This Wasn't The Plan.
This article is part of Finding the Words, a newsletter that delivers practical insights on the day’s issues.
This past Saturday, I was given one of the greatest honors of my professional life: the opportunity to deliver the commencement address at Loyola University Maryland, my alma mater, where I also received a doctor of humane letters, honoris causa.
I spent months preparing my speech. I met with students, listened to their stories, and wove what I heard directly into my address. When the script was done, I practiced my delivery dozens of times, in front of family, friends, and mentors.
I wanted the delivery to be perfect. I am, after all, a communications professional. I teach executives and emerging leaders how to present with confidence, clarity, and presence. So, in my mind, I needed to nail this.
Standing on that stage at CFG Bank Arena in Baltimore before the graduates, their families and friends, faculty and staff, I delivered the three lessons I'd carefully prepared:
Stay on the edge of knowledge.
Use purpose as your guide.
And hold doors open for others while you're at it.
What I did not plan was to deliver a bonus, fourth lesson.
Early into my speech, I realized a page was misplaced. I caught it mid-sentence and for a brief moment, the perfectionist in me totally and completely panicked. Was this really happening? Could I rewind time and start again?
Not a chance.
I told the graduates what had just happened, took a breath, and then picked back up and kept going, grateful to Loyola's provost for handing me the missing page.
The perfectionist in me was crushed, and the teacher in me was humbled.
But the eternal student in me is grateful.
Because that mishap became my fourth, unspoken lesson to the crowd: It's not the hand we're dealt. It's how we deal with it that matters.
Perfectionism is something most high-achieving people struggle with. Research published in Psychological Bulletin found that perfectionism has been steadily rising across generations since the late 1980s — driven by cultures that increasingly connect professional worth to flawless performance and relentless self-improvement.
We don't just want to do well. We want to do it perfectly. And when we don't, we judge ourselves harshly for it.
For many of us, the voices of judgment can be paralyzing, limiting us from taking risks or showing too much vulnerability. Perfectionism can limit our ability to be fully present.
But if we can learn to let that perfectionism go, we can recognize that presence — real, honest, and active living in the moment — is far more compelling than perfection.
The moment the speech went sideways was the moment it became most real. I suspect it was the moment I became most real for my audience, too.
I've spent years telling organizational leaders that effective communication isn't about performing perfectly. It's about being present. And the most important thing an audience picks up on — whether it's 1,300 graduates or a team of 12 — is not what you say or how perfectly you say it, it's how you make them feel.
That shift, for any of us, from "how am I doing?" to "what does my audience need, and how do I want to make them feel?" is one of the most practical and liberating things a communicator, a leader, or a person can practice. It's a lesson I've imparted to dozens of leaders preparing for high-stakes presentations, and it's one I learned for myself this weekend, too.
My speech was never about me. It was for every student in that arena — and for the parents, friends, faculty, and supporters who came to mark the moment with them. It was, ironically, about my desire to be present with and for the graduates. And that, I hope, is what that room heard and felt, mishap and all.
So, as you move through your week, I want to leave you with this:
Things won't always go as you planned. But if you stay ready, focused, and present, you may find something even more beautiful in the process.
Click here to watch my address to Loyola's graduating class and tell me what you think. How'd I do? What do you remember, and most importantly, how did my speech make you feel?
This post is part of the Finding The Words column, a series published every Wednesday that delivers a dose of communication insights direct to your inbox. If you like what you read, we hope you’ll subscribe to ensure you receive this each week.
