. She embodies finality. Everything about her, even in stillness, says a proud, “The End.”

Just as we open a talk in silence, we end a talk in silence. We wait. Just wait. We take in the audience. We breathe in this moment. Silently, we thank them for coming on this journey.

We might want to scoot right off the stage—sometimes we even roll our eyes and run, panicked, into the wings! Please do not do this. If we do, we have undermined everything that came before. No matter how uncomfortable, just stop speaking and breathe. For how long, you ask? I imagine a bass tone piano note, “booooooom!” And wait until the sound is completely absorbed by the room.

As I said last week in How to Begin a Talk, I ask that speakers craft and memorize both their opening and closing lines. (I’ll cover how to work with the rest of the talk next week.)

If we do not know our opening and closing lines, we might meander in and sputter out at the end. Having clean, crafted, beautiful opening and closing lines gives us an anchor. Read on…

SILENCE and BREATH The very first thing we do, before we speak, is to look out at the beautiful view and take a lovely, deep breath. Let it linger. Make sure our eyes capture every face, vista, sigh, mood. Just breathe it all in. It may feel like a million years, but that opening moment of breath and silence before we speak, is vital.

Then, only when the audience is with us, do we speak our first, beautifully crafted and memorized opening line.

A few years ago I was in rehearsal for a play and the Artistic Director reminded me that, “The audience doesn’t catch the first minute or so of any play. They are turning off their phones, checking out the program, unwrapping cough drops.”

But! That just can’t be so! The first line of any play, book, article, poem, is crafted to launch the entire experience! And this play, The Other Place by Sharr White, about a scientist who studies early-onset dementia and who finds herself with early-onset dementia, demanded that the first line be heard: “The first glimmer of it came on a Friday.” THE FIRST GLIMMER OF IT CAME ON A FRIDAY! Wow!

Opening night, I entered the stage, found my light, and I waited. I wanted to make sure everyone was with me. I wanted to make sure they caught that shimmering and meaningful line.

It’s like tossing someone a ball—we make eye contact and make sure they are with us before we let go.

There are so many reasons for that silence, that breath…Read on.

Konstantin Stanislavski, the theater director who gave actors, “The Method,” knew that in real life, people don’t just face each other, lock eyes, and take turns speaking. In real life, we are doing something—eating a meal, shelling peas, walking the dog—and life happens. In fact, he referred to his method as, “The Method of Physical Action.” In his work with the great playwright Anton Chekhov, the characters are given quotidien tasks as the dialogue unfolds—they clean guns, play cards, stoke fires, dance.

When we give ourselves something to do with our hands—a prop, an action (aside from a slide clicker or microphone)—we free ourselves to be more relaxed and present. Lewis Miller, the innovator of the Flower Flash and extraordinary floral event designer, spends his days elbow deep in stems, leaves, and perfumed blossoms. In his TEDx Talk, we brought in…Read on.

It’s easy to leave our audience behind when we slide through important words: names, places, acronyms, jargon, terms of art, foreign words.

Instead, I invite you to savor these words. Let them land. Enjoy them. Even if everyone knows the name, or we assume they do (“Kim Kardashian”), we need to slow down and deliver it with love (KIM KAHRDASHEEEAN). The same applies to names of places…Read on.

Um…So! I wanted to talk about, you know, like filler words, like “like.” And, “um.”

Filler words are really OK! We all use filler words when we are speaking unless we are reading from a text or have memorized a monologue. The problem arises when they dominate our speech. We might find ourselves using filler words more frequently when we are nervous, when we have not prepared, and out of habit.

Filler words can be actual words or just sounds that we use to fill a space when we might otherwise be thinking or breathing or just silent.

Common sounds: um, uh.

Common words: like, so, anyway, yeah, you know.

When we use words to fill the space, they are void of their meaning and definition. “Like” does not mean, “to have affection for,” or “is similar to.” “You know,” is not making a statement about someone’s knowledge.

Filler words I most often hear are:

“So,” to start any story, statement, speech, or answer. “So” is often the first words out of someone’s mouth.

“Like” is a word I hear taking over our language. We hear it as a filler word sprinkled liberally throughout sentences.

First, we become aware: Are we using filler words frequently? Then, we practice…Read on.

ACCENT vs. AFFECTATION or ( TRENDY VOCAL PATTERNS)

Accents are wonderful—we all have them! Accents are determined by country, region, culture, family, and even generation. Accents only cause a problem if the audience cannot understand our communication. So, if there is a possibility that even one person might lose our meaning due to our accents, make sure every word is heard and understood by enunciating clearly.

Affectation, on the other hand, is determined by trend.

We’re looking at the two I hear most often:

Vocal fry and up-speaking.

Vocal-fry is fine(ish). I don’t like it because I know how it impacts the vocal folds over the long-term. Not good.

As a teen, I heard it mostly in surfer and skier dudes. Now I hear it mostly in young women.

I want us all to have choice about how we use our voices, so if vocal-fry is a vocal quality you choose, go for it. But look into the physical impact.

If we find ourselves falling into vocal-fry unwittingly and want to stop, the first thing to do is…Read on.

Rachel Bagby frees our voices. Our deepest expression. Through singing. For and with each other.

Doesn’t that sound wonderful? To free our voices? Our physical voices and our voices in the world.

This week we look at overall sound and placement of the voice in the body.

SOUND or NATURAL VOICE

Sometimes we fall into the habit of either pushing our voices down into a “chest voice” or finding we stay in a high “head voice.” Both are fine and we want to have them in our repertoire of vocal variety. And, we want to notice if we are stuck in one place or the other. It’s the stuckness that is a habit that restricts expression and connection to our natural voice…Read on.

When Dr. Drew Ramsey asked me if we could get a couch for his Charlottesville TEDx Talk, I jumped for joy! YES! Of course! And when he requested a couch he could walk on, I knew I was going to love working with him. Just having a couch on the stage gave Drew so much: it created a sense of place, his office; it rooted us in the roles of therapist and client; and it gave him a physical journey and a destination. He did not just sit on the couch, he lay down to ponder, he walked along the edge, reminding us that he was balancing ideas, he jumped on the seats, reminding us that all new ideas spring from creative play.

Movement that is habitual, stuck, repetitive, affected, keeps our communication stuck. Watch out for: pacing, meandering, wandering, backing up (in life, we only back up if a tiger is approaching—it’s OK to turn our backs to the audience).

Both walking and standing still are wonderful! We just want to make sure we are moving with purpose and clarity.

In order to cultivate freedom of movement, start here…

In moments of pure delight, our bodies know what to do. Notice the absolute freedom of movement in this photo by Telma Terra.

In this series about freeing us from habits that might cloud our presence, we talked last week about habits of gesture: hands and arms. This week, we look at habits in our bodies—how we stand. We’ll get to how we use the space and move, next week.

The most common habits of the body involve swaying back and forth or to and fro on our feet. Other habits include…Read on.

People often ask, “How do I use gestures?” This photo of the marvelous filmmaker, Andrew Silver, is my answer: “Any way that suits you!” In my work, I want my clients to be more free, more themselves, more unexpected in their presence.

Gestures, like walking, standing, and speaking, are behaviors that we never think about until the spotlight is upon us. Then, we forget how! Suddenly, our arms and hands become like loaves of bread, awkward appendages. And we can find ourselves repeating the same gesture again and again. We get stuck.

My job is to help my clients get back to that natural, spontaneous, organic way they use gesture all the time when not in the spotlight. Read on…

Look at this photo of Deborah Lawrence about to start her TEDx Talk. She is, what we call in the movement technique, Nia, “RAW:” Relaxed, Alert, Waiting. She is free from this place to speak as her full self.

In order to get to this place of RAW, I help people strip away the habits and anxieties that cloud our presence. By “habit” I mean, any behavior that has a constant cadence, feels stuck in a repetitive, rhythmic pattern, is restrictive. The most exciting communication is fresh, jagged, unexpected, alive. Habits tend to appear or amplify when we feel the spot-light upon us. Habits might show up in gestures, how we hold ourselves and move, and how we use our voice. In the next few weeks, we will delve into each of these areas and play with a few ...Read on.

W.C. Fields said, “Never work with animals or children.” Why? On stage, people can become wooden, practiced, trite in their delivery. While animals and children remain riveting because we never know what they’ll do; they are wildly unpredictable and therefore fascinating. In the theater, we hear actors say, “I was anticipating, sorry.” Meaning, we were not in the moment, but were anticipating an entrance, a certain way of delivering a line, a light cue. We look towards the wings a second before a character is due to enter, transmitting to the audience what is about to happen. We stop and wait for a line to be delivered rather than barreling on as we would do in daily conversation. And in the split second that we are expecting an occurrence, we let our behavior be determined by something unimaginable and uncontrollable—the future. ..Read on…

The idea that we can control the way others feel is, of course, folly. And managing others’ expectations is a folly of monumental proportions!

“I don’t want them to get their hopes up. What if they don’t make the team?”

“I’m afraid that they’ll be disappointed if we can’t afford it. So I don’t want to even float the idea.”

“I worry that if I give them a raise, they’ll expect a bigger office, too.”

“I don’t even want to say yes to coffee—what if they think I’m interested in being more than friends?”

When we found out I was pregnant at age 39 after almost a year of trying, I guarded the news closely to “manage the expectations” of everyone—my parents, my siblings, my husband’s parents and siblings, my friends. Why? I did not want to get their hopes up! Because I might lose the child. And they would be devastated! Or I would be devastated? Of course, it was all about me. A wise therapist reminded me of this, saying: Read on…

I often have clients who come to me wanting to control their emotions.

“I want to be confident.”

“I do not want to be anxious.”

“I want to be strong.”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“I want to be relaxed.”

“I don’t want to shake with fear.”

“I want to be vulnerable, but not too vulnerable.”

I’ve even had a speaker say they wanted to make themselves cry during their talk. At a certain moment! Orchestrated emotion! Watching someone “try to cry” is really painful.

I get it, we are all afraid of either being hijacked by our emotions or we want to project a certain emotion or state of being.

This, like worrying about what others think of us, is something we can let go. Trust me.

There are two reasons it is a fool’s errand to try to control our emotions…read on.

I’m going to say two things that may seem completely contradictory:

1) The audience, the other, in any communication, is our raison d’etre, our only reason for communicating.

2) Wondering if the audience likes us, is a red-herring; whether they like us or not is irrelevant. We are not there to be liked. We are there to communicate something and that thing, is what is important.

A few years ago I found myself standing just outside the spotlight, costumed, made up, warmed up, and about to walk on stage for the first time in over 20 years. My thoughts were something like:

“Shit. Shit. The dress is riding up my butt. I don’t remember my first line! Is that the critic sitting there? What if they hate me? What if I’m awful?”

Then I remembered…Read on…

Where are the sheep? The New Zealand farmer who had lived his entire life on this piece of land noticed one day that the sheep were disappearing. The family looked far and wide, but found no clues—no carcasses, no wolves, no traps. It was not until the farmer almost fell into a massive sink-hole that he realized he had to look down in order to solve the mystery of the missing sheep. Alas.

When my husband and I traveled in New Zealand, we went on a (crazy) adventure rappelling 300 feet into that sink hole, past the ferns sprouting from the sides, into the mist, and landing at the lip of an underground river. The farmer now gives tours of his “Lost World.”

To get to the root of things, to unearth hidden mysteries, we have the courage and patience to discover the Lost World. Many questions we ask are horizontal—they keep the conversation safely in our sight-lines…Read on…

Which of these flowers do you like the most? Which is the most beautiful? Which is the oldest? Youngest? Which is the best, smartest, most fragrant, most handsome, wittiest, strongest? Side-by-side, which do you choose?

My father warned me to beware comparison, ANY comparison. Even if it sounds harmless. He believed that even the most casual, complimentary, banal, kind, seemingly non-judgmental comparison, was harmful. And sure enough, every time I hear myself comparing people, even just to notice the difference (tall/short…Read on…

This photo of the visual art performer, Laurel Jay Carpenter, is taken in Berlin at the Hebbel Theater in 2005.

Laurel taught herself the famous, “walking over the chair” trick in real time as part of the “Gifted Generation" exhibit curated by Marina Abramovič. In this clip you can hear the song, “Maybe This Time,” from Cabaret as it played on loop in the artist's head. Laurel sings softly along as if giving herself a pep talk as she falls, once more, to the ground.

Maybe this time? No? Maybe now? Maybe?

Our world values commitment, perseverance, grit, never giving up. And yet, sometimes the best, healthiest thing to do, is let go.

In a recent tea-time conversation with Susan McCulley, she used the phrase, “I let go of the rope” two times to describe moments when she…Gave up? Gave in? Walked away? Let go? Realized she was pushing, pulling, forcing something that was not going to happen? Indeed, Susan knew that she was making a strong and wise decision. She was not giving up. She was letting go.

So, how do we recognize the difference between giving up and letting go? Read on…

Many years ago I was in the first production of a new play, “Little Messages” by Dean O’Donnell. The whole cast and crew fell in love with this play, with the beauty and pathos, with the process, and with each other. Although the subject matter was hard, we believed in its humanity.

When the first review came out, we were devastated (I hadn’t yet heard Frances Cuka’s wisdom on reviews!). The review flattened a new playwright, a young theater company, and a group who had committed completely to telling this story.

We were shell-shocked. The worst thing that can happen to a creative endeavor is to lose one’s belief in the magic. We were jolted back into reality, as if we’d been living in a false world, a world of folly and naivete. I can’t tell you how hard it was to walk back into the theater to prepare for the evening performance.

As we entered, instead of moving towards our dressing rooms, we were invited by the director, Daphna Fields, to lie on the black-painted floor of the theater, close our eyes, and listen. This is what she read to us: Read on…