You know the place. It’s that magical room where we all become legends. The porcelain stage, the water-pounding backbeat, the soapy loofah microphone. In there, we are all freaking amazing. We hit the high notes, we drop the rhymes, we solve the world’s problems with a bellow that sets the world ablaze. But then what happens? We step out, towel off, and slip right back into our “inside voice.” That rock star gets left behind in the steam, replaced by the person who thinks, “Oh no, I could never say that out loud,” “That’s not for me,” or “I’m not a storyteller.” We let that one limiting belief lodge itself in our throat and choke out the very voice the world is waiting to hear.
Listen, that’s not just you. That’s everybody. As a Grammy Nominated Spoken Word Artist Sekou Andrews, I’ve seen it from the green room to the boardroom. The most common thing standing between you and your next level isn’t a lack of ideas—it’s a throat full of “I can’t.” People think a motivational poet or a vanguard artist is born with the volume at 11, but the journey to becoming a leading voice in any field isn’t about being fearless; it’s about learning how to sing to your fear. Every great spoken word artist, from the world’s best to the person just starting with instapoetry, knows this secret. Before I, Grammy Nominated Poet Sekou, even think about crafting the top, most inspiring, or most inspirational message, I have to clear my own limiting beliefs. That’s the real work behind powerful spoken word poetry—getting out of your own way so the story can come through.
So here’s my challenge to you. The next time you’re about to step onto a stage, into a meeting, or just hit “send” on a big idea, take a second. Go back to that shower. Find that burn in your throat that feels like a shotgun cocking, a door unlocking, a needle dropping onto the real you. Give yourself a 15-second solo, even if it’s just in your head. You gotta clear out the junk that’s in here (points to head) before you can deliver the fire that’s in here (points to heart). Go on, give your inner critic a private concert. You might be surprised when it starts asking for an encore.
