Losing My Touch?

For the past two weeks I've been scheduled to give a presentation on Fareed Zakaria in my commentary and editorial writing class. Today I finally did. And I was nervous.

Correction. I presented as if I was nervous.

Big deal, you say. No one likes giving presentations.

Wrong. I do. I love it. And I do not get nervous. Sure if it's a big one the flipping stomach and pounding heart make an appearance. A brief appearance. Because once the room has gone silent, the eyes are facing me, I'm right where I belong - at the center of attention.

But today I didn't take the split-second before opening my mind to mentally orient myself and consequently did just what I said I wouldn't do. I began reading from my handout.

The first few words wobbled out of my mouth and I felt like someone who was walking with the wrong shoes on each foot. I began with who Zakaria is - Newsweek editor, Post columnist, CNN host. Someone made a joke - I missed my chance to fire back, bumbling right on through where he's from, who his parents are, where he went to college etc.

It got worse. I noticed a typo in the handout. According to me, the Newsweek cover story "Why They Hate Us," which turned Zakaria into a foreign policy rock star, has 6,8000 words. They must really hate us.

Get away from the sheet that voice inside said through gritted teeth. I regained some composure when I finally tore myself away from the sheet to my notes, only to get lost again. Note to self: NEVER write your notes in cursive.

It got a little better. The class took my honesty with a laugh when I said I chose to present Zakaria because I want to be him.

Time to read an excerpt of Zakaria's writing. I chose a column from last December, "The Power of Personality," which I read on New Year's Eve while sitting in the dentist's office. This short column told me Zakaria was a man to pay attention to.

The copy in front of me not being my original, I didn't have the highlighted road signs directing me where to begin reading. I chose the fourth one, realizing halfway through I should have started at the third. Even worse, I knew I was doing exactly what I hold against almost every other student presenter I've encountered. I was reading way. too. fast.

SLOW DOWN, the mental voice screamed. I did, but stumbled over words. Sentences were repeated. Words were skipped.

Am I losing my touch?

The inner voice was not happy.

In the end, I made my point. That it's time for America to pay attention to the rest of the world and we need more people like Zakaria to be telling us that. One student remarked to me after class that she'd actually learned something from my presentation. There were smiles and "Good jobs." I knew the audience wasn't judging me nearly half as harshly as I was judging myself.

Actually, as I'm writing this, I just got a g-chat message from another classmate saying, "GREAT PRESENTATION."

So why am I still beating myself up? Honestly this presentation is probably worth like one half of a percent of my grade.

Perfectionism, don't you ever take a day off?