I’m the President of a non-profit that promotes the use of natural slate. This is a position that nobody really wants because it involves a decent amount of work and, importantly, no payment.
This is my fourth year leading the organization and I’d consider myself pretty damn good at it. Am I the best non-profit president in the world? Certainly not. But for this particular situation, I don’t know where there is a replacement. That little speck up front is me.
Now that we’re past the back-patting, this weekend in Annapolis I helped organize a two-day conference for around 80 people. My job involved setting the itinerary, making sure presenters were prepared, promoting the conference, and ultimately running the thing so 80 adults were where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there.
This is not as easy as it sounds.
Getting the attention of 80 people and telling them what to do isn’t like pushing a button. Fortunately, this is my second or third time doing it and I’ve gotten better. Now that it’s over, here are a few things I’ve learned.
1. Giving a 15-minute presentation is still not fun for me.
I’m not a natural presenter. I put a lot of time and effort into making my opening presentation entertaining while simultaneously hoping I don’t screw it up. I envy people who can stand in front of a room and just talk. That’s not me. I need preparation, slides, practice and a general understanding of what the hell I’m going to say next.
2. People attending a conference desperately want someone to tell them what to do.
This was probably my biggest realization. Eighty otherwise competent adults suddenly don’t want responsibility for any decision.
Where are we going? When are we leaving? Where do I sit? When do we eat? What are we doing next?
They want a leader. This is great when the leader knows what to do. Half the time, however, the leader doesn’t know either. The trick is not letting the other 79 people know that.
Fake it until you make it.
3. Schedule breaks, you idiot.
When I made the itinerary, I didn’t schedule any breaks. In my mind, everything would simply happen at the exact time I assigned it.
This is apparently not how human beings operate.
If a presentation generated a good Q&A, there was no buffer. Suddenly I’m standing in the back of the room pointing at my watch trying to get a presenter off the stage while the audience is actually interested in what they’re saying.
Not ideal.
Next conference: breaks.
4. Two months of stress disappears remarkably fast.
For about two months this thing sits in the back of your mind. Speakers. Hotel. Attendance. Sponsors. Presentations. Food. Transportation. Timing. What am I forgetting?
Then the conference starts and everything happens at once.
Two days later, it’s over.
And that’s it.
Nobody particularly cares how it happened. They showed up, had a good time and went home. I did get a bunch of compliments from people saying how much they enjoyed it, which was mildly gratifying considering the amount of work that went into making it look like everything just magically happened.
Doing this was never some life mission of mine. If you know me, you know I’ve never devoted myself to non-profits or dreamed about helping a cause. I do this because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.
After four years, another conference under my belt and successfully herding 80 people through two days in Annapolis, I’m not sure there’s much left that I’m trying to prove.
I’ll never sell out the Linc like Shane Gillis, so 80 people may be the upper limit of my entertainment ability.
That’s fine.
Given the choice, I’d still rather be sitting on a beach drinking Modelos than putting on a dog-and-pony show for a non-profit.
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