In the spring of 2024, I found myself on stage at Symposium giving my very first keynote talk. Up until then, the biggest “crowd” I’d presented to was an update to my organization of about 50 people. Saying yes to a keynote was equal parts exciting and terrifying.
I knew it would stretch me, but I also knew I’d regret turning it down. I’m glad I didn’t overthink it before saying yes. I learned more in a few months of prep than I had in years of smaller talks. And I learned that a keynote isn’t just about presenting slides. It’s about story, resilience, feedback, and the people who cheer you on when you’re knee-deep in self-doubt.
Here are six of the biggest things I took away:
Lesson 1. If your story’s fuzzy, start by gathering all the slides.
There are two kinds of keynote preppers: “The Collector,” who asks for specific slides to fit their story, and “The Gatherer,” who asks for every slide possible, then builds a narrative from there. I thought I was a Collector. Turns out I was a Collector without a story, which basically meant I was flying blind. Lesson learned: when in doubt, Gather first.
Lesson 2. Be passionate about your story and don’t be afraid to pivot.
My first storyline? Mario Kart. (Yes, really. And no, it was not good.) In my head it was clever; in reality it was awkward. After bombing my first practice run, two colleagues asked me big questions: What really matters to you? Why do you show up every day?
Those questions led me to the story I actually cared about: connecting with my family (and avoiding the PA Turnpike). Once I anchored my talk in something real, everything clicked.
Lesson 3. Back. Up. Everything.
Ten days before the talk, my deck crashed. Three days of work disappeared. I was gearing up for a full-on panic when my manager told me the story of how Pixar almost lost Toy Story 2. It’s actually an inspiring story, because the setback made the final product better. Compared to that, my keynote felt fixable.
Starting over gave me sharper focus. Resilience is a muscle, and this was me getting a very intense workout.
Lesson 4. Feedback is the best (and scariest) gift.
Walking into my first practice talk, I braced myself like I was stepping into a roast (and not the fun kind where they end with compliments). I’d heard stories of how brutal these sessions could be. One mentor even told me he nearly had a breakdown after his first big talk.
I walked in with my head high, palms sweaty, but ready for feedback. Every piece made the final talk stronger. Shifting my mindset from “feedback = judgment” to “feedback = someone cares enough to help me succeed” was a game-changer.
Feedback isn’t easy. Some of it was tough, some encouraging, and some not very helpful (“I don’t like the way you said that one thing, but I have no idea how to make it better”). But if everyone had only said nice things, my talk wouldn’t have improved.
Lesson 5. Shared language isn’t always shared.
At one point, I realized a common versioning term we used meant different things to different people. Slightly different at best, drastically different at worst. That forced me to document, clarify, and align.
The moment I presented the new definitions in practice and no one objected, I knew we’d landed in the right place. Sometimes the quiet nods are the biggest wins. And yes, I documented that new terminology in our shared dictionary immediately.
Lesson 6. Lean on your people.
There were plenty of moments when I thought, Why did I say yes to this? My manager reassured me: “If you’re asking that, you’re doing it right.” My director admitted he asks himself the same question every time. Knowing even seasoned speakers feel that doubt made me breathe easier.
And then there was my support system. My team literally made shirts with my face on them and showed up in the front row of a 2,000+ auditorium wearing them proudly. (Someone even wore theirs for a passport photo. That’s commitment.) Seeing 150 people wearing my face gave me both confidence and comic relief.
Friends dropped off Celsius cases. A whiteboard of pep notes appeared at my desk. Every time I spiraled, someone pulled me back. It was humbling, hilarious, and unforgettable.
Looking back
When I think about that talk, I don’t just remember the keynote itself. I remember the failed Mario Kart slides, the slide crash, the brutally honest practice sessions, and the laughter in between.
I said yes to something that scared me. I stumbled, adjusted, and came out stronger. Next time, I’ll walk in with backups, clearer stories, and maybe fewer Mario Kart references. But most importantly, I’ll walk in knowing I can do this — especially with my people behind me.
