There are two big mistakes people make with PowerPoint: 1) They make the slides the star; 2) They have boring, unreadable slides.

Most of the advice for improving PP presentations focuses on the second item. But I think the first is much more important.

Here’s the classic example of making the slides the star, and I’m guessing you’ve seen this too. The screen is front and center, the lights are dimmed (so people can see the screen), and the presenter is off to the side at a podium, reading their notes—which happen to be the same, word for word, as what’s on the screen.

Friends, that’s not a presentation. That’s torture. And in large part because there’s absolutely no personal connection with the speaker.

Think about this for a moment. I was at the National Speakers Association’s national convention last Summer. This is an organization made up of the most professional, experienced, and successful speakers in the world. In other words, it’s a group that knows how to connect with an audience! And you know what? In not one of the general sessions did I see a single slide. Not one. There’s a lesson there for all of us.

Being effective with your audience is about connecting with them. And that’s not about slides, it’s about you. People relate to people. Your best tools for connecting are your voice, your body, your stories, and your expertise.

The message is, if you want to improve your presentations, focus on you first and your slides second. Here’s how.

First, as you plan your talk, write the first draft as if there won’t be any slides at all. Just think about what you want to say. Or better yet, what your audience needs to hear. Come up with a good story to open with, and a closing that summarizes your points and sends people off on a positive note. Then, once you have your comments in place, NOW you can start to add in slides, but only to reinforce the points you’re making. Here’s an example:

You: “Today I want to talk to you about three things.”
Slide: 3 Things

You: “The good”
Slide: (Under 3 Things, first bullet appears) The Good

You: “The Bad”
Slide: (Second bullet) The Bad

You: “The Ugly”
Slide: (Text fades to single image) Photo of you in a truly awful sweater.

See? Single words. Large type. No more than four lines of text. Single images. Sparse. Simple. Supporting. This way, you’re the contact, you’re the leader of the discussion, and the slides support you, not the other way around.

The point is, when Margret first introduced me to her folks, I can’t imagine they were too thrilled. I mean, I’m sure I was nice and upbeat and all that. But still, a musician? For their little girl? (Margret is the youngest of seven.) Honestly, it must have sent shivers down their spines. But if it did, they never let me know. From the very first day, Joyce and Jim welcomed me into their family, and have shown me nothing but kindness and respect ever since.

In recent years, Joyce has taken to referring to her children and grandchildren as “Wonderful, beautiful.” She’ll write in birthday cards, “To wonderful, beautiful Peter!” And tell them in person: “Hello, you wonderful, beautiful child!” I must confess that it seems a little over-the-top to me at times, but I can be something of a party-pooper, too, so pay me no mind. The truth is, it’s sweet and sincere, and the kids love her, as does everyone in her life. Or, to be technically correct, I should say, “as did everyone in her life.” Joyce passed away this last weekend.

Joyce Lenarz was 86 years old, the mother of seven children, and had just celebrated her 60th wedding anniversary. She died at home after a hospice period in which her family was able to provide round-the-clock care right up to the end.

I’m thankful to Joyce for many things, number one being welcoming me into the family in the first place. And what a family it is! As I first got to know the them, I used to joke that they were the Von Trapp’s from The Sound of Music—and the joke wasn’t that far off. Two strong, supportive parents; seven genuinely nice and loving children who got along with and cared about each other. The family would even sing together—in three-part harmony—as they cleaned up after meals. (See what I mean?)

Now, no family is without its tensions and conflicts. And my Von Trapp jokes used to irritate Margret, I think for that very reason. But still, one of the greatest good fortunes in my life has been to find myself a member of Jim and Joyce’s family. I’ll be forever grateful to them for making it so effortless.

The second thing I’m thankful to Joyce for came as something of a surprise to me: The chance to experience the beauty of a dignified death. You hear about it, but to see it for yourself is an inspiration. Which is not to say it wasn’t difficult, because of course it was. But so is birth, as well as much of life itself. Joyce’s process, as well as the way the family embraced and supported the process, was truly beautiful to me—and important. I’m sure the rest of my life will be better for having been a part of it.

Finally, I was reminded of the importance of having conversations while we still can. As well as Joyce’s passing went, I also imagine it left some unresolved issues and regrets. How could it not? Can every problem we have with others be resolved before we go? I don’t suppose so. But it seems to me much better to have tried and come up short than to have avoided it until it’s truly too late. In any case, the reminder gives me a new opportunity to test the theory—and I will.

So, for that, and all the rest, thank you, wonderful, beautiful Joyce. You’ve made a real difference in my life. You will be missed.

How about you? Any conversations you would regret not having if it got to be too late? As you head into the holidays and find yourself passing the peas to Uncle Hank, who’s always busting your chops, or cousin Cindy, who just can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business, take a breath and think about it. If so, lighten up, open up, and find a way to have the conversation. It doesn’t have to be today, but do try to do it while you still can.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” you say, “It wasn’t my fault.”

I understand. And I didn’t say it was. But who’s at fault is not the point. The point is that the relationship has gone bad, and that’s no good for either of you.

Besides, I’m not saying you should apologize for whatever it is you’re disagreeing about. In fact, doing so might do more harm than good. The most important thing here is that whatever you say has to be authentic and heartfelt. Apologizing for something that you didn’t actually do is likely to be neither. And it could even be seen as being manipulative, which is even worse.

What you can—and should—do, however, is express sorrow over the state of the relationship and apologize for whatever you’ve contributed to it.

Example: “I’m really sorry for the way things have been lately between us. I know I’ve done some things that have offended or hurt you in some way, but I sure didn’t mean to. I’ve always [enjoyed/liked/respected] you, and don’t know why things should have to be  this way. I’d sure like them to be better. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know.”

The beauty of this approach is that by focusing you on the relationship rather than the conflict, it puts you in a more open, humble, and generous place, which tends to bring out similar feelings in the other person. Will it fix every problem? No. Sometimes people are too attached to a conflict to open up and let go of it. But a lot of times it will. And either way, it will always make you feel better—a lot better, in fact—and that by itself is reason enough in my book.