Saturdays are for Speaking (and Learning)

Two Saturdays ago, on February 22nd, I stepped out of a competitive speech round for the final time in my career. The speech itself was one of my favorites I’ve ever given (it was about a burgeoning feud between Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders), but stepping out of the round, I couldn’t help but feel a bit bittersweet. 

A few hours later, I earned my fourth IHSA state title, rounding out four amazing years in the speech and debate community, both within Illinois and outside of its borders. I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past week or so, and here are four lessons about life I’ve learned from four phenomenal years.

Lesson 1: Timing matters

As soon as he holds up the two, I need to transition into my last point.

In extemporaneous speaking (my event of choice), timing is everything. When you only have thirty minutes to craft a cohesive argument on literally the world’s biggest problems (I’ve come up with makeshift solutions for everything from climate change to civil wars halfway across the world), and a mere seven minutes to deliver that message, you’d best keep your eyes on the clock.

Fifteen minutes to prepare the speech; fifteen minutes to memorize it. One-and-a-half minutes for the introduction. 1:40 for each main point. Thirty seconds to conclude. 

Perfection.

Sometimes, timing falls outside your control. 

What if you’re the fifth (out of six) speaker, and the judge is already bored out of her mind, teetering on the brink between staying awake and nodding off? It is 8:00 on a Saturday morning, after all.

What if, even after racking your brain for a good five out of those fifteen minutes, you still can’t figure out what to say?

Whatever the case may be, there’s always a limit. Thirty minutes before prep ends. Two months and change before we graduate. Six months until we leave some of our friends forever.

Time is of the essence. Use it well.

Lesson 2: Your Voice is a Tool

“We need more women in extemp.”

The six extemporaneous speakers in the final round at state were all men—something a bit disheartening, considering the fact that all over the nation, women extempers proved their mettle at the highest level time and time again.

When it came time for me to give my state-winner performance, I knew it was something I had to address. On a whim, I decided to add in thirty extra seconds, completely ad-libbed, of the importance of more women competing in extemp, an event about the world around us all—after all, amidst the political strife of reproductive rights, family leave, and sexual harassment, extemp is more important to women than ever. 

 I had the confidence to shatter the norms of the state performance because I was confident in my own voice. Speech taught me that progress can come from everywhere and from anyone, that even as a straight man I can be an ally and advocate for causes that matter to me, from feminism to LGBTQ+ rights to racism to tax reform to climate change. 

You don’t have to be a speech champion (or even be in speech at all) to use your voice. Find a cause that matters and contribute to it. Go to the downtown climate strike, the Women’s March, a March for Our Lives. The future depends on it. 

(If you by any chance want to watch my final performance, the video of my last-ever extemp speech is below!)

Lesson 3: Privilege impacts everything

“Yeah so I was at Yale in September, Florida Blue Key in October, Glenbrooks in November, Nashville for MBA in January, and then I’m heading to Kentucky and Northwestern the week after for TOC in late April, before finally going to Milwaukee in May for Catholic Nationals.”

When I broke down the national tournaments I went to last year, one thing stood out: I went to a lot of tournaments in a lot of different states. In other words, I took a lot of plane rides. It goes without saying that plane rides aren’t cheap. And since I travelled nationally under Naperville North’s banner, but without the supervision of the team, I had to foot the bill for all of those trips. 

While I would have theoretically been able to compete at the highest level in Illinois without the economic privilege I was born under, there’s no chance I would have the opportunity to ply my trade nationally. Without the financial ability to seek out individual coaches, buy plane tickets, and pay registration fees, even the best speakers and debaters are unable to showcase their talent.

Unfortunately, it’s a lesson that extends everywhere, as perfectly exemplified by this Stephen Jay Gould quotation:

“I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops.”

 

Lesson 4: Let it Sink In

In the four weekends leading up to my final state tournament, I had a tournament every single Saturday. That meant five straight Saturdays consumed completely by current affairs and overused vocal cords. It also meant that my speech career came to an end at a breakneck pace—tournament after tournament, without enough time for me to really even take a breather and reflect.

Now that it’s been a week or so, I’ve come away with an intense gratitude for my four years competing in this wonderful activity. 

As some of you already know, I’ve written personalized thank-yous, a few sentences for nearly everybody I’ve met on the circuit, both in Illinois and nationally, to show my appreciation for the impact they had on my life. I consider it the best way to show my appreciation, and the time it took to write them is also coincidentally why this blog post is so late (sorry, Mrs. Trowbridge).

Wherever you are, and whatever you do, I hope you all remember to thank those who have helped you, and remain grateful for the opportunities you have.

Four years fly by fast, but the memories? They’ll stay forever.