Before anything is, it was. Before it was, it wasn’t. The threshold between the known and the unknown cannot itself be known, only experienced. As designers, we seem particularly obsessed with collecting new experiences. Our quest to be novel, unique, original and new requires us to continually navigate uncertain territory. My teacher, mentor and former boss Doug Akagi once put this to me simply: “You must go beyond what you already know. This is called exploring.” It seems an obvious statement, but the power of it is that it presupposes a desire to grow and to learn. It acknowledges that we are defined—which is to say limited—by the topography of our own experience, and it challenges us to expand our limitations through firsthand experience.

Growth (be it professional, creative or otherwise) can be measured by connecting milestones of personal discovery—by gathering, in a sense, a collection of first times. First times are inherently unpredictable and most often a little scary, even for the more experienced explorer. It seems that no matter the degree of success or accomplishment a person enjoys, he or she is dogged by the same nagging feelings of insecurity, doubt and fear that prevent so many from exploring in the first place. Yet the most successful are those who find the means to keep stepping toward their fears, knowing that each new step gains a foothold in undiscovered country. Each foothold yields traction, momentum and so, forth …

For every first there are also followers—those who, newly emboldened by the success of the pioneer, proceed with the reassurance that, in fact, it can be done. In essence, that is the spirit of this column: to illuminate some of the shadowed corners of our profession and encourage more of us to explore, experience and grow. Consider it an amalgamated explorer’s journal, a patchwork of conversations and chronicles of the successes, failures, anticipations, reflections and anxieties of those who have summoned the courage to try something for the first time.

ULTIMATE FEAR
It’s no secret that the number one fear in America is public speaking. Forget terrorists, heights, spiders and clowns—the thought of speaking in front of an audience is downright immobilizing to most people.

The first time I had to speak in front of a group I was terrified. It was for Boy Scouts, so I must have been about 13 or 14. My job was to get the attention of a troop of 50 rowdy boys (many of them older than I) and align them in a large horseshoe with military precision. “TROOOOP!” I bellowed (that was the command we used), doing my best to make my adolescent voice audible over the din without yelling or shrieking. Everyone stopped. Everyone looked directly at me. I froze. For several seconds we were in stasis—they suspended, I petrified—until I realized they were in fact looking to me and not just at me. With a single word I had captured their attention and declared my authority. The boys now waited on my next instruction. They wanted to know what came next. I think that was the first time I really understood what it meant to have an audience. “Horse-shooooe,” I commanded, issuing a corresponding hand gesture, and they fell into place. I brought them to attention (alert, we called it), issued a right-dress instruction until they were each evenly spaced, arms-length apart in a smooth symmetrical arc, then brought them “eyes front.” The click of the troop master’s heel behind me was my signal to pivot and salute him. As I did, he informed me quietly and with some satisfaction, “See, you must command respect before you can demand it.” That was 20 years ago and I’ve never forgotten it.

When I give design lectures these days, I recall that experience and that advice. I’m still terrified. My legs still fill with blood, my heart pounds, and it seems impossible to take a full breath. I can never sleep the night before, and I secretly hope that my lack of sleep, breathing and blood flow will conspire together to kill me on the spot so I can avoid the certain debacle to follow. At least that way I figure it will be memorable, as in, “Hey, remember that conference where the speaker actually died?” But dying once is nothing compared to dying the thousand little deaths you risk suffering on stage; eventually my ambition gets the better of me, forces one foot in front of the other, whereupon I find traction, momentum and so, forth …

ON STAGE: ROBYNNE RAYE
The first designer I ever saw speak was Modern Dog Design’s Robynne Raye. I recently asked Robynne if she remembered that lecture and whether she remembered her first time. She remembered both: the former being unforgettable, as she and business partner Michael Strassburger artfully held their own against an impossibly cranky Bob Gill, and the latter because, well, everyone remembers their first time. “It was a small design group in Regina, Canada,” she recalls. “It was a little room and a very intimate experience.” But despite the relatively safe setting, Raye remembers being terrified at the concept of speaking in front of a group. In fact, she confesses, she probably would have turned down the opportunity if she hadn’t had a male business partner.

“I think women have a tendency to turn down invitations to lecture,” she observes. “For whatever reason, I think women tend to question themselves more than men do.” (It’s an observation that catches me a little off guard, as the more memorable lecturers I’ve heard have tended to be women, although on balance I’ve certainly seen many more men speak than women—probably on the order of five or six to one). When Raye was invited to speak for this group in Canada, her instinct was to say no. “I didn’t think we were ready,” she confesses. “I didn’t think anyone would want to hear what we had to say. I wasn’t sure we had anything to say. Basically, I was worried that people were going to know we were phony.” Strassburger, on the other hand, was instantly excited by the opportunity and pushed Raye to commit to it. The drama of that disparity in confidence is one that plays out to this day. “When we lecture together, Mike just throws on some flip-flops and wings it,” she says. “I’m up at 6 a.m. pacing in my hotel room and freaking out.” On stage, however, the two are equally at ease, equally charming, amusing and enlightening.

That lecture in Regina was followed swiftly by a much larger presentation (to about 700 people) in Sacramento, and then another, and another. Now, Raye lectures four to eight times a year. Although she says the real fear passed after a year or two, there is still a moment as she first walks on stage when nerves set in, and it can seem like the first time all over again. “I’ve learned to talk about what I know,” she says, “and that gives me confidence. I never write my lectures, I don’t even bring notes with me any more. I just tell stories. I talk about things from my point of view, from my own experience.” While she admits that her style, taste and point of view may not be for everybody, she knows that if she’s genuine she’ll always connect with someone and hopefully inspire them. As far as inspiring future generations of women designers to speak, Raye advises simply, “If you’re ever given the opportunity to speak, don’t turn it down. No one ever got famous sitting in their basement waiting to be noticed. You have to want it and you have to work at it.”

For many designers, writing or speaking is often the first step. One step leads to another, and so on, and so, forth …

ON STAGE: ALISSA WALKER
With regard to writing, it bears mentioning that this is my first time writing for STEP. Considering this, I sought the advice of Alissa Walker, a good friend who is also a writer for STEP, and who, it turned out, just happened to be en route to give her very first lecture when I called. “I’m really excited, but I’m also really nervous,” she confided, adding serendipitously, “It’s my first time!”

Walker is the kind of radiant, gregarious, instantly likable person that you just can’t imagine would ever be nervous. Between writing articles for STEP (and elsewhere) and blogging for UnBeige, it’s also difficult to imagine she has any difficulty expressing herself. But writing is a wholly different experience from speaking at a live event. “First of all, the feedback is instantaneous,” she notes. “So it’s kind of like a blog, but in real life.”

The unpredictability of real-life/real-time public speaking is perhaps at the heart of both its appeal and its terror. In Walker’s case, for example, she opened with a video of herself singing as a child (YouTube it!). Watching it, she was surprised to find herself emotionally overcome. While that instant of onstage vulnerability caused her some very real panic, it also endeared her to her audience. It’s that kind of risk and that kind of connection that make live events so special and so memorable. For her, as with other effective speakers, making the connection is key. “You have to be aware of your audience and connect with them somehow,” she says. “Anyone can be really confident and get on stage, but can you hold their interest?”

Indeed, public speaking is an organic experience. Essentially, it is a dialogue among all participants—the presenter may be the only one speaking, but there is truly an energy that connects everyone in the room together. For a speaker it can (at its best) be like having a hundred or five hundred or two thousand good friends show up to your birthday party. At its worst, it can seem like you’re the subject of an interminable eulogy, and no one present actually knew you in the first place.

My advice: If you find yourself with an opportunity to speak, do as Raye suggests and accept it. Do as my scout master imparted and recognize that confidence in yourself allows others to be con- fident in you. Do as Walker did and remember that, as she puts it, as children we are our natural creative selves. Find that curious, adventurous, unself-conscious childhood part of you and share it. And so, forth …

If you have a first time you’d like to hear about or a person you’d like to hear from, e-mail Christopher at cchs@minesf.com.
Next issue: Breakups