My TED Talk

This is not going to be a blog post about what I would talk about if I actually had the chance to get on stage at TED. I am getting on stage at TED. At TED University to be precise. And with three days to go before I do this thing, I kind of wish I was writing a blog about a hypothetical scenario. My nerves are killing me.

The conference is being held in Oxford, England, which kind of infuses the entire four days with an intellectual heaviness. Yes, TED is heady stuff. One goes to these gatherings a mental homunculus and leaves like Faust squeaking across the glass ceiling of heaven.

But Oxford, with it’s literary history, adds to the weightiness (is there another place in the Western world that’s been home at one time or another to more intellectuals and legendary book worms?). Then there’s the fact that my talk is about … a book! One that I wrote, no less.

But indeed, my book is nothing like the sun. I would not compare it to a summer’s day. It’s called Manspace and it’s about the spaces men create for themselves. You know — bars, hangouts, back rooms, workshops, and stuff like that.

One might cringe at the juxtaposition of this book – shelved at your local bookstore under “Architecture” or perhaps even “Interior Design”— alongside the gilded literary halls of Oxford, but the book is not the story here. This story is how I actually came to be a TED University “Professor.”

“Opportunity comes to those who are prepared,” I always tell my two sons. It also helps to know people.

Earlier this year, my colleagues at frog and I were meeting with Bruno Giussani, the magnanimous European director for TED, and Emily McManus, TED’s charming editorial director. After several months of courtship, we had agreed to be a conference sponsor by producing the TEDGlobal program guide, a 180 page, perfect-bound book that presents bios of all this year’s speakers along with other fun content and crucial information for conference attendees. I was the managing editor on the book (which basically means I made sure everyone was happy and supplied and heard and on schedule; it looks great, by the way; award winning, even).

So, we’re having the post-meeting lunch (good feelings all around, as there often are with exciting new partnerships), and Tim, my colleague, says “Sam wrote a book.”

“Oh?” said Bruno. “Tell us about this book.”

So I told them it’s about the spaces men carve out for themselves in the attics, garages, outbuildings, basements, and spare bedrooms, of the world. In 2006, I tracked down about 50 men with these wacky spaces and made a book about it.

As I’m telling my story, Bruno and Emily are looking at each other with a “are you thinking what I’m thinking” kind of look, and when I’m finished Bruno said “I’ll make you a deal. You send me a book and you can give a talk on the subject at TED University.” (TED U happens the morning before the main conference at TED; it is apparently quite popular; the other speakers attend; I get to wear a headset microphone; I’m not sure what to wear; etcetera; etcetera).

And that was that. A casual lunch becomes an amazing opportunity — one to tell my kids about. But first I have to live through the talk without dissolving into a puddle before the intense gaze of the audience members, many of whom could easily be TED speakers themselves.

So yes I’m nervous, but I consider that a good thing. It’s a challenge. And challenges are adventures. What’s the alternative? Declining the offer? Staying home? Forget it!

As Bertrand Piccard, the Swiss balloonist and adventurer says, it’s when we get pushed off of our habits, when we feel lost, whether that’s in the middle of the Pacific or in the drama of life — that’s when the real adventure begins.

Now I need to go rehearse.

— Sam Martin