Say yes, and figure it out later. That is a phrase I have heard a lot over the years when it comes to opportunities in life. Typically it refers to a job, but for me it refers to a speaking event.
This week I was part of an event that could have easily gone sideways, and in the back of my mind I figured it would. The Cape Cod Maritime Museum in Hyannis reached out to me last week on Tuesday. They had an event scheduled for Thursday, August 13th. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, their speakers dropped out. One even said something like, ‘I’m old, I just can’t.’ That’s a great way to honor your commitments.
I received an email asking if I could step in on short notice. I wouldn’t be giving the same presentation as the people who bailed, though. I was asked to create something.
I hesitated, but when they said that Don Wilding, who I consider the gold standard of Cape Cod history, recommended me, I was in. I didn’t want to disappoint him, the maritime museum, or the people who had already spent money to buy tickets for the event that night.
So I said yes, but that left me with an issue: I had one week to craft a totally new presentation. They gave me a bit of leeway. The only parameters were that it needed to fit into the Roaring Twenties motif of their lectures during the summer of 2026.
Luckily, a few years ago I had crafted a video about what it was like to have a summer vacation on Cape Cod a century ago. That was for 1923, but it was not that much of a leap to change things up for 1926.
Although I had the subject, I still needed to do a lot of research and spend hours putting together a suitable presentation and copious notes. I needed to make sure the talk included details about specific Cape Cod places from back then, like restaurants, hotels, and events of the time. By the time I was done, I had forty slides in the presentation and 3,000 words worth of notes.
Despite being really happy with my work, I knew that there could still be issues. I felt good about what I would be speaking about, but would it matter? People had ordered tickets for a certain event. Now that it had been changed to something totally different, what if they didn’t want to keep their tickets to see me? What if sales of tickets for my presentation were terrible?
I have written ten books. I have spoken at many dozens of events over the years. Even at my highest of highs, I still get imposter syndrome. It’s that voice in the back of my head that tells me that I don’t deserve good things, or success, or love, or happiness, or whatever. It’s a fear of being found out or exposed even though it's usually totally unfounded.
It was too late by the time August 13th rolled around. I had committed to the event and done the work of creating the presentation. I would not bail like the other people had. I remained cautiously optimistic but still kept hearing in the back of my mind that it might not be as good as I’d hoped.
The drive to the Cape Cod Maritime Museum was a wash of summer traffic and a passing severe thunderstorm. Would the weather play a factor in turnout?
I arrive at my events forty-five minutes early. There was an event at the Cotuit Library years ago where I got stuck in traffic on the way and arrived five minutes before my start time. I walked in, and the people were waiting. It already looked bush league.
Then, on top of being nearly late, the cables to connect my laptop to the projector were malfunctioning. It was a nightmare. In the end, I believe I started speaking fifteen minutes late. I vowed to never let that happen again, and it hasn’t.
The staff at the museum were so grateful to me for stepping up. I had never been inside, so I loved getting a behind the scenes tour. Anybody who enjoys boats, sailing, maritime history, anything like that, I highly recommend visiting.
Naturally, because I was so early, everything was set up in record time with no hiccups. My cautious optimism turned to overjoyed excitement when I got the news. Not only were the pre-sale ticket people coming, but the entire lot of seats was sold out. On top of that, there was a standby list of people waiting just in case seats opened up. That’s right, my event had a waiting list. It was a first-ever for me.
I set up my books on a table and gathered my notes on a clear hard-plastic podium. One by one, staff members came up and thanked me for being there. I admit I felt a little pressure, wanting to be worthy of all of the praise.
Once the setup was done and all of the pleasantries exchanged, all I had to do was wait. The Maritime Museum holds events in a really neat, rustic downstairs library overlooking the harbor. It was so packed with chairs that I was wedged in a corner behind the podium.
While awaiting the people, I looked around. In an interesting twist, the very first book I spotted was one about Gurnet Point in Plymouth. It’s meaningful because my buddy Steve’s family has had a cottage out there for a century. I snapped a photo to send to him later.
That was another interesting shift. I tend to take a few photos or videos before the event to share on social media. On this day I didn’t have time. People began coming down the stairs, and it was showtime.
This was a History on Tap event, so Cape Cod Beer donated some drinks for people to enjoy. I had a nice lemon seltzer. August 13th was my 2,162nd day alcohol-free, with my 6th ‘Soberversary’ coming September 12th.
People filed in with their plastic cups of beer or wine and stared at the title slide for the event. Not wanting to just stand there, I engaged with people sitting nearby. Slowly the seats filled, and voices echoed off the old wooden floors and walls.
I was mic’d up, but only for the recording of the event for the museum and not to be heard over the crowd. Having come up in the restaurant industry, I had learned how to project my voice, so being heard has never been an issue.
As we began, there might have been an empty seat or two, but it was a nearly full house of somewhere between fifty and sixty people. So they had shown up. Now it was up to me to be worthy of their time and money.
Yes, I might have needed to basically read my notes like a script, but I spoke of Olde Cape Cod for forty-five minutes. I loved hearing the sounds people made at each new slide. Some featured old photos and postcards of places they either remembered or had heard about.
When I finished my talk and asked for questions, the applause echoed off the walls. It had gone better than I could have hoped for. The Imposter Syndrome retreated, at least temporarily. I also realized that saying yes to something a bit out of your comfort zone is good. While it is good to keep the worst-case scenario in mind, it also rarely ends up happening.
I answered questions for another twenty minutes, never wanting it to end. After the event unofficially ended, people came up to buy books, thank me for stepping in, and overall wish me well. I felt validated.
I have always been an introvert. Writing books forced my hand into becoming a public speaker. People are usually shocked when I tell them that after an event. Now I have confidence while speaking; it tends to be everything else surrounding the event that gets into my head.
The guests made their way upstairs, or into the next room to see some genuine boat building going on. Soon it was just the three remaining staff members and me. The event had not only drawn in regulars, but it had brought in people they said they’d never seen come to a lecture. I will stay grounded and say it was the interesting topic rather than the interesting speaker.
As things began getting put away, the staff at the museum asked if I’d want to come back and do another presentation. Of course I said yes.
The plan now is to do an event in January. It is likely going to be a return to the Lady of the Dunes murder case that was such a huge part of my life a few years ago. For that one, I will not need to create a whole new presentation.
In the end, the event turned out to be one of the best I’ve ever been a part of. I left the museum feeling grateful, validated, and a bit overwhelmed at the support I got.
Driving along the busy Route 28 as the sun began going down on a warm summer night, I felt the urge to stop somewhere. I chose Englewood Beach in West Yarmouth. It was, and in many ways still is, the spot I most associate with my Nana.
I felt like being in that setting, reveling in such a successful event, and in a small way sharing the good vibes with my Nana. Sure, the stress and worry felt a bit pointless after the fact, but you never assume anything until it’s over.
That’s a little look at what ended up being one of my favorite events of my writing career. It shows that sometimes you just need to say yes and figure it all out after. It also gives me growing confidence that if I do say yes, things will turn out as good as or better than you might expect.
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