The Speech That Got Away.

And Other Toastmaster Tragedies.

Every speaker has three speeches when it comes to herself—one prepared, one delivered, and one she wishes she delivered. When it comes to extempore speaking, or what Toastmasters calls Table Topics, it’s a little different: one delivered, one I wish I delivered, and one that the other speaker should have delivered.

So, when I returned to the club after five months, it felt like a homecoming—incidentally, the theme for the day. And February, as it happens, is the month of decluttering—clearing out the unnecessary, making space for what matters. The Table Topics Master called me up and handed me this scenario:

“You need to tell the Marriott management that you are the best candidate to take over as GM.”

Now, my brain, the ever-efficient mischief-maker, decided that this was the perfect time to go on strike. So instead of standing tall and delivering a well-crafted, persuasive speech about my unparalleled leadership skills, I found myself caught between three speeches:

1. The One That Refused to Make It to the Stage:
   • “I am a woman of substance, and you have visible proof of it.”
   • “I’m with Toastmasters, so my communication can only get better.”
   • “I am charming, intelligent, and possess outstanding organizational and troubleshooting skills. Do you doubt it?”
   • “Try time management when you’re juggling the schedule of two teenage daughters and one husband.”
   • “With one child, we are parents. With the second, we become referees. So, handling interpersonal problems is child’s play for me.”
   • “As for troubleshooting, let’s just say I knock someone’s teeth out and get paid for it—my current profession is dentistry, after all.”
   • “Well, I start tomorrow, 8 AM, right?”

That was the speech that could have won me the job. That was the speech I should have delivered. But instead, my brain pulled off an Olympic-level gymnastics routine and landed on a completely unrelated track.

2. The Speech That Landed on My Brain Instead:

What if your psychiatrist told you that you need psychiatric help?

What rubbish! Me? Needing help? Clearly, he’s the one in need—legal help, at that. It should be against the law to charge someone for being mentally disturbed when they are obviously raving normal.

So what if I wash my hands obsessively and clean every nook and cranny like my life depends on it? It’s not a problem—it’s decluttering! A necessary cleansing ritual, an exercise in mental peace. My obsession with tidiness? Just my brain Marie Kondo-ing my surroundings.

Fetish, my dainty foot! My psychiatrist is the one with issues—his mind needs cleaning. Maybe that’s my true karma—to rid the world of psychiatrists and fill it with sane people instead.

You see how my brain functions? Instead of fighting for a hypothetical job as General Manager of Marriott, I end up fighting imaginary psychiatrists over a diagnosis that doesn’t even exist.

So there I was, back at Toastmasters, five months older, none the wiser, and thoroughly convinced that my extempore speaking abilities had taken a long vacation and left me behind. And perhaps, that’s exactly what I needed—decluttering the cobwebs of self-doubt and unnecessary mental clutter that accumulated over my absence.

Of course, by the time I sat down, my brain decided to play a cruel joke on me by crafting the perfect response—the one I should have given, the one that would have had the audience roaring with laughter and the Marriott management offering me the job on the spot. But, as always, it arrived fashionably late, after the moment had passed.

So what did I actually say on stage? Something vague, something nervous, something that had no relation to what I had planned in my head. But that’s the magic of Table Topics, isn’t it? You never quite know what’s going to come out of your mouth.

All in all, it was a good return to Toastmasters. It reminded me why I loved it, why I hated it, and why I kept coming back despite my brain’s best efforts to sabotage me. Because at the end of the day, speaking is not about perfection—it’s about presence, and if nothing else, I was very much present in that moment, arguing with an imaginary psychiatrist in front of a room full of Toastmasters.

Maybe next time, my brain and I will be on the same page. Or maybe, just maybe, I should apply for that GM position at Marriott after all.

You know, just in case.