If you’ve been following along, you probably know that I’m getting ready to travel to Italy to give a TEDx talk.
Even typing that sentence feels a little surreal.
Italy. TEDx. Me.
There’s a part of me that wants to jump up and down and scream, “THIS IS HAPPENING!” And then there’s another part of me that would like to politely ask, “Whose idea was this again?”
I have spoken on stages for years. I teach mindset. I teach people how to regulate stress, change the way they think, get out of autopilot, and use their minds and bodies differently. So naturally, you would think I would be floating around my house in a perfectly regulated state of peace and gratitude right now.
That would be adorable.
The truth is, preparing for this talk has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect.
When I first said yes, I knew it would take work. What I didn’t realize was just how much work goes into creating a short talk. You would think fewer minutes would mean less work. Nope. Apparently, when every word matters, you get to obsess over ALL of them.
I have written it, rewritten it, practiced it, changed it, practiced it again, questioned a sentence I’ve already said 147 times, put it back the way it was, and then wondered why I changed it in the first place.
At this point, my husband may be able to give the talk if something happens to me.
And through all of this, regular life didn’t exactly send me an email saying, “Hey Anna Marie, we heard you have a big opportunity coming up, so we’ve cleared your schedule.”
Wouldn’t that be nice?
I’m still a wife. I’m still a mom. I’m still running a business. There are employees, clients, decisions, emails, kids, appointments, responsibilities, travel plans and laundry that apparently does not care that I’m preparing for one of the biggest stages of my life.
That has probably been one of the biggest lessons in all of this.
Growth doesn’t always arrive when life is calm.
Sometimes the opportunity we prayed for shows up right in the middle of everything else.
And I think we have this idea that when something is meant for us, it should somehow feel easy. We’ll be confident. Certain. Calm. We’ll wake up every morning overflowing with gratitude and skip through the house shouting affirmations.
But what I’m learning—again—is that we can be incredibly grateful and still feel nervous.
We can know something is meant for us and still wonder whether we’re ready.
We can be excited and uncomfortable at the exact same time.
Those feelings don’t cancel each other out.
I’ve caught myself saying, “I’m excited,” whenever I feel the nerves coming up. And I am excited. Truly. But if I’m being truthful, there have also been moments where my body has said, “Excited? Interesting choice of words.”
My shoulders have been tight. My neck has been tight. There have been moments when I’ve felt the pressure of knowing that this isn’t just another presentation. There is one recording. One opportunity to stand on that stage and share an idea I deeply believe in.
And suddenly, the woman who teaches everyone else about mindset gets another opportunity to practice what she teaches.
Funny how life does that.
I keep coming back to the same reminder: I don’t have to be perfect. I need to be present.
I don’t need 500 people to think I gave a perfect talk. I need the person who needs this message to hear it.
That changes everything.
Because when I make it about me, I feel pressure.
Did I remember every word? Did I pause in the right place? Did I say that sentence exactly the way I practiced it? Did I look confident? Did I move correctly?
But when I make it about the message, I feel purpose.
There is a huge difference between the two.
This experience is reminding me that sometimes our next level requires us to become a beginner again. It asks us to be coachable. To practice. To mess up. To question ourselves. To keep going. To walk into rooms where we aren’t the expert and allow ourselves to learn.
And our ego doesn’t always love that.
But our growth does.
I also keep thinking about how many times we ask for something bigger and then get frustrated when bigger requires more from us.
We ask for the opportunity, but we’d prefer to skip the stretching.
We pray for growth, but could we maybe get the growth without the uncomfortable part?
We want the stage, but perhaps without the nerves, revisions and approximately 9,000 practice runs in the living room.
Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s how it works.
Sometimes the discomfort isn’t a sign that we’re on the wrong path.
Sometimes it’s evidence that we’re expanding.
In a few days, I’ll get on a plane to Italy with my husband. I’ll eventually make my way to Cortina d’Ampezzo, walk onto that stage, look out at a room full of people in another country and deliver the talk I’ve spent so much time preparing.
Will I be nervous?
Probably.
Will my heart be beating faster than I’d prefer?
Most likely.
Will I have a moment backstage where I question every life decision that led me there?
There’s a solid chance.
But I’m going to walk out there anyway.
Because courage isn’t the absence of nerves. Sometimes courage is feeling all of it and still taking the next step.
Maybe that’s the message I need most right now.
We don’t have to wait until we feel completely ready to do the thing we’re being called to do.
Start the business.
Write the book.
Apply for the opportunity.
Take the trip.
Have the conversation.
Walk onto the stage.
Whatever your “Italy” is, don’t assume the butterflies mean you aren’t ready.
Sometimes they’re just reminding you that you care.
So yes, I’m nervous.
I’m excited.
I’m stretched.
I’m grateful.
And somewhere between practicing my talk, running my business, being a mom, packing for Italy and trying to remember where I put my passport, I’m also trying to soak this in.
Because there was once a version of me who would have thought this moment was impossible.
And I don’t want to be so focused on getting it right that I forget to look around and realize:
I’m living something I once would have only dreamed about.
Italy, here I come.
And yes…I’ll probably be practicing my talk on the plane.
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