part0010

In the Queen’s House on the magnificent grounds of the Royal Observatory Greenwich is an extraordinary portrait of Elizabeth I circa 1588. She’s decked out in ruffles and pearl-encrusted splendour, a globe of the world at her hand, and looks formidable, invulnerable and idealised. Near her portrait is a description of the room where she received her courtiers, called the Queen’s Presence Chamber. The portrait and the chamber were designed to lift the Queen to divine status, mask her ‘frail womanhood’ and imbue her with the highest aura of power. Her presence was an embodied symbol of mystery and the unknowable.

Cut to Academy Awards season: the papers are filled with images of stars on red carpets looking poised under a barrage of flashing cameras and adoring fans reaching out for autographs. Ever image conscious, these stars of the screen seem to have unerring instincts about how to show their most flattering angles, profiles and smiles. In those immortal words of Gloria Swanson, they’re always ‘ready for [their] close-up’. 14

The kind of presence I’m talking about, though, isn’t about masks of power or the red carpet and cameras. It’s about being completely present in the moment. The actress Julianne Moore once said in an interview that ‘your presence can bring out their presence, you elevate everything’ . 15 I think she was talking about presence as the quality of engagement with others you create.

Your presence allows you to see and hear other people, and allows them to feel seen and heard. When you are fully present, creating real engagement, you are giving and attracting attention. When you leave the room, your presence lingers and inspires confidence and commitment in those around you because they have had a meaningful and positive experience.

Many years ago, when I was living in Ireland and travelling throughout the country as an arts correspondent, I interviewed a woman who ran a ballet school on her dairy farm. She told me that her motivation for starting the school was down to one thing: poor posture.

Watching a national beauty pageant, she said she saw many girls parading around in bathing suits and high heels with drooping, self-conscious posture and decided there and then that Ireland’s girls needed more pride. And so it came to pass that this intrepid pioneer gave ballet classes to slouching girls for miles around, helped them stand tall and turned many of them into ballerinas. 16

I’m constantly surprised to see so many incredibly smart, talented women in the corporate workplace present poor posture: sitting hunched over in their chairs with crossed arms and legs, looking as if they’re tied up in knots; or standing in a ‘pretzel’ with their feet criss-crossed, looking tentative at best or perilously off balance; or slumping over to one side in their chairs, looking practically comatose; or standing and rocking back and forth, looking as if they’d rather be anywhere but where they are.

If you recognise yourself in any of these descriptions, or any variation of them, listen up: When you sit up straight and stand up straight, you have instant gravitas. You are mighty. End of story.

The comedian Michael McIntyre performs a piece about meeting someone at a cocktail party and not hearing their name the first time they introduce themselves. In the skit, he asks them to repeat it, and of course, he doesn’t hear their name the second time either. By this point he’s too mortified to ask again, so he feigns comprehension: ‘Nice to meet you, murphmmmm .’ 17

Why do we perpetuate this lazy, stingy habit? Why do we mumble our names or rush past them as if to get it over with as quickly as possible?

Your name is the first utterance of your identity, as powerful as the first words in a play or movie, the first sentence in a novel, the first note in a symphony, the first mark on a canvas, and the first gesture in a dance – a beginning that leads to a bigger story.

At the Banff Centre, in the Canadian Rockies, I learned the ritual of creating an Inuksuk, originally performed by the Inuit. Everyone makes a large circle and one by one, participants place a stone on the ground in the centre, creating a natural installation. Originally, the Inuit performed this ritual to say ‘people have been here’. The Inuksuk acted as a guide to others in a landscape with no discernible landmarks. In the placing of our symbolic stones, we were committing to a moment in time, a moment of pure presence, offering a piece of collective legacy. In essence, each person’s name was on the stone they placed.

Your name is the gateway to your life story, and that story is the DNA of your unique, authentic presence. Your name matters, so get interested in its sound and let’s hear it the first time around!

I love art galleries. Besides the sheer aesthetic pleasure of looking at paintings and the world of colour, texture, scale and subject matter, I love the big airy spaces of galleries, and I particularly love the way pictures are framed. In fact, I often fall for the frames more than the pictures!

There’s a reason why pictures are framed. Frames create a unique platform for our attention, a distinctive space in which we are invited to dwell awhile and engage our senses – a space to process our experience.

Think of a pause when you’re speaking like a frame around a picture. When you pause, you frame your words. Pausing gives you a chance to breathe and gives your audience a chance to hear and process your words. Pausing, like framing, allows you the opportunity to highlight moments and emphasise key words and points. You are giving your audience the gift of understanding and maximising their engagement. More critically, pausing bestows on the speaker physical presence and presence of mind.

‘When we feel powerful, we speak more slowly and take more time,’ says Amy Cuddy. ‘We don’t rush. We’re not afraid to pause. We feel entitled to the time we’re using.’ 18

For my money, it’s the other way around. When we speak more slowly, take more time, don’t rush, and take pauses, we feel much more powerful – because we’re more grounded. We are literally standing our ground. From here, we step into our fullest presence.

Your life stories are the DNA of your signature style, voice and presence. Sharing your stories is one of the most powerful things you can do for yourself. Entrepreneur Nely Galán says, ‘In your pain is your brand.’ 19 She’s referring to the stories we would rather forget, the stingers that are almost too much to look at, the ones that touch on our vulnerability, but that can give us the greatest insights and wisdom to share with others.

When I was in the fifth grade, I was assigned a project about architecture. My dad and I worked for weeks building a windmill out of sugar cubes. Then we mounted it on a platform, ready for proud presentation at the school exhibition. I was so excited on the day I took my windmill to school – I couldn’t wait for everyone to see it. The route down the corridor was packed with rowdy kids. A boy crashed into me and over I tumbled. Splat! went the windmill, a catastrophe of sugar dust. I was distraught.

But worse than that was landing heels over head with my skirt up and all the kids taunting that they could see my underwear. My humiliation was seismic. A kind teacher helped me up and dusted me down. He gave me a broom and got me sweeping. All the while he reassured me that he’d seen my windmill before its destruction and thought it was a brilliant success. I remember focusing on the sweeping and on his words.

Although I didn’t know it then, I was rehearsing a ‘stand up straight and realise who you are, that you tower over your circumstances’ moment (thanks, Maya Angelou). 20 Our crucible stories often bring out our strengths and allow us to bear witness to ourselves. We’ve got skin in the game. It has cost us something. And when we invest in these stories, we ultimately reap the reward of deeper self-knowing and stand in our full grace and integrity.

It would be a colossal understatement to say I’m a fan of musicals. I’m crazy about them. I know they aren’t everyone’s cup of tea (some of my best friends avoid them at all costs!). But I can’t understand what’s not to like about singing and dancing your way through love, betrayal, perils, triumphs, dastardly deeds and happy endings. And beyond the song-and-dance spectacle, there’s a world of wisdom in the lyrics.

One such inspiring song is ‘I Whistle a Happy Tune’, from The King and I , written by Rodgers & Hammerstein. I first saw it on Broadway as a star-struck adolescent. Gertrude Lawrence played the English governess (and singer of the song) and Yul Brynner played the king. I was so enraptured watching them waltzing around the Court of Siam I don’t think I exhaled for the duration of the entire scene.

The governess sings the song to her young son just as they arrive in Siam, where she will be serving the king as governess to the many children of his court. Every verse of the song is about tricking oneself into a state of fearlessness, confidence and gravitas by striking brave poses and thinking big inside. In the act of singing the song to her son, the governess becomes more and more positive herself; if ever there was a perfect display of ‘getting into a positive state’, this is it.

If you don’t know the song, please take a moment right now and look it up. Print the lyrics. If you do know the song, stand up and sing it now! See what I mean?

‘I Whistle a Happy Tune’ is the best ‘acting as if’ tool I know.

‘Acting as if’ boils down to one word: intention. When you set a clear intention (to act as if you’re fearless, in this case), your body, your voice, your energy and your beliefs follow through most elegantly. When you set a clear intention, you can shift from tentative to confident, or any quality you desire. Your mind is the director of You Inc. All it’s waiting for is its mission from you.

So set your intention and ‘act as if’. Start with ‘I Whistle a Happy Tune’ and see how quickly you can upgrade your mojo. In the words of William James, ‘I don’t sing because I’m happy; I’m happy because I sing! ’ Oh, and please go see a musical!

At a panel discussion hosted by a prominent global science organisation, I was struck by the unique and vibrant appearance of one of the panellists. She had an audacious, distinctive haircut and an attention-grabbing dress sense that appealed to me enormously.

At the coffee break, I sought her out. ‘Great haircut and outfit,’ I told her. ‘You look fabulous.’

With a delighted smile, she looked me in the eyes and said, ‘Thank you!’ As I started to walk away, she added, ‘I’ve been practising saying “Thank you” and not deflecting compliments.’

I loved her honesty, and that she’d let me in on her secret piece of personal development.

In her ‘thank you’ stance, this lively, esteemed young scientist accepted the gift of my compliment with lightness and ease. She was in balance, in flow and owning the authentic expression of herself.

How refreshing it is to be on the terra firma of simple, dignified etiquette rather than getting bogged down in the muck of deflection, denial and self-deprecation. Why is it so hard to utter ‘thank you’? Accepting a compliment is an act of presence and the very opposite of arrogant. It is the gracious act of receiving a gift.

Think about the last time someone gave you a gift. Visualise it in its beautiful wrapping. Now imagine that instead of holding the gift with an expression of gratitude and delight, you dodge out of the way and let it drop to the floor! Shocking and insulting, wouldn’t you agree?

Deflecting compliments or praise is the clumsy and tedious equivalent of dropping a gift on the floor. Reframing a compliment as an act of receiving a gift will keep you in the positive mindset of appreciating the gift giver as you reach forward to receive it.