A Forgotten Stage Dweller

following the breadcrumbs of my life

Three times in my life I’ve been told that I’m going to give a Ted Talk someday.

The first time was when I hired a psychic right after my divorce in 2018. Apparently the money from the sale of the house I owned with the man I had just divorced was burning a hole in my pocket. And apparently spending it on a man I’d never met telling me about what he saw for my future seemed the best way to spend it.

The second time was in 2024 when my friend Chelsea said she saw me on a stage giving a Ted Talk.

The third time was a few months later when someone in my women’s group said “I just feel like you’re going to give a Ted Talk someday, Jenny.”

Instantly I thought of the psychic and Chelsea, and shared with my group those two experiences and that there are now three separate instances where people have shared similar visions of me.

Another woman in the group that night shared with us a program in town called Let Her Speak, a public speaking program for female entrepreneurs that would teach women how to use their voice authentically, lean into vulnerability as a tool for connection, and explore the power of storytelling.

“The woman teaching it is actually a speaker delivery coach for TEDxChicago.”

You simply can not make this up. That ted word seems to be following me and I am not one to ignore the bread crumbs on the treasure map of my life. So I applied for the program, asked my boss to apply for the accompanying Grant, and was not only accepted into the program but received the Grant that covered the cost in full.

Over the course of the seven months of this program, when people asked me why I was in the program, my answer was the same: “I don’t know.” Even when the teacher and a guest instructor asked me in front of the class on separate occations, all I could say was that the “why” was still unfolding. That was very true, but I also felt a little shameful to say that I might need this class because according to a psychic, some tarot cards, and a conversation at a picnic table at Oryana with five witchy women one night - i might be giving a Ted Talk someday.

Last night we gave our final speeches on stage in front of friends, family, and each other. It is one of the highlights of my life that I will treasure forever. It was magical to get on that stage and, through storytelling, explore vulnerability and humor and healing and connection. To experience myself up there, to tell a profound piece of my own story, and have a room full of strangers and friends alike mirror back to me aspects of myself I needed reminding of was truly one of the most thoughtful and personal gifts that I still can’t really capture fully with words.

To my surprise, though, I felt really comfortable up there. It even a little bit right. I even kind of want to do it again. Not even kind of. I will certainly do it again, in some capacity, I’m sure of it.

I also had the privilege of going first last night which meant that for the rest of the evening I could set my speech and nerves down and just be a member of the audience. All I can say about watching the other 6 women give their speeches is that surrounding yourself with powerful women will absolutely change you. I must have had hearts and stars in my eyes as I watched each woman show herself. Exposing shame and grief and loss and navigating change and self-reclamation and taking up their rightful space and own their power through immense vulnerability. One woman even brought a life-sized card board cut out of Nick Jonas from the Jonas Brothers in support of her speech, which she admitted she almost chucked out of her vehicle window to throw off traffic and get to the venue faster. To be that audacious is something I aspire to.

I was chatting with someone I know today who is a dance teacher. I shared with her that years ago I took tap, jazz, and ballet lessons for six years. She said “Oh, no wonder you were somewhat comfortable on stage last night then. You’re stage-familiar.” I’m not sure if that’s an industry term or if she made it up. But I suddenly remembered that - oh yea - I was the lead in a musical in 3rd grade, and I did theatre grades 3-12, and I was in choir grades 6-12, and I’m just remembering now in this moment as I write this that I won a contest and had the privilege of giving the speech at 8th grade graduation.

When I played the lead as the Professor of Linguistics in the musical The Wackadoo Zoo in 3rd grade

a tap dance recital

There has been so much remembering in me over the 24 hours. Of who I have been and am and want to be. And it has been through storytelling. Particularly, telling my own story.

I told a friend recently that I often hesitate to share personal stories because they’re like treasures that I’m nervous to give away to people or, god forbid, have taken from me. I don’t want the stories to be mishandled or for the wrong meanings to be created about them. But I’ve also learned that harboring those stories gives power to everything but me and that story, and that setting stories free also frees me.

Dana Black is a treasure, a teacher, a guide, a cheerleader. She made me laugh, she made me cry, she made me get uncomfortable to get better, and she made me believe in myself becuase of how much she believes in me. I think I’m the only student that showed up to every single scheduled class because - yes, it was one of the things on my calendar I looked forward to the most every month - but also because she helped me see myself and as one of my all time favorite quotes says: “If I love you I have to make you conscious of that which you can’t see.” It is clear that Dana loves us very, very much.

I could write a dissertation about the last 7 months, and a separate one about last night alone. I won’t, not right now anyway. But look at my certificate! It will be one of my talismans. In remembering the power of my voice. And perhaps on my journey toward giving a Ted Talk someday. Giddy Up.

Tallyho,
Jenny