Transcription
[Music] Speaking voice message. It belongs to all of us. The day of stage speakers only, motivational speakers only, speaking to cells are long gone. Every single one of us has a voice to use. Every single one of us has a responsibility to use our voice. I'm here to help you magnify the power of your voice, whether you're using it on stage—great, the majority of you won't. I hope not, overrated, because the places that your voice are gonna make the most difference are in the trenches, in living rooms and bedrooms and offices, at community events and the train station. I hope you don't wait to get on a stage to use your voice. See, my best work really was done, and it's still done off the stage. I simply come on stage to meet a bunch of amazing people, and then we go do work in other places that matter.
So today, I'm going to take you on a journey, faster than I'd like, but more powerful than I hope any of you expected. I'm going to talk about how do you use your voice in such a way that you infect and affect people and the planet. Now, I'm gonna give you some techniques. I'm gonna give you some things to my team from yesterday—you guys got a whole lot, you guys are probably still chewing on that, right? So I'm gonna add a little bit to it. Some's going to—some things I'm gonna say are going to just solidify that. I'm gonna give it to you from another angle. For others, it's your first time. I'm going to handle with care.
Sea otters are all around us. Otters come in all different sizes, ages, colors, different religious backgrounds, or turns like Mother Teresa, who teaches us the art of humility and what it means to be a servant leader. Our turns like Mahatma Gandhi, teaching us that we are the example that we're looking for, that we woke up whole and complete and enough. Alters like small children who say the wisest and funniest things in their transparency. My nephew was sitting on my great uncle Leonard's lap, and my great uncle Leonard, he smoked cigars for like every year of my life, and I, at the time, was like 19, and I never saw him without a cigar. So Uncle Leonard smelled like a really old cigar, and everyone knew Uncle Leonard smelled like a cigar, but no one had the courage to tell Uncle Leonard that he smelled like a cigar. You guys, everybody has had two Uncle Leonard somewhere in your life, right? Because Uncle Leonard was my grandmother's brother, so he had clout. Well, Jameel was three, so he didn't know; he hasn't been introduced to being politically correct yet, thank God, right? So Jameel is sitting on my uncle Leonard's lap, and we're all talking. Jamil stops in the middle of a sentence, and he goes—and the first time he sniff—no big deal, but the second and the third time, then in his little three-year-old voice, "Uncle Leonard, you stink!" And you can hear a pin drop in the room, and everyone in that moment was grateful that they were not Jameelah's mother. And we all gazed at her—bad mom, bad mom. The next thing that fell out of Uncle Leonard—smiles shocked us all. He looked at Jamil with a long gaze, kind of not knowing what's about to happen gaze, and he said, "Jamil, I think you're right. I think—" For the first time in my entire life, Uncle Leonard put out his cigar. And the next time we saw Uncle Leonard, it smelt like he had just been washed for days. He was always clean, but his clothes just smelled like old cigars, and it was very clear that he got new clothes. See the freedom that a child has, the truth that they stand with.
I want to take you on a journey back to that level of truth. I want to take you on a journey on why they say, "Think like a child, don't act like a child, but think like a child." Be as free as a child. See, children have a sense of curiosity. Children forgive sooner, quicker, faster. And if you want something new to come out of your voice, you have to put something new in you in terms of a commitment. My son—like, I watched the way he would forgive me. Yeah, he did something wrong one day, and I have to reprimand him, and I immediately felt guilty. And I'm in my office, he's like four years old, and I'm on my computer, and I'm crying, 'cause I'm single-mother guilt entrepreneur, and I'm like—and he comes around the corner, he goes to mommy, and I just reprimanded him, he's on a timeout and all this stuff, and I'm upset, I'm crying. He's okay. [Laughter] And he comes around the corner, and I'm—and he says, "Mommy, mommy." I was like, "Yes?" "Do you want to lay down with me?" "Yes." And he goes, and he lays out this little skinny arm, and I put my big ol' head on that arm. There's something that happens when we allow ourselves to sit inside freedom, sit inside transparency, sit inside what I like to call carefrontation. Hmm, that means I might push up against you a little bit; I might make you mildly to moderately to significantly uncomfortable in any form of mediocrity, but it's out of the spirit of love. You want to inspire people with your voice, from your child to your sibling to your significant other to your community to the world to this room, be willing to love me enough to tell me your truth. They'll love me enough to tell me my truth, then love me enough to just tell me the truth, and—and fine, fine—be willing to touch the edge of your own comfort zone. You show me yours, and I'll show you mine. You show me your heart, and I'll show you my love. You let me know that you're willing to be imperfect and still have a perfectly giving, serving, loving life, then you give me permission to let my imperfection out into the world to see. You want to speak out another level? You gotta be willing to love at another level, forgive at another level, show up at another level, speak up at another level, pray at another level. You have to be willing on every level to uplevel who you be on a daily basis. The fan in recognizing that when you open up and use your voice, everything that comes out after you speak really doesn't belong to you. See, it's very difficult to speak phenomenally and to not be good—come on, y'all—from yourself. In to rabbits. See, unforgettable has everything to do with serving at a level so high, so big, so massive that people feel like they have to change their lives because they crossed your path. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. See, see, when you're willing to use your voice—first, you have to recognize that you have one. You got to recognize that that no matter your past, you were given a voice, and your voice was given not to keep to yourself. Your voice is not a secret, says the secret teacher. And you have to be willing to use every experience that's ever happened in your life, not as a fortress holding you from using your voice, but as the fuel on why you will use your voice. You got to be willing to not stand in your story, but stand on your story. Yes, yes. It's not in spite of your past that you get to be amazing, that you get to be a change agent, that you get to transform lives; it's because of your past that you're perfect for such a job when you own it like that. See, there's no question in my certainty about my life. Can you walk with that level of certainty so that when the wind comes, and then when the wind blows—and it will come, and it will blow, and it will be a storm, and it will be a tornado, and it will look like divorce, and it will look like bankruptcy, and it will look like an illness, and it will look like a loss—when it—it will rock you, it will rock you, it will rock you, but it won't move you. See, when you stand in that certainty—y'all breathe. I saw y'all; that's how y'all look—how like, "Damn, she intense." They didn't get you the memo. I came for your breakthrough. I came to inspire you beyond any other moment you may have had some inspiration around how you use your voice, how you own the power of your voice. Because see, one time, at one time, I didn't know I had a voice. I didn't know someone would listen to my voice. I didn't know my voice mattered. I remember I was the first class of bus students, way back in the day. I was the first class of bus students to the valley, right here in Canoga Park. And I always say they told us in the inner city that we were going to the valley, but they forgot to tell the valley we were coming. And I remember I had never—I had never seen myself as anything less than anybody. I just didn't have that conversation until I went there, until I went there. And—and I remember they were having tryouts for Charlie's Angels—remember Charlie's Angels? You young bucks—I'm not talking about the new ones, talking about the old-school Charlie's Angels, you know, Farrah Fawcett and Kate Jackson, right? And they were having tryouts for Charlie's Angels and the Bionic Woman—you remember Lindsay Wagner? Lindsay Wagner was amazing. And I said, "Oh my god, this is my chance." See, I had been teased every day of the school year. I—there was this one kid, Brian, and Brian would remind me every day that God had made a mistake when God had created me. He would say things like, "Lisa, God dropped you in the tar pit, and God left you in the oven too long," and got—and I—and I summarized it as, "Damn, I'm God's mistake," really. And every day Brian would do that. So about three months into the school year, when they had tryouts, I was—our—I was always asked—well, I lived in South Central, so I was just fast, let me be honest and clear, but we can transcribe that—so athletic and so—so when they had tryouts, I said, "Oh my god, if I try out and I make it and I become one of Charlie's Angels or I become the Bionic Woman, then I belong." See, I just wanted to belong. Anybody know what I'm talking about when you just wanted to belong? Hands up. One hand up or two hands—above that's really huge. I just wanted to belong. Whether you want to belong to your family, you want it to belong to your community, I just wanted to belong, with it by any means necessary. So I was excited on this day. I mean, I'm practicing at home; I'm doing all the little things I think they might ask us to do. And 40 girls, 40 excited girls, stepped up to the line to be considered to do the three things that you had to do, the three, you know, challenges you have to cross in order to become one of the Charlie's Angels or the Bionic Woman. I was the only little chocolate girl there, just looking like a little kiss, right? So the first event was the hundred-yard—ready, set, go! And I ran, ran, ran, ran, ran. When I cross the finish line, the first person that just hit the 50-yard mark—"Lisa Nichols wins the first event!" I'm like, "Yes! One down, two to go. I'm almost in; I'm almost gonna belong." Second event. Second event. Oh my god, it was like they had so many things; they—they—they—they kept deciding, and now it's like 20 girls left; it's like 20 girls left, and we're all standing there, and they're, "Okay, so now we want you guys to—to jump over a chair." And every girl jumped over the chair, and they jumped—in some didn't quite clear the chair; some parents have to go to the dentist immediately—but I did something different. When I bent down to go over the chair, I did a little extra—eye—when I came up on—when I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—I—and I leaped over the chair, and I landed, and then I feel some Wonder Woman owner. They were confused; they don't know what hit them. They said, "Lisa Nichols won the second event as well!" And then the third and final event was the rolls, stopping, freeze, sucker—you remember that? You're not—you don't—you very important—you have to like do your hair right—and I did it perfect, on the dime. So in the final like eight, nine girls are sitting on the line. I'm like, "Oh my god, my life is gonna change right now. I'm going to belong." See, the people that you're going out to speak to, the people that you'll speak to one to one or one to small group or one to many are online through a webinar or Facebook or however you touch them—all they want to do is belong. And so I'm standing on the line, and I'm like, "Oh, life is about to look way different. Like, the first thing I'm gonna do is get my other Charlie's Angels girl, get my Bionic Woman, and we're gonna go and punch Brian first." I got to get in first; I got to get in. I mean, I was in the fifth grade, y'all, right? And so they said, "Charlie's Angels number one—Diane." Okay, that's not my name. Diane is excited, but—guy—yes, yes. She goes to the side. Now there's three judges, three girls and one guy. She must be Charlie, but—"School Charlie's Angels number two—Teresa." Okay, that's cool. Let's go. I got one more—Charlie's Angels or the Bionic Woman. That's all right. Sorry, it's good—"Charlie's Angels number three—Kim." It's good. I like the Bionic Woman anyway. She just shows through. That's alright; that's alright; that's alright—"Bionic Woman—yes, yes, yes. The Bionic Woman is—look—Linda." That's not my name. I thought they made a mistake; they meant to say Lisa, until I saw Linda running over to the judges, jumping up and down and running with her other new team members—new super—she rose—jumping up and down. I realize—I said, "That's okay." They said they was gonna pick one alternate, one alternate. "I'll be the alternate. Somebody gotta get the flu, the chickenpox, somebody—somebody. I'm gonna be right there; I'm not missing a day of school today." She missed school; I'm gonna be hit right there, and the alternate—she'll be—I stood there for a moment. I can hear a few boos, a few people upset, and I finally mustered up the nerves to go over to the judges, and I still wonder why did I do that? He sent me in a spiral years, but in the moment I didn't know what they were about to say. I didn't know what was about to hit me right in the face. I said, "Excuse me, why didn't you choose me? I won every single event. I ran the fastest, huh? Rolls, stop them, freeze, sucker, on the diamond. The asphalt was hot. I jumped over the chair, and I made the sound effects." And one of the judges—long, beautiful blonde hair—she said, "Lisa, we know you won every event, but we couldn't choose you which Charlie's Angels are the Bionic Woman will you ever look like." And that day was the day that I began to blame myself for my story. I don't know if any of you have ever been born into a conversation or an experience, an economic reality, a geographical location, an origin, a culture, religious anybody, and you—you ask yourself one day or another, "Why me? Here? Hello? Somebody?" This means you—gotta raise your hand if you can fill it. Yeah, y'all like, "Man, this is deep." And so I begin this conversation—"Why me? Why me this skin? Why me this community? Why me this culture? Why me this family? Why can I've been born in Canoga Park? Why I've visited where it looked like everything was great, and they got to be the super Shiros? Why?" For the next 15 years I asked that. For the next 15 years I said inside a personal blame and more than anything shame conversation. Anybody know what I'm talking about? For the next 15—all I tried to do was prove I was good enough, prove I was smart enough, prove that I was worthy of choosing. Anybody know what I'm talking about? And then I—I discovered that I wanted to begin to use my voice. I—I—I could hear this thing in my voice when I spoke, and I said, "I—I think there's something; I think there might be a gift up under all that junk." And I begin to try my voice out, and I was in a church, and I—I was delivering a poem. I won't do all of it, but it—it the beginning of it was something like this: "My beautiful sisters frying their brains, going insane right at the end of my block. Beautiful brothers exterminating, terminating, terminating himself, assassinating all for the sake of the rock at the end of my block." See, it was about my community, and it was in my church, so I—I wanted to let them know that I saw them—my—my mother, my—my beautiful brothers exterminating, terminating, and self-assassinating all for the sake of my rod. My black mom was being robbed on my back doorstep. Babies are being killed right at my feet. Brothers executing brothers on my front line. Oh, someone's grandfather's dying from not enough to eat right at the end of my block. "What is this bizarre, deranged, and insane occurrence? This is life, breath, in existence in my world at the end of my block. Should I run? Should I hide? Should I leave? Damn, want to cry? Should I become a part of the problem? Lord, how do I become a part of the solution? All's I know is that I will be a part of something good right here, right now, on my block." And at the end of the speech, I got a roaring standing ovation from the 15,000 people that were in this church. It was the biggest standing ovation, biggest audience I've ever spoke in front of. And as I'm walking through the audience—"Michael, would you help me down? Would you guys turn the lights on and keep the cameras going? I might move a little bit as I—as I thank you." My walk through the audience—people are put their hands on my shoulders—"Lisa, job well done. Lisa, job well done. Lisa, job well done." And all of a sudden I heard this voice that was so familiar, with this hand on my shoulder. She said, "You were amazing." And I turned around, and I looked, and it was television's Bionic Woman, Lindsay Wagner. I immediately said, "I wanted to be you in the fifth grade. I ran real fast. I won every event. I did—" You know how you hold on to your junk, right? Come on, you guys. How many of you—your future is trying to open up to you, but you won't let go of your past? Come on, you guys. Come on, you guys. Let's just tell the truth. There's a lesson in this story. So many things are trying to come to you; so many doors are trying to open, but we're so attached to who we've been that we can't quite become all of who we're supposed to be. In that moment, in that moment, I—I said, "I—I—I did—you—I bent down; I jumped; I doo doo doo doo doo." No, really, I did that. I said it; I'm not just saying that for y'all. I mean, I was thought was all in my story. Some of us are all in our story. And I looked at—I said, "They said I couldn't—I couldn't be you because I was black. They said I couldn't be you because I'd never looked like you." And I knew I could never make myself look like you. I'd do a lot of things well, but I don't do blonde. I didn't say that part, but I have to say that. I have to say that right now. I said, "I—I wanted to be you, and they wouldn't let me be you." And I—I began to cry, and I—as you can see, still years later, it's still that thing for me. And she looked at me with the most gentle, beautiful hand. She did something like this—if he would stand up and just be me. She said, "So," right? I cried. She said, "Sweetheart," she said, "I'm an actress," she said, "I'm in Hollywood," she said, "You, with your journey, you are the true Bionic Woman." And something—something shifted that day. I—I no longer could fit in my own story. There becomes a time when you no longer fit in your old story. I think that day is today, but that there's a new—there's a new part to trying to be born for you, and it requires you to own every part of the past, but on every part of the possibility. And on the other side of that, the diamonds that will drop out of your mouth, the—the diamonds that will come birthing from your soul, the seeds that will—
Be planted in the harvest that will grow. You will be barely recognizable, but better than that are the people around you; how their lives will shift. Cuz when you change, you is just one person, but when you become a force to be reckoned with, then your voice permeates over 800 people or so.
[Applause] [Music]
Thank you. I want to play a piece because we all have pasts; we all have journeys. We're all finding ourselves, finding our souls, finding who we are, rediscovering, we're all reinventing ourselves. But we first have to give ourselves permission to be reinvented. We have to give ourselves permission to be rediscovered by us; give ourselves permission to fall real hard, stay down sometimes too long, and still get back up mighty and strong. I just believe that that's where you are; that's why you're here listening to this message. I want you to listen to something; I want you to hear something, see something. It'll sound familiar to you; you'll know where it comes from. And I want this piece to stir your soul, to disrupt you. Because one of the other points of being a powerful messenger is you have to be willing to disrupt and be disrupted. So if you will, play this piece.
I have a dream that one day on the Red Hills of Georgia, sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream to be—I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today. What you don't know—what most of you don't know—is that that's the same man that sat at his dining room table and wrote a letter to God about six years prior to that message. And in his letter to God, he said, "I'm scared; I'm afraid, and I want to give up." In this letter—I mean, it said—is the true letter; it's the one that's the least seen, but it's the one that's the most inspiring for me. Cuz then this letter, he says, "I—my father and my mother constantly worry about me. I have a new wife"—he and Coretta had just been married—"he said I have one beautiful daughter"—he had only had one child at the time—"he said in there, now throwing bombs through my windows. I'm afraid." And then the same letter, he says, "I want to quit." You don't see Dr. King like that, huh? See, that wasn't Dr. King sitting at the dining room table; that was Martin—little Martin. He said, "I'm afraid to keep going," but get this: he said, "I'm more afraid that if I stop, the people will stop as well."
Are you willing to rise above your own fear storms? Are you willing to push past your own bare years? Are you willing to confront and confront your need to be validated in every moment for the sense of growing who you are? Are you—are you willing to confront procrastination? Are you willing—are you willing to do what Martin had to do? Every time I read this letter, I cry because that's me; that letter's me. I don't know if I'll be that girl; I hope to one day. I get to touch the world, maybe a smidgen of how he does it, but I—I know that Martin at the dining room table, and so do you. When I—I look at Nelson Mandela—he spent 27 years in prison and came out and led the largest forgiveness movement on the planet. But I also realized that that's the same Nelson Mandela that had bust so much limestone year after year, day after day, hour after hour, but he could never look into a camera directly, and he could no longer cry because his tear ducts had dried out—a sacrifice for the service. Are you willing—are you willing to rise above your wounds and your discomforts and your limitations and see them all as possibility? Are you willing? I—I'm your sister in the journey, sent here to disrupt any form of mediocrity in you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. And to call you to use your voice. Because see, when playing small—that space where people play small in—is so crowded with everybody playing small. But that place where change agents stand—and then the feet in the face of fear with knees knocking and teeth chattering and they still stand—that place is awful. Rumi. I want to play something else for you because in the spirit of using your voice and my tribe and my crew from yesterday—you guys will see—and you're seeing today a lot of what I taught you yesterday, right? You're seeing it; you're gonna see it here. So when you—when you look at elevating yourself as a speaker, I say track some people who like poetry, cuz poetry has a dance about it. You don't have to do poetry; you don't have to, but track it, and then listen to the message, then find your own voice in the rhythm that you want. I want to share this young man with you—very powerful. I think it's only fitting that I share him with you after Dr. King. And you can roll that piece because there's no debate about who is the greatest because all those other artists you mentioned—yeah, the greatest—made—oh, and see this artist—he's a beast—ally in the name of names. You don't even realize it, but you encounter his art every day, and he deserves all of the acclaim; it deserves all of the fame because all other artists pass away, but he remains. Oh, by the way, his name is God—Yahweh, creator, your maker. He's infinitely creative, sir. There is no one greater. And I can tell it looks like you're starting to get mad at me, but don't be jealous just because your favorite artist might bend words, and my favorite artist bends galaxies. See, from the palm of his hand, he holds all the sand—the author of life. When he whispered, "Let us make man," see, what if I told you that you are God's poetry? You were created because someone else was creative. See, long ago he picked up his eternal paintbrush, dipped it in his glory, placed us in his story, and said, "They would live for me." And I know it sounds outlandish, but we're not the product of random chances, and in fact, we're not even the vine; we're actually the branches. In the same way, we're not the artists; we're actually the canvas. I mean, he's the one that gave Van Gogh the imagination that changed the face of painting. Tell me who else is responsible for Mozart being able to compose at age five with that form of training? So he made the fingers that Beethoven used to make art on the for pizza. He made Stevie Wonder—one of the best musicians of our time—and he couldn't even see. And that's why, in the same way that our lives are borrowed time, this poem is borrowed lines. Because the most ridiculous statement we could ever say is that this poem is mine because we're not self-sustaining; though we're not self-creating, technically nothing we do is original; we're just imitating. And that's not a diss; all I'm trying to say is this: even our own creativity is nothing more than an outflow of his. And so I'll end with this: you know that quote about giving credit where credit is due? Well, if that's true, it's about time we give God his rightful credit—because he's a God in the business of making all things new. And here's the truth: he's not through with making a masterpiece of you.
[Music]
So—so how can you use—how can you use that gift that God—the universe—whatever your higher powers has given you to touch the soul? You look at that young man, and he's just as powerful as Dr. King—different platform, same message—as one. So I challenge you, and I charge you—I challenge you, and I charge you—to do that thing called you to the best of your ability.
[Music]
I stopped by to invite you to be creative, to invite you to be outrageous, to invite you to be self-forgiving, to invite you to celebrate all the parts of your past. You are the superhero of your own story; you are your own Bionic Man and Bionic Woman. I stopped by to remind you that your voice is so beautiful, so necessary, and right on time. What better time than now?
[Applause]