I gave my first cybersecurity conference talk at CornCon recently. It was called “What the Hack is AWS?: A Beginner’s Guide to AWS Penetration Testing,” and I was excited to share it. I had four prerecorded video demonstrations embedded in my PowerPoint slides. Those demos were the part I was most looking forward to showing people. They were where the things I was explaining would actually come together on screen.
Only one of them played.
I’ve been thinking about that experience a lot since then. Partly because it was disappointing. Partly because I have another opportunity to give the same talk a week from tomorrow, and I’m trying to carry what I learned into that room without carrying all the discouragement with it.
Getting up there in the first place was a big deal for me. Public speaking makes me nervous as hell. It’s something I’ve never felt particularly good at, and I don’t think I would have submitted this talk anywhere if my supervisor hadn’t encouraged me. My supervisor believed the presentation was worth sharing publicly and helped me build enough confidence to actually submit it.
I sent it to CornCon and BSides Peoria. Both accepted it.
I believed in the talk too. That mattered. Even with the nerves, I was excited about the material and especially the demos. I wanted someone to watch them and think, “Wow, penetration testing AWS looks kind of cool. Maybe I should learn it.” The possibility of getting someone interested made me want to push through the part that scared me.
The presentation was downloaded onto the laptop provided for me to use at CornCon. When I reached the slide that was supposed to automatically start my first demo, nothing happened.
I started going through PowerPoint, trying to figure out what was wrong. Was it a version compatibility issue? A playback setting? Something else? I still don’t know exactly what caused it. What I did know was that I was standing in front of an audience, my demo wasn’t playing, and I couldn’t find a quick fix.
There’s only so much troubleshooting you can do while you’re supposed to be giving a talk.
Eventually, I had to apologize and skip it. I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice and continue with the presentation, but that was harder than I expected. After that first demo failed, I felt like I kept stumbling over words and losing my train of thought. I was still talking, but part of my attention was stuck on what had just gone wrong.
The second demo played, thankfully. For a moment, there was some relief.
Then the third wouldn’t play. Neither would the fourth.
That was the part that really got to me. I believed those demos were what made the presentation shine. They gave me a way to show the audience what I was talking about, and I was excited for people to see them. Having to move past three of them felt like leaving out so much of what I wanted to share.
By the time the talk was over, I wanted to cry.
I was upset, frustrated, and disappointed. This was my first time presenting a talk in my cybersecurity career, and I hated that this was how it had gone. I wanted to feel good about finally doing it. Instead, I kept thinking about the videos that wouldn’t play and how discouraged I’d felt trying to continue.
But something else happened afterward that has stayed with me.
Jason, a sales rep from my company, came up to me and told me I’d done a great job. He said I’d recovered well when the videos wouldn’t play. We had only officially met in person that day, and he was so kind and sincere about it. I really appreciated that, especially when I was feeling so disappointed in how things had gone.
He also told other people at my company how well I’d done and how I’d persevered through the technical problems. I received messages from coworkers with encouragement and compliments, and those meant a lot to me too.
I had been so focused on the parts that went wrong that it was hard to give myself credit for continuing. Hearing someone who was there say I’d recovered well gave me something else to consider. I could feel disappointed about the demos and still recognize that getting through the rest of the talk counted for something.
That didn’t immediately make the frustration go away. When something matters to you, disappointment doesn’t disappear just because you understand that technical problems happen. But I’m grateful there were people willing to remind me of what I was having trouble seeing for myself.
A few days went by before I started thinking more seriously about what came next. I knew I had another opportunity to present “What the Hack is AWS?” at BSides Peoria. I still wanted people to see the demos. I still wanted to give this talk. That part hadn’t changed.
So I’m going to give it again.
At BSides, I’ll be able to use my own laptop, where I know the presentation works. That takes away one of the uncertainties I had at CornCon. Between now and then, I’m going to keep rehearsing so the material stays fresh in my mind and I feel more comfortable walking through it again.
I’m trying to stay positive. I also want to be honest that deciding to try again doesn’t instantly undo how the first experience felt. I’m still disappointed. I still wish it had gone differently. And yes, part of me wants that feeling of redemption: to finally give the presentation the way I intended and show the parts I was so excited about.
I also keep coming back to why I wanted to share this presentation. I want people to get curious about AWS penetration testing. I want someone who hasn’t tried it to see what it can look like and feel interested enough to start learning. I still believe this talk can do that, and I still believe I can work through the nervousness of giving it.
That’s why I wanted to write about this before BSides, while I’m still preparing for another attempt. I don’t have a story yet about how the next talk went beautifully and everything worked. What I have is a disappointing first experience and the decision to get up there again.
If you’ve had a talk go sideways, especially your first one, I understand why you might hesitate to do it again. It’s hard to put yourself in front of people and then have something you were counting on fail. Give yourself some time to be upset about it. Look at what you can change for next time. And when another opportunity comes along, I hope you’ll consider taking it.
And if someone offers you sincere encouragement afterward, give yourself a chance to hear it. I’m glad Jason told me what he saw. I’m glad my coworkers reached out. I’m glad my supervisor believed this talk was worth submitting before I had the confidence to do it myself. Their support has meant a lot as I get ready to try again.
I wish my first talk had gone differently. I’m going to keep rehearsing for my second. There’s still someone I’m hoping to reach who might walk out thinking, “Maybe I should learn this.”