I’m guilty of this.
Mumbling.
More times than I care to think about.
More times than you’ve had hot dinners, probably.
Actually, every time I speak about myself.
Who is the mumbler?
He’s the self-deprecator.
He’s the person who tells you about someone else who could do the project; becomes evasive if I’m put on the spot about what I do, but is happy to pontificate about anyone else in ways that make them wish they had recorded what I say (so I’m told).
He’s me.
It’s why I’m (almost) rubbish at new business.
I don’t like to brag.
To be seen as arrogant, or self-centred.
So I deflect.
Of course, I’m always happy to point people towards excellent persons whom they can call upon to do fantastic things.
Sometimes they are better than me.
Oftentimes they will be cheaper.
Occasionally, they are the right choice.
But not always.
Only when the mumbler within me takes over.
I know why the mumbler comes out.
It’s not just because I get embarrassed talking about myself, it’s also because I don’t actually know ‘how’ to do something.
I know I could do it, but articulating how I’ll go about it seems less certain.
And people really like to know the ins and outs of the process.
So I mumble.
Recently, I silenced the mumbler.
I said what I thought was the answer, and it was accepted.
I spoke about the next steps and costs for doing it.
Those were signed off.
The mumbler sat in his corner and didn’t even raise his hand once.
I wasn’t arrogant, or self-centred.
I was pragmatic and honest.
I was passionate and engaging.
I spoke with an ‘authentic voice’ and admitted that there were things I wasn’t sure of but knew we could work out along the way.
On Monday, I have to silence the mumbler again.
I’ve recorded myself running through my presentation.
Four times now.
Each time it gets better, flows nicely and makes me think of new ways to talk about what it is that I deem important to get across to my audience.
Each time I’ve caught the mumbler, about to step in and interrupt me.
Each time I’ve managed to keep him shtum.
The mumbler hasn’t gone away.
He won’t.
He’s part of me.
He is me.
I am the mumbler.
But he cannot – will not – define me.
Now I know how to silence him.
Yet, I want him to hang around, to raise his hand and try to interrupt.
Because then I will always be honest and pragmatic, passionate and engaging, authentic and human.
I won’t be arrogant, over-confident, or an arsehole.
The mumbler balances me.
He just needed me to recognise him and say his name.
Thanks, mumbler.