Speak, and Ye Shall Be Healed

Strange that I think words are impotent, especially now, because one of my life's goals is to speak at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park (London, England). At this point, it would likely be a "day trip." Fly in to Heathrow Airport, get directions to Hyde Park, walk or catch a cab (a lorry? Hugh Laurie?), give the speech, probably record it on a tape recorder in my pocket, rush back to Heathrow, fly back stateside.

Why do I want to do this? I don't really know. Wanderlust factors in. So does anglophilia. But I hate public speaking. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I would have rather (and metaphorically have) died than speak to groups greater than one.

And yet, there's something historic about Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park. Granted, my sophomoric rantings wouldn't compare to the classic speeches given there, but they would be my rantings. I would be all alone, no support. In the past, I have shined in those all-too-rare instances where I stood alone against "the mob." Even more, it would symbolize my growth, my ability to break out beyond the narrow margins my youth and childhood charted about me.

I have never spoken in front of others without some sort of prodding. But the few speeches I have given turned out gangbusters. The last time I spoke in public, my hands shook so hard they went numb, turned a pale blue. At the same time, several strangers commented favorably, stating it was the greatest wedding speech they'd ever heard.

Do i expect everything to fall together like a game of Tetris, eliminating blocks left and right, if I go to Speaker's Corner? No. But maybe, just maybe, I can forget this painful shyness that plagues me, even for a few scant moments.

Don't even ask what I would talk about. Once I purchase the ticket, I'll decide, but not until then. To be fair, though I've toyed with a lot of topics, one that I keep coming back to is love. Why? Damned if I know.