I’ve been told I appear “unflappably Stoic.” Hah! Little do they know. You see, it’s all an illusion to help contain the whirlwind of emotions inside. Real “Stoics” don’t repress their emotions; they just try, sometimes desperately, to maintain a modicum of agency amidst the chaos their inner world can provoke.
Social anxiety is something I’ve had my entire life, including public speaking anxiety. I dreaded speaking assignments in school, where my legs and hands would shake uncontrollably. In high school presentations, the shame of showing nervousness became so unbearable that I used to steal alcohol from my dad’s liquor cabinet, go to the washroom before class, and drink—delivering my speech in a drunken haze.
My anxiety worsened during my late teens and into my early twenties. I couldn’t walk into a Starbucks and order coffee without my hands trembling as I handed money to the barista. It was getting so bad, and all I wanted was a girlfriend, but I wasn’t going to find one in the socially anxious mess I was in.
So, I made it an existential project1: get over social anxiety or die trying. What followed turned into a ten-year journey where I continually pushed myself out of my social comfort zone. I documented the process in this presentation at The Stoa (starting at the 13-minute mark)…
I reasoned that if I could get over public speaking anxiety, it would be a good start toward overcoming the more generalized social anxiety. I did everything I could: read countless books, went to therapy, experimented with supplements, engaged in rejection challenges, signed up for acting and improv classes, joined Toastmasters, entered public speaking competitions, and took courses such as the famed Dale Carnegie Course: touted by Warren Buffett himself as the reason for his success.
Thanks to all this work, I developed the confidence to push myself into social situations, and my anxiety did lessen. I declared the end of this existential project when I was invited to join the Dale Carnegie team and teach the course, which I did after completing their year-long training program.
Despite feeling like I’ve “arrived,” my anxiety is still here. If you watch enough sessions at The Stoa, particularly those with large audiences, you might detect an unsteady voice, followed by my effort to shift the attention away from myself as quickly as possible. I don’t know why I have social anxiety, but I know it runs in my family. It’s on my mind now because I just delivered a speech in front of them: a best man speech at my brother’s wedding this past Saturday.
As I prepared for the speech and visualized delivering it, my nerves were going wild. I was annoyed—angry, even. I’ve done so much work in this area, not to mention all kinds of other “inner work.” I’m a 40-year-old man. I don’t want to experience this anymore.
I deeply wanted to be present for the wedding, including the speech. Despite any goodwill from an audience, the simple truth is that being visibly nervous draws attention away from the message and onto the messenger. I didn’t want that. I wanted to honour their beautiful union and simply be a vessel that drew all the attention toward recognizing it.
At Collective Journaling last Friday, the day before the speech, I tried to get to the bottom of my speech-related nervousness. A theory sketch emerged—what I called the “trifecta of nervousness,” which included three core premises:
This matters.
I am not enough to do what matters.
Not being enough will have negative consequences.
Each of these premises can be either true or false, depending on the context and whatever perfectionist pressures or impossible standards are being placed on the upcoming performance. Sensing into this embodied logic, and disabusing myself of its falsehoods, helped, and led me to develop some esoteric techniques for public speaking.
I’ll share how the best man speech went at the end of this entry, but first, I’ll present all the various practices that helped me with public speaking anxiety, concluding with the most recent esoteric ones.
Books
As a book nerd, every time I take on an existential project, I read books; lots of books.
However, this is foolish and probably the least effective practice out of all the ones I’ll mention. I think this book strategy developed because I grew up believing that knowledge and intelligence were the supreme good (false), and that “leaders are readers” (partly true). In essence, I got caught up in the silly notion that reading books makes you appear smart, allowing you to take photos of piles of books like this...
In truth, most of the books I read were boring and unmemorable, and today you can get the same information from a quick ChatGPT exchange or a Substack article (like this one!). The biggest takeaway from reading lots of books is realizing you didn’t need to.
The best book I read was probably Confessions of a Public Speaker by Scott Berkun, which provides an insider look at the public speaking circuit. Berkun mentions the cultural truism that “more people fear public speaking than death,” a claim that originated from a 1973 survey conducted by R.H. Bruskin Associates and was later popularized in The Book of Lists in 1977.
It appears this claim has been somewhat validated in more recent studies (see here), but regardless of its empirical truth, it became a truism because it resonates with many. Public speaking anxiety can be intense, and for me, it was extremely intense. In the early days of my speaking journey, it felt like my body was going to explode. Internally, it was screaming one thing:
What’s the evolutionary explanation for feeling anxious when a group of people is staring at you? Simple: in tribal settings, such attention could signal negative judgment and the risk of rejection from the group, which, given the interdependence required for survival, could mean near-certain death. Being judged by the group was dangerous: a threat best avoided.
It’s nice to know it’s not just me—it’s a primal wiring gifted by my ancestors, meant to protect me and the genes I carry. However, this anxiety is now what’s called an “evolutionary mismatch”: a trait that was once an evolutionary advantage that has now become maladaptive due to changes in our environment.
With that understanding, it’s best to put down the books and face the feeling of near-certain death head-on.
Acting Classes
Once I put the books aside, I joined Toastmasters: a nonprofit educational organization for public speaking and communication. I signed up for my first speech, memorized it, and on the day I was scheduled to present, I was terrified.
I was on lorazepam, a benzodiazepine prescribed by my doctor to calm my nerves, but still, my body was screaming. I went into the washroom before my talk and recalled a clip of my favourite fighter, Fedor Emelianenko, barking to himself before walking out to the ring. I thought it was an interesting technique to calm one’s nerves, and since the lorazepam wasn’t working, I started barking while looking at myself in the mirror.
Surely people heard me and must have thought I was mad when I re-entered the room. I delivered the speech and don’t remember anything about it—meaning I was probably disembodied, having an out-of-body experience, floating toward my happy place. I left Toastmasters after the speech, too embarrassed to show my face again.
I later took some public speaking courses, which helped through exposure therapy, but my biggest breakthrough came with acting classes. I found a course that repurposed acting techniques specifically to improve people’s social confidence. It was taught by Toronto’s legendary acting teacher Kevin McCormick: a tall, mysterious and charismatic figure with a booming, raspy voice.
I quickly became his disciple and took many classes with him. He would often cast you in uncomfortable roles that brought out parts of yourself he sensed were underdeveloped—parts that needed the opportunity to be expressed in order to become a well-rounded actor, and person.
Acting as if I were someone else was much easier than being myself—it made me less nervous and allowed me to express emotions that were normally repressed. I credit my exposure to acting as the starting point of my emotional literacy, where I gained greater intimacy with my “emotional instrument,” as Kevin used to call it.
It was transformative, and I caught the acting bug. I went on to take more classes, including voice acting, improv at Second City, and even clown work. I felt ready to return to Toastmasters and apply everything I had learned.
If you struggle with public speaking anxiety, I don’t recommend reading books; I recommend taking acting classes. Then, challenge yourself with something greater.
Public Speaking Competitions
I returned to Toastmasters with greater seriousness. I was determined to give the best speeches I could. I wanted to give myself what I call a “reference point,” an accomplishment no one can take away from you, something you can fondly recall and use as a reminder that you did it once and can do it again.
I committed to recording all my talks—something, surprisingly, no one else did—and I created my own feedback sheet, since the one provided wasn’t robust enough. I delivered the first “icebreaker” talk, which went well. Upon watching the footage, I realized I didn’t appear as nervous as I had felt, and my feedback forms were helpful; they suggested I work on making better eye contact.
For my second speech, I decided to bring in my philosophical interests and do a speech on “love,” presenting it from two perspectives: the scientist and the poet. The speech was so well received by the group that they suggested I enter a public speaking competition, where local Toastmasters clubs compete, and winners may eventually advance to the international stage and contend for the World Championship of Public Speaking.
I won the first round and moved on to the district conference, where I would present in front of 300 people. While waiting to be called, my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from my chest and punch the person in front of me. Luckily, I kept my heart, spoke about my love, and performed well, giving myself another reference point.
I thought I had a good chance of winning, and many in attendance said they expected me to, but I came in second place, which I was happy with. Still, it sparked a desire to win. So, I entered another public speaking competition in Toronto called Speakers Slam and, with a shaved head and a Mishima fetish, I delivered a talk on my favourite practice: cold showers!
Again, I thought I was a contender to win, but I was disqualified for going over time. Still, I collected another reference point and eventually lost interest in public speaking competitions.
I can’t rewatch the above speeches, I experience way too much cringe in my body doing so, but I’m glad I gave them my all. They gave me the reference point that, with enough preparation, I can deliver a speech in front of hundreds of people without appearing nervous.
If you’re serious about your public speaking journey, find an outlet like Toastmasters where you can practice. And if you feel called to challenge yourself, enter a public speaking competition or two.
Teaching It
After my public speeches, I reached out to the president of Dale Carnegie Toronto, and he appreciated my background and asked me to join the team. Wow, I thought. From barking at myself in a mirror to teaching the famous Dale Carnegie Course; I was finally arriving.
Before he wrote How to Win Friends and Influence People, Dale Carnegie began teaching this course, initially called the “Dale Carnegie Course in Effective Speaking and Human Relations,” at the YMCA in New York City in 1912. Carnegie was a struggling actor in the early 1900s and, like Kevin, applied acting techniques to effective speaking and human relations.
If you’ve ever taken the course, you’ll know it’s basically exposure therapy. You are asked to do all sorts of ridiculous exercises to stretch yourself out of your comfort zone.
They have high standards for their trainers and require a year-long training program, which concludes with teaching in front of a discounted class while a master trainer critiques your performance in real time. My master trainer actually looked like Dale Carnegie reincarnated, complete with a folksy Midwestern American accent.
The week-long class began. I went up front, self-assured, ready to deliver the “WOW experience” we were taught to give. Then, after my first sentence, “Carnegie reincarnated” interrupted me in front of everyone and meticulously picked apart my performance. I was surprised by how direct it was, so were the participants.
It was jarring, but just what I needed. Getting publicly humbled helped me remove my ego from the performance and simply become the performance. I channelled the spirit of Carnegie and ended up passing the training with strong marks.
In the personal training world, the Dale Carnegie Course is known as the gold standard of communication and public speaking training. The fact that I was now teaching it got me overexcited, and I declared the end of my existential project. I had arrived… or so I thought.
I now know such a declaration was premature.
If you really want to get better at something—whatever it is—teach it, especially if you get to stand in front of people in person. Doing so not only strengthens your knowledge, but also your skill in public speaking. However, never get too confident just because you’ve reached some arbitrary status marker. That doesn’t mean your project is over.
In God's Hands
It was last Friday, and I had written a heartfelt best man speech, but I didn’t give myself enough time to practice it the way I had for previous speeches. Moreover, I hadn’t done many speeches lately, and, at least for me, speaking publicly without anxiety is a “use it or lose it” skill.
Since 2020, I’ve only delivered two public speeches in person, and my nerves were definitely present. When I imagined delivering the best man speech the next day, I sensed an unsteady voice and a rushed delivery ahead.
I hated this. No. Not this time. Not again. It had to end here.
I did some journaling and created a new, esoteric technique: with my eyes closed, I recited my speech in slow motion. I did three versions:
Lying on the floor
Standing and moving dramatically, matching my body to the vibe of the speech
Standing perfectly still, feeling deeply into each word spoken
I believe this helped quickly ingrain the speech’s content in my body. Still, the nerves remained when I sensed into delivering it.
After my morning prayer on the day of the wedding, an insight emerged: it is in God's hands now. If God wants me to show up nervous and learn some lesson, so be it. Amen. If He wants me to show up with calm confidence and allow me to be a vessel to celebrate this union, so be it. Amen. I had prepared enough for the speech, and in many ways, I had been preparing for it my entire adult life.
I was putting pressure on myself because I thought this was an important speech, perhaps the most important I had delivered to date. It’s an honour to be asked to be a best man, especially by an older brother you admire, and to deliver a speech in front of a family you love. A wedding only comes once, and I wanted to do my part to make it a special occasion.
The wedding ceremony was beautiful. I managed to stay present throughout, and every time thoughts of my upcoming speech arrived, I simply told myself, “It’s in God’s hands now.” When the moment came to speak, I pumped myself up, walked to the front, and surprisingly got a laugh at my second line. Once that happened, all the nerves lifted from my body.
I felt calm and present with the group and connected with every word. My speech flowed, and I accomplished what I was meant to do: acknowledge the greatness of the man getting married, express how blessed our family is to welcome the beautiful bride into it, and draw all the attention toward the union itself—helping everyone feel how perfectly they were made for each other, exactly as God intended.
I received positive feedback, and something inside me shifted. A new way of being in front of others emerged. I believe there are only two outcomes when you unconsciously make speaking about yourself: either you become a nervous mess that you try to mask, or you become a polished sociopath. But if you don’t make it about you, and instead align your will with something higher, things tend to work out for the best, and something beautiful eventually emerges.
Conclusion
I am officially bringing this existential project back and will seek out opportunities to speak in front of others, in person, once again. Maybe that means rejoining Toastmasters, signing up for another speech competition, hosting a workshop at a local library, or teaching classes at a community college—I’m not sure. I just know I feel called to speak in front of others again.
I like being at my learning edge. So beyond everything I’ve already learned, I’ll be focusing on becoming competent in some lesser-known communication modalities and incorporating them into my public speaking toolkit:
The Second Circle – From Patsy Rodenburg’s vocal training method for actors, this approach applies to all social contexts and involves entering a “circle” of presence that allows for authentic two-way energetic exchange.
Emotional Effector Patterns2 – A psychophysiological technique used by actors for emotional induction through specific facial expressions and postures, which aids in emotional mastery.
The Trust Technique – A human-to-animal communication method that uses deep presence to reduce overthinking and build trust—essentially creating a “psychic” bond with animal companions… and perhaps humans too. 😉
I’m excited for Part 2 of this project and will likely document some of the journey in this newsletter. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully overcome my public speaking anxiety, and maybe that’s not the point. A few nerves might be a good thing, keeping me sharp and reminding me to serve what matters most.
If you have any social or public speaking challenges and would like an inquiry partner with some philosophical grounding, you can schedule time with me below—gift and market economy options available.
If you have any questions, insights, feedback, or criticism on this entry or more generally, message me below (I read and respond on Saturdays) …
I see an “existential project” as something that feels important to one’s existence, with actionable behaviours that lead to real-world skills or accomplishments. I contrast this with my favourite term—“existential knots”—which refers to something bothersome: a muddle of thoughts and emotions that signals something is wrong, but lacks clarity about what that is.