Today I Choose to be Ready – How to be Ready

It was the night before my first executive meeting in Puerto Rico. I had just stepped into a new role, responsible for presenting financials, forecasts, and strategy to a room of people who had been in their seats much longer than me.

I spent days preparing—color-coded spreadsheets, binders of backup data, even practicing how I’d transition from one topic to the next.

I wanted to be ready—bulletproof, polished, impossible to trip up.

The Illusion of Total Readiness

But here’s what was challenging: readiness is never total.

The more I rehearsed, the more I noticed new holes, places where I couldn’t predict what questions might come. My brain kept whispering, “You’re going to miss something. They’ll see through you.”

I barely slept, my stomach knotted like I’d swallowed a stone, hands clammy whenever I imagined sitting at that table.

The hotel’s air conditioning blasted so hard I had goosebumps on my arms, but I was still flushed with heat from nerves. My pen tapped the table in an uneven rhythm. There was a metallic taste in my mouth when my throat went dry.

When Ready Meets Reality

The next morning, I walked into that conference room with my stack of papers and my carefully rehearsed lines. Within ten minutes, someone asked me a question that wasn’t anywhere in my notes.

My heart raced. Palms sweaty. The room seemed to tilt slightly.

But then I took a breath and realized: I can’t be ready for everything. I can only be present for this.

Strangely, a calm settled over me when I realized I could answer, because I understood the principles even if I hadn’t rehearsed that exact question.

The Truth About Being Ready

That moment taught me a truth I carry everywhere now: trying to be perfectly ready is an illusion. Real readiness comes from knowing you’ve done your work, then trusting yourself to handle whatever unfolds.

I’ve been in hundreds of meetings since then. The over-preparation never stopped, but my relationship with readiness changed:

• Ready isn’t knowing all answers; it’s knowing how to find them
• Ready isn’t predicting every scenario; it’s trusting your ability to respond
• Ready isn’t eliminating nervousness; it’s functioning despite it
• Ready isn’t perfection; it’s presence

The Physical Signature of “Ready”

Now I recognize ready in my body:

• The night before: Stomach tight, sleep elusive, mind running scenarios
• The morning of: Hands slightly shaky, breath shallow, hyperfocus on details
• The moment before: Heart racing, mouth dry, sudden doubt about everything
• The moment during: Strange calm, time slowing, words coming from somewhere deeper than preparation
• The moment after: Full body exhale, shoulders dropping, surprised I survived

I’ve learned this cycle is part of ready, not evidence against it.

Overpreparing as Armor

I still overprepare. Last week, for a routine quarterly review, I had fourteen backup slides no one would ever see. But I’ve realized the overpreparing isn’t really about the content—it’s armor against my own fear.

Those color-coded spreadsheets in Puerto Rico weren’t just data. They were my way of saying, “See? I belong here. I did the work.”

The preparation is partly for them, but mostly for me—evidence that I’ve earned my seat at the table, even when imposter syndrome whispers otherwise.

Ready vs. Prepared

There’s a difference:

• Prepared is external—the slides, the data, the rehearsed answers
• Ready is internal—the willingness to show up despite uncertainty
• Prepared is what you bring
• Ready is who you are

That day in Puerto Rico, I was overprepared but still didn’t feel ready. Now I know that feeling “ready” isn’t the point. Being willing to begin despite not feeling ready—that’s the point.

The Questions They Never Ask

In twenty years of executive meetings, here’s what I’ve learned: the questions that matter are rarely the ones you prepared for.

They don’t ask about slide 47. They ask about the assumption underlying slide 3. They don’t want the data you memorized. They want to know what your gut says about the data.

The question that undid me in Puerto Rico led to the best discussion of the meeting. My unrehearsed answer, coming from understanding rather than memorization, created a breakthrough we wouldn’t have had if I’d stayed in my prepared script.

Creating Readiness Rituals

Now I have rituals that help me feel ready enough:

The night before: I lay out everything—clothes, materials, backup battery. Controlling what I can control.

The morning of: Strong coffee, protein breakfast, a walk if possible. Feeding my body for the performance ahead.

The hour before: Review key points only. No new information. Like an athlete warming up, not learning new moves.

The moment before: Three deep breaths. Feet on floor. Remember: I know more than I think I know.

When Ready Feels Impossible

Sometimes ready feels laughably out of reach. The topic is too complex, the audience too intimidating, the stakes too high. Last month, presenting to potential investors, I felt like I was cosplaying as someone who knew what they were doing.

But I showed up anyway. Voice shaking slightly. Hands gripping the clicker too tight. And somehow, in the showing up, ready appeared. Not perfect, not smooth, but sufficient.

The Grace of Good Enough Ready

At 61, I’m learning that “ready enough” is usually enough. The extra three hours of preparation rarely change the outcome. The seventeenth practice run doesn’t make me significantly better.

There’s a point where more preparation becomes procrastination—a way to avoid the vulnerability of actually doing the thing.

Ready as a Practice

Ready isn’t a state you achieve. It’s a practice you develop:

• Practice showing up before you feel ready
• Practice trusting your foundation even when you can’t predict the questions
• Practice breathing through the nervousness
• Practice recovering when you stumble
• Practice being kind to yourself when ready feels impossible

Each time you practice, ready becomes slightly more familiar. Not comfortable, but familiar.

The Unexpected Gift of Unready

That question in Puerto Rico that I wasn’t ready for? It became the most valuable moment of the meeting. My vulnerability in not having a prepared answer created authenticity. My willingness to think out loud created collaboration.

Sometimes being perfectly ready prevents the magic that comes from figuring it out together.

Today’s Version of Ready

This morning, I have another presentation. My materials are prepared, but I don’t feel ready. My stomach has that familiar knot. My mind is running scenarios.

But I know now that this feeling isn’t evidence that I’m not ready. It’s evidence that I care, that it matters, that I’m about to do something that stretches me.

Ready isn’t the absence of nervousness. It’s the presence of willingness.

The Invitation to Begin Before Ready

Whatever you’re preparing for, whatever feels too big or too soon or too much—you don’t have to feel ready. You just have to be willing to begin.

Trust that you know more than you think you know. Trust that your foundation is stronger than your fear. Trust that perfect readiness is a myth, but showing up is magic.

Take the breath. Walk into the room. Open your mouth and let words come. Ready will meet you there, not before.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is, “That’s a great question. Let me think about that for a moment.” And in that pause, in that honesty, in that humanity, you’re more ready than any script could make you.