Even more useful than trying to change people is to uncover what is already there. As Picasso said, "I don't develop. I am." So often, there is something latent, ready to be revealed when the conditions are right, perhaps just waiting to be noticed.
Nearly two decades ago, someone revealed a capacity in me that I was certain wasn't there. And it changed my world.
You've seen the surveys of what people fear most. Public speaking is always right at the top of the list. For someone like me whose preferred style is introversion, it can be downright terrifying. I'll always remember the first speech I gave as a teenager--head down, eyes glued to my index cards, so scared I was sure I had the flu.
In the years that followed, my work often called me to present in front of groups. I continued to write out every word of my talks and stayed close to the security of my script. Once in a while, I'd make a little eye contact with the audience, but not so much that I'd lose my place and, heaven forbid, have to wing it.
In the late 1980s I decided I wanted to improve my performance. So I went out looking for a speaking coach and found an exceptional one in John Jones of San Diego.
John flew to Calgary, where I was scheduled to give my next seminar. At dinner the night before the event, I put myself at his mercy. "John, I'm really looking forward to hearing your criticism," I said, flinging my arms wide to show him how open I was. "I'm ready. That's what I want."
John smiled. "Oh, I won't have any criticism for you, son. I'll only tell you what you're doing well."
I thought to myself, "What? If I'm going to get better, I've gotta know what I'm doing wrong." But it was a bit late to try to negotiate his approach.
Sure enough, at the first break the next day, John had no criticism. In fact, all he gave me was a list of the skills he saw, and a suggestion that I practice them when I went back in front of the group. I found myself feeling pretty good. After all, here was an expert giving me evidence of how capable I was. Maybe there was something to John's mysterious ways.
A little later in the day, John offered one suggestion that intrigued me. "Did you notice, Jim, that people paid even more attention that time you stepped away from your notes? Would you want to try that again?"
Take a close look at what he said. He pointed out a moment when I was doing something he knew to be effective. (I'm sure I was clinging tightly to the podium, so believe me, it would've been a very brief moment. But a small glimpse was all it took.) I now had a place to stand in confidence. That made it possible for me to take the next step, and the next. A series of small wins set up a trajectory.
As you can imagine, that day was a turning point for me, thanks to John.
Fast forward eight years. I'm standing in a living room in Santa Monica, speaking with the board of Conservation International. Among those in the room is the actor Harrison Ford. As we're about to take a break, he says to the group, "You know you can ask me to do anything for this cause, just don't ask me to speak extemporaneously like Jim Lord just did. Give me a script, and I'm fine." If heroic Harrison Ford had only known where I'd come from.
Today, I still feel butterflies in my stomach as I head to the front of a room. And then I remind myself that Frank Sinatra, surely one of the world's most able performers, said he knew those butterflies were a sign that his show would go well.
It occurs to me that this story may sound like it's about how smart I am. Actually, it's an example of changing the world--my world--to get something I wanted, to find myself capable of something I thought impossible.
And it's a story of how such a breakthrough came about because people showed me what I already had in me.