As Big as Google, as Small as a Smile
This week's surprising speaking gig reminded me of simple advice from the early days of TWLOHA.
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“No matter how big this thing gets, it will always be made up of individuals.”
Those words have stayed with me since 2006. We were in the early days of TWLOHA and things were taking off. The momentum and excitement were undeniable, creating a chance to do more than tell one story, more than help one person.
The heart of the matter was delivering a message of hope and help to people struggling with mental health issues. It would have been easy to look away, to be distracted as surprising doors kept opening—the latest musician wearing one of our shirts, the most recent opportunity or moment of recognition. Could we keep the focus on the mission? Would the main thing continue to be the main thing? As social media metrics and t-shirt sales headed toward a million, what would it look like to honor the idea that TWLOHA will always be made up of individuals?
Earlier this week I had the opportunity to speak to a group of Google employees. Part of the corporation’s focus on mental health, the event was virtual. Googlers—as I learned they’re called—tuned in from all over the world, with others watching the recording later on.
As a speaker, and simply as a person alive in the year 2023, it was pretty cool to think that Google wanted me. Also, receiving a Google Invite for my Google speaking event, and seeing this end up on my Google Calendar, was pretty cool as well. (As for the branded cherry on top, the event took place on Google Meet.)
”If this one goes well, there’s a good chance it leads to more.”
My agent Sean has said these words a few times throughout the 16 years we’ve worked together. It’s safe to say he said them again this week. Sean is super kind and I definitely consider him a friend. I understood that his pre-event note translates to, “This is important. We need you to hit a home run.”
Because I’m human, that translation translates to some pressure. Which is okay.
This week’s event brought me back to the advice I mentioned at the start—the reminder that anything big is made up of individuals. And so I did my best to let go of the idea that I was speaking to Google. The audience was not a corporation. The audience was a group of people who work for a corporation. Speaking to Google is intimidating, and hard to get my head around. Speaking to a person is a privilege, one that still excites me, especially when I get to share what I’ve learned about mental health and suicide prevention, especially when the whole point of me being there is to offer encouragement and hope.
The speaking event for Google was a reminder of something I’ve experienced nearly every time a surprising door has opened in my life, which is that—if we let them—the big opportunities can be a chance to celebrate the small. And that small stuff tends to be connected to what matters most. Which means the small stuff maybe isn’t small.
I wasn’t there to be impressive. An impressive speaker doesn’t serve an audience. A speaker willing to be human, willing to be vulnerable, telling human stories an audience can relate to, this is something of value. And anyway, being impressive tends to feel like being someone other than who we are. As I’ve been reminded over and over, in moments big and small, faking it is too hard. It also probably won’t connect. I decided just to be myself, to do my best to share openly and honestly, from TWLOHA’s surprising start to lessons and stories learned along the way.
More than a decade ago, I met a woman who had lost her brother to suicide in New York City. She told me that in considering her brother’s final steps toward the George Washington Bridge, on the last day of his life, she wondered if anyone noticed him. She wondered if anyone smiled at him. Something as small as a smile, a question, a moment of eye contact—she wondered if this could have changed what happened next. Because if it could have changed the next moment, if it could have changed that awful day, that would have changed everything for her family.
She seemed to suggest the possibility that something small can be enormous, that perhaps we underestimate the power of our actions and our words. She wondered if a smile from a stranger could have saved her brother’s life.
I’ll never forget that. I told the Google folks this story.
After sharing a bit of what I’ve learned about mental health—warning signs and ways to help and where to find help, and how things have changed since 2006—the focus shifted to what I’ve been learning about the importance of connection. It was another chance to focus on the small, because, well, I’ve learned most of this in small groups over the last year.
When vulnerability is met with presence, with kindness and encouragement and compassion, it leads to connection. Which leads to a person feeling seen and heard and known. Which is huge when it comes to mental health. Because if depression and anxiety tell us we’re invisible and alone, if our pain tells us to hide in isolation, connection suggests the opposite. Connection says we heal in the context of other people. We heal in conversation. We heal in relationship.
I’ve had a front row seat for so many of these moments since last fall, eight folks and myself sharing space and going deep for hours at a time. We laugh, we cry, we talk, and most of all we listen. I told the Google folks I hope they get to experience this sort of thing. I don’t mean in an online group with me. I mean I hope they have people they feel safe with, people they can be honest with, people who allow them to feel known. Because if we’re talking about mental health, if we’re talking about what it means to be whole, to be healthy and happy beyond just our work, I’ve come to believe this will require connection. It will require friendship. It will require being open and intentional, to the point of making time for a conversation over coffee, a meal with someone we love.
What a cool opportunity, to be invited by one of the most influential brands on the planet—one that shapes the way we live and the way that we move forward. I didn’t pretend to be an expert in their field. I didn’t pretend to understand the things they work on every day. Instead I did my best to shine a light on things beyond their work, human stuff as difficult as cancer and divorce, questions and confusion, seasons of grief. What a privilege to suggest they didn’t have to go alone, to say that it’s okay to ask for help, to point to resources and solutions. I said I hope they feel like honest relationships—like real friends—are available as well.
U2 is my favorite band. I’ve heard it said that the magic of U2 is their ability to make the personal feel universal, and the universal feel personal. A song inspired by Bono losing his mother as a kid, is shared with tens of thousands in a stadium. Something as collectively felt as grief feels like it was written for one person who relates.
This week’s corporate speaking gig will stay with me. It’s a world I hope to keep exploring, because it seems a healthy challenge—to take something as big as an invite from Google, and use it to highlight something as small as a smile.
The reminder from years ago holds true, that big things are made up of individuals, that people are the most important thing. The mission, the challenge, the gift—is to see another person. And then perhaps to say the thing we see, with words or by the movement of our face. In hopes of saving someone’s brother.
For more information on booking a speaking event, check out Collective Speakers.
Join me this evening (Friday, 6/30) for “I Wish I Had More Friends,” a small-group conversation about the challenges of friendship among adults. We’ll meet at 7pm eastern. It would be great to have you in the mix.
If you’re curious about working together one-on-one in the month of July, I have some availability. To learn more about coaching and consulting, my website can help.
There's so much in this post I could comment on, but I feel compelled to write about the woman's brother who died by suicide. It immediately reminded me of the book, The Bridge. Partially because of the setting, but also because you never know what impact you can have on someone's life. I like to think that I've saved a life or two with sharing my own stories or by being compassionate or by not taking a chance that my friend was exaggerating about how much Advil she took and calling 911. I think about my own suicide attempts. I don't ever want to tell her this because I don't want to put this pressure on her but my oldest niece is the reason I'm alive. The first time I started to overdose, I stopped myself partway through because I didn't want my niece to have a family history of an aunt who died by suicide. I didn't want to increase the statistical probability that she would have Depression and increase her risk of suicide. Mostly, I didn't want to be one more adult in her life who let her down by leaving. These motivations have prevented me from following through ever since. This is my story, though; I know that there are so many suffering without this kind of anchor.
Raw honesty time. I struggle in my current neighborhood because I want to be that light - that smiling stranger - when I walk my Gracie Blue. But it's a rougher neighborhood with a lot of transients, and while they maybe need it most, I'm scared that I'll be pegged as "soft" or an easy target, and as a single female living alone, I can't afford that. But I do smile and engage with those who give me the opportunity. There's a man who plays flute or saxophone on the corner by the grocery store and I always say hi to him and ask how he's doing and I say "God bless" because he's said it to me so I know that he's a believer. I talk to some of the guys who run the free cellphone booths down the street and I will talk to anyone who stops to ask about Gracie. If someone says that Gracie is a good dog or beautiful (both of which she is... usually), I light up and say thank you. Maybe Gracie Blue does the smiling for me. I hope she does. I hope it's enough.
Thank you for this! It had me thinking about how I talk to my family. I know when their words are uplifting (or just the opposite) it has a tremendous effect on my day. I find that I’m actually kinder when talking to strangers or coworkers many days.
I know there have been studies on saying whatever is on your mind means you’re comfortable with family and close friends, but it’s good to remember that our words and actions can change a mood rather quickly - and for the better, hopefully!