I scheduled my first Cybersecurity Basics talk last weekend. I set the event up on Eventbrite and advertised on 2 local websites. I marketed it as an overview of basic cybersecurity practices for the average, everyday person. Turns out, convincing an average person to give up an hour of their weekend and learn about cybersecurity is harder than you might think.

No one showed up.

Granted, only one person signed up for the event, so I wasn’t expecting a big group. I honestly would’ve been surprised if even that one person showed up. Free events are notorious for having about a 50% attendance rate.

One woman happened to be walking by the room and was interested in learning. Turns out, she wasn’t exactly the audience I was expecting. She had only used a computer once or twice and found the concepts difficult to understand. I still gave the presentation, but severely adapted it to her specific situation. It was a challenge to go off script, but I did it and had fun in the process.

You could look at this event and say it was a failure. By most metrics, that would be accurate. But I didn’t plan this event because I knew I’d have 20+ people there, eager to absorb my cybersecurity wisdom. I planned and prepared this event merely to see if I could do it.

Because I’m terrified of taking risks.

Creating the presentation and scheduling the event was a risk. It might be a waste of time and effort. I could have nobody show up or people could show up and I could bomb horribly. I didn’t know how it would turn out.

So I had to take a risk. Taking risks is a skill I’m terrible at. So I need to practice it. And that’s exactly what I did.

It was terrifying to spend so much time setting up the event, creating the talk, and practicing it until I felt good enough to present. I spent a lot of time and worry working on all of it. I had no idea know how it would turn out.

But I did it anyway.

I should be clear, I knew in advance only one person had signed up. I knew it was a long shot that they, or anyone else, would show up. I could’ve cancelled it a week before the event. I could’ve saved myself an extra week of work, and worry,. I could’ve avoided the humiliation sitting in that empty room for over an hour. But I didn’t.

I wanted to prove to myself that even though it was hard, I could still do it. I could keep working on this presentation even if nobody saw it. I could sit and feel embarrassed while people walked by but nobody came in. No matter what happened, I could handle it.

That was really hard, but I’m so proud I did it.

Like any good event, nothing went as planned. But that gave me more practice and experience rolling with the punches. Because life never goes as planned anyway.

I discovered I LOVE talking about cybersecurity. It doesn’t matter who I’m talking with, I love helping people understand it more and helping them protect themselves. Even though my event could be considered a failure, I learned it’s something I could do again and again and again. Because it’s important and I enjoy it.

I also learned I need to invest in learning more about marketing. Taking risks and marketing are two skills I do not have. But that’s okay. I can work on and improve them over time.

And I need to keep making talks and practicing them. It doesn’t matter if I share them with others or not. Because putting together a presentation and practicing it forces me to learn new information and cements it in my mind.

So yeah, I could see this as a failure. But I don’t. I wouldn’t call it a success either, but definitely a growth experience. I learned a ton from putting together this event. I overcame my fears and stuck with it. Doing it, and having it go suboptimally, taught me a lot on how to do things differently.

It might not be considered a success, but I definitely call it a win.