Last Saturday, Elysha and I produced our first show at the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, CT. It featured a fantastic night of stories and a raucous, sold-out audience.
We had to turn away people at the door.
At the end of the night, my friend, Eddie, stopped me to comment on my performance. He said some kind things to me about my story, but then he mentioned something about me tugging on my shirt while onstage.
A storyteller who had performed that night immediately interceded and tried to stop him from finishing what he was saying.
“It’s no big deal,” she said. “It’s just something he does.”
Eddie – whose seen me tell stories onstage many times – persisted, explaining that when I’m performing, I oftentimes tug on the bottom of my shirt on the left side. Always the left side.
The storyteller didn’t think I needed to hear this, but I was incredibly grateful to Eddie for offering the feedback.
Positive or corrective, I adore feedback. I especially adore feedback when delivered in the way in which Eddie delivered his feedback:
Positive first, then corrective.
Eddie let me know that he appreciated my performance and was specific about the aspect that he liked most. This helps to reinforce things that I should continue to do when telling stories.
Then he offered me a note. Something I had never heard before, and most importantly, something I had never noticed before.
I’ve been telling stories, delivering keynotes, and doing standup for almost a decade. I’ve been doing author talks on stages around the world for even longer than that. I’ve stood on hundreds of stages and told hundreds of stories to audiences ranging from the dozens to the thousands. No one has ever mentioned that I have a habit of tugging on my shirt when performing.
It’s also odd given the fact that I never feel nervous onstage, so a nervous tick like shirt tugging is very out of character for me.
But if it’s something I do, I want to know so I can stop.
Admittedly, the storyteller was right in saying it’s not a big deal, and it’s likely going unnoticed by most people. Elysha has watched me perform far more often than Eddie, and she’s never noticed.
But if Eddie and this storyteller have noticed, there must be others who have noticed, too. Probably lots of people. But no one has ever mentioned it before, and this surprises me.
Maybe Eddie is just exceptionally observant, and the number of people as observant as Eddie in this world is small.
Maybe people have noticed but said nothing because the opportunity to say something never presented itself. They were exiting the theater or didn’t know me well enough to offer their feedback.
Ot maybe they’ve noticed but were reticent about offering me feedback. Afraid of how it might make me feel. Nervous about what I might say.
I suspect that many folks have fallen into this latter category. They may have noticed this odd habit of mine but didn’t feel it was appropriate to mention it.
“Who am I to tell Matt how to improve his performance? I’ve never told a story onstage before.”
But I have always craved feedback and admired those who do it well. I met my good friend, David, at the opening performance of a rock opera that a partner and I wrote more than a decade ago. His wife and Elysha had been friends since high school, but we had never met. David – a writer – had actually come to the show expecting to hate it, but instead, he loved it.
When we met for the first time at the end of the show, he told me how much he liked it. Told me how surprised he was to have liked it. Then he offered me three notes on the show, all of which were excellent.
We’ve been friends ever since.
Feedback is not a bad thing to offer a person, especially when it is preceded by a positive comment and offered with the genuine desire to help someone improve at whatever they are doing.
And maybe that storyteller is right. Sometimes it really is “no big deal.” Sometimes it’s just something I do. Sometimes I might even disregard the feedback, as I did that night when another person offered a suggestion following my performance. I smiled, thanked the person for their time, and moved on, knowing their suggestion was not for me.
But Eddie’s feedback? I’ll be absolutely be paying attention to my left hand and my shirt moving forward. As a storyteller, my goal is to activate your imagination. Make you see my world through your mind’s eye. I want my audience to get lost in my story. Forget where they are and even who they are.
Tough to do that if the guy standing in front of you is tugging on his shirt.
A physical distraction of any kind can break the spell that I am trying to cast, so for that reason, Eddie’s feedback was incredibly important to me, and I am incredibly grateful to him for offering it.
You either want people to only say nice things to you – which is the position of many, many people, I think – or you genuinely want to improve and are prepared to hear about your flaws.
I am always read to hear about my flaws. I am always seeking ways to improve. By leaps and stumbles and tiny shuffles forward, every step in the right direction is a step ahead of the competition. That can’t happen without the generosity of observant folks like Eddie and David who are willing to tell me what they think and hear and see.
That storyteller was wrong. Improve is always a big deal, even if it’s as simple as a tug on my shirt.
