Picture this: you’re seated in the audience for a presentation. The speaker
approaches the front of the room, reaches the lectern, turns to face the group,
and suddenly freezes, striking the pose of the proverbial deer in the headlights.
The eyes widen like dinner plates. The body goes rigid. Then, as the person starts
to speak, the parched lips emit a thin, rasping sound, and the halting words that
sputter out are punctuated by a series of audible pasty clicks—cottonmouth. In
reaction, the person’s arm darts down to the lectern to grasp a glass of water and,
as the trembling hand lifts the glass, the water almost sloshes over the rim.
Why does this happen? Why would speaking—a most ordinary activity that
most people practice all day, every day with complete ease—become so fearful
when speaking in front of an audience? Why wouldn’t every person who stands
to deliver a presentation be the best they can be? After all, many presentations
are high-stakes events, where a favorable outcome hangs in the balance of the
success or failure of the message and the messenger.
There’s the rub: the high-stakes event. At the very instant the presentation
begins, when the audience sits back and falls silent, and the presenter or speaker
becomes the focal point of attention, he or she suddenly thinks, “Yikes! They’re
all looking at me! I’d better do well! I’d better not mess up!”