Seasoned Speaker

A few months ago, I gave two speeches on the same day.
Let me tell you about the second one first.

I was speaking at an advanced Toastmasters club—the kind of club where members are experienced, evaluations are precise, and every word and action is weighed carefully.

Over the years, I had developed a style that allowed me to stand comfortably in front of an audience and deliver an engaging experience—an experience where, once in a while, I have been treated with reverence as I leave the stage. An experience that feels like serving an old bottle of fine wine.

On this day, when I finished my speech, the only comment I received about improvement was about my virtual background image. The impression was that I had done a great job—as was expected of me.
After all, I am a seasoned speaker.

As the meeting concluded, while on the outside I smiled and accepted the accolades for my delivery, inside, I felt very different. Inside, I felt awful. And that was because of the first speech I had given earlier that same day.

Let me give you some context.

Two weeks earlier, I had been invited to speak at a Toastmasters club hosted at a school. Excited, I crafted a thoughtful, insightful speech, confident it would resonate with the audience. I was quite happy with the speech.

What I didn’t realize until the day of the event was that the audience wasn’t young adult Toastmasters. I would be speaking to 100 high school girls, aged between 14 and 16 years, at Nazareth School near Arat Kilo.

As they set up the hall, I looked at my prepared speech… and I knew it wouldn’t work.

I actually started to panic the closer my time to speak approached because I racked my brain and could not think of a single way to connect with 16-year-olds—16-year-olds in an Ethiopian school. I didn’t have the foggiest idea what their day-to-day life was like.

I eventually abandoned the idea of a formal speech and conducted Table Topics for one hour.

I still remember a row of girls at the back of the room looking completely bored.

The experience didn’t feel like serving vintage wine. It felt like serving orange juice that had gone slightly bad. I mean, it wasn’t bad bad, but it definitely wasn’t great.

So far out of my comfort zone, the speaking style I had developed over years in Toastmasters was of no comfort to me.

So much for being a seasoned speaker.

Two weeks later, I attended another Toastmasters meeting.

A Distinguished Toastmaster—someone I admire—delivered a speech on how to ace Table Topics. It was beautifully structured: polished slides, flawless delivery, insightful points. It was delightful for me to watch. I even thought of asking him to mentor me because I’m not too comfortable presenting with slides.

Afterward, a friend who had brought her 11-year-old nephew to the meeting introduced him to me.

I asked him what he thought about the meeting.

He loved everything—except for that presentation.

He said it was… boring.

At first, I brushed it off. “What does an 11-year-old know about public speaking?” I thought.

He’s just not mature enough to appreciate a seasoned speaker’s skills. He probably enjoys Miranda sodas and doesn’t yet have the sophistication to enjoy fine wine.

But the comment gnawed at me for days.

Eventually, I realized the problem wasn’t the speaker’s skills. His speech was perfect… but perfect for a very narrow audience: Toastmasters.

To an outsider—a young boy unfamiliar with our jargon, our meeting frameworks, our structure—all he saw was a presentation with slides that lacked images, no humor, and nothing that drew him in or made him care about impromptu speaking.

I realized I needed to broaden how I grow as a speaker.

I began what I call reverse mentoring.

To fully appreciate an old bottle of wine, you need to “open it up”. If you just pour it into a glass and drink it immediately, it tastes terrible. But if you first pour it into a decanter and let it air for about 10 minutes, its flavor opens up and it becomes a delight.

I needed to open up my public speaking.

Instead of only learning from seasoned speakers, I started sharing my speeches with inexperienced ones—young people, first-time guests, even friends who had never heard of Toastmasters.

I would ask them simple questions:

What did you enjoy?
What confused you?
What did you remember afterward?
How would you have done it differently?

Bit by bit, through this reverse mentoring and the feedback I received, I’ve learned how to connect with broader audiences—not just with my fellow Toastmasters.

We all dream of being revered speakers, respected like a vintage bottle of wine.

But remember: for the audience to experience your full flavor as a seasoned speaker, you need to open yourself up.

You must first open yourself to be mentored by experienced speakers. Learn the art. Polish your craft.

Then, open yourself again—by being reverse mentored by those who are new, untrained, and honest. Honest like your nephew, who says embarrassingly candid things at family gatherings.

In time, you will find that you have opened yourself up to grow in ways and areas you could not have imagined.