Learning to embrace my creative process
In my hotel room, right before I left for the welcome reception 🧡
I’m often asked about my process for preparing my speeches.
Up until recently, it looked like this:
First, I meet with my client to get aligned on the topic for their event and the goals they are looking to achieve with my message.
Next, I prepare a detailed outline of my talk, which I call my Run of Show, that includes my main talking points, takeaways, and the stories I’ll share. I send it to my client for review and give them the chance to share feedback.
After that, I continue to review my outline and think about my session in the weeks leading up to the event.
And then . . . Showtime!
I’ve followed this process for years. But the thing is that it doesn’t feel very authentic to me and how I work best. And until recently, I haven’t had the courage to own that.
Let me back up a bit.
By nature, I am not a structured person. When I’m working on something that requires a lot of creativity and I’m following my authenticity, I don’t create organized outlines. I feel most energized and “in flow” when I keep a running list of ideas on my phone and give myself permission to add to it whenever an idea strikes. And then, somehow, someway, I get a burst of creativity closer to the deadline and put it all together.
Working in this way invigorates me. It’s how I approach all of my creative projects . . . except for my speeches.
Why?
I know the answer.
From time to time—and especially in the early years of my speaking journey—clients will ask me to send them an outline of my talk so that they can review my message in advance.
It makes sense why they ask: I don’t use slides in my presentations, so aside from the meeting I have with my client about the session beforehand, they have nothing else to look at that helps them understand what my talk will be about. Bringing in a speaker is a big investment, so I totally understand why they’d want to see an outline.
I took it too far, though: First, I assumed that an outline had to be very detailed. And then, I assumed that if some clients wanted outlines, then all clients must want them. I incorporated outlines into my process and even sent them to clients who had never asked for one.
If I’m taking it even deeper, though, I think what actually happened is that I developed a limiting belief: I felt that producing a detailed outline was the way for me to build trust and credibility with my clients. Not having one might make my clients question if I am committed or if they chose the right speaker. Even though I knew it wasn’t my natural way of working, I wanted my clients to feel good and secure about working with me, so I continued to create them.
If you’ve ever worked in a way that doesn’t come naturally to you, you know that it can feel hard. And that’s what started to happen for me: Any time I worked on an outline, it felt like I was stretching myself too far. I still got to the end result that I needed to get to and I still delivered keynotes that accomplished my clients’ goals, but the process of getting there didn’t feel as creative and energizing for me as I knew it could be.
One day toward the end of last year, I was having a conversation with my therapist. I was feeling overwhelmed by the number of things I had on my plate, and she helped me notice a pattern: The things weighing on me the most were the speech outlines I’d promised my clients—outlines that most had never even asked for in the first place.
We dove deep into that, and I shared my dilemma: On the one hand, even if the majority of my clients weren’t asking for outlines, I liked how outlines helped keep me organized. I liked having a plan months before an event and feeling “ahead.” It made me feel more professional. On the other hand, I craved my natural way of working. Even though it’s more disorganized and I tend to have creative breakthroughs as I get closer to an event, it feels a lot more fun and authentic to me.
My therapist asked me to describe how I would approach a speech naturally.
I told her that after the initial meeting with the client, I would start a new note on my phone for that event. I’d go for walks and think about the event, jotting any ideas down that came to mind. As the date of the speech got closer, I’d start to think about all of the ideas I wrote down. I’d get big bursts of creativity where I’d see how to connect specific ideas, and many of those bursts would happen on the flight to the event and even at the hotel the day before. Sometimes, an idea strikes me in the morning when I’m brushing my teeth. I love those late-breaking ideas because I want my speeches to feel relevant and of-the-moment. When I’m onstage, I want to share what is on my heart right now so that it comes from the most authentic place.
Even just describing my natural process to you gives me energy. That right there in the paragraph above is my authentic way of working. But I’ve tried to change it because I have a fear that it comes across as disorganized and unprofessional. But deep down, I know it is how I do my very best work.
Thanks to the empowering conversation with my therapist, I decided to give myself permission to own my creative process this year. And I’m proud to say I’ve figured out a way to shift my way of doing things so that I can honor my authenticity and give my clients what they need to feel secure.
Today, I don’t offer outlines unless a client asks for one. And when I’m asked, I am happy to do it, and I give myself permission to keep my outline super high-level. This allows me to think about big ideas while still creating space for creative breakthroughs as I continue to prepare.
And now that I’ve been doing it this way, I realize that high-level outlines were probably what my clients were asking for in the past: No one asked me to create an extremely detailed anything. I chose to do that because of my desire to appear credible.
Here’s what I realize more than anything: My clients are just as invested in the outcome of my speech as I am. In order to meet or exceed both of our expectations, I need to work in the way that allows me to tap into my strengths. That is why my client has hired me, after all. And the only person who can have the courage to own what my strengths are and the way I work best is . . . me.
I’m a few months into this change, and it’s been huge so far. Not only has it freed up time and creative energy, but it’s brought a renewed spirit back to the speech-creation process for me. There is no better feeling than being in flow.
It can be hard to own your natural way of doing things. It felt vulnerable to write this post and share my authentic process with you because I don’t want you to think any less of me as a speaker now that you know the behind-the-scenes of how I do my best work.
Don’t we all have a version of this? Something that feels true to us, and yet, we try to change it because we think that doing so is better for others? Or that changing it will give us more credibility?
What if the thing we are trying to hide or change is actually our magic?
The next time you find yourself going against your natural way of working, I hope you’ll think about this post. Has anyone asked you to make the change you’re making? Or are you working from an assumption? What if there is another option? What if there is a way to adapt while also staying true to your process?
I’m curious: Have you ever changed the way you do something because of a fear of what others will think? Or have you ever had the courage not to change the way you do something and own it? Tell me, tell me! Hit “reply” and share your story.
I hope this post gives you something to think about!
Big hugs,
