The first conference presentation I gave was in a small room, filled with about seventy people, at my university. I was a sophomore working on undergraduate research and it felt fantastic to be their with my mentor, my friends, and a room full of people whose work had zero overlap with my own. Public speaking was not my strong suit — it still isn't. Somewhere between excited and terrified I was breathless. The microphone didn't hide that. Nor was there a podium. Everyone could tell I was nerve-wracked and, a little embarrassed that the people I worked with saw it, I was grateful that a few professors threw me some softball questions I felt comfortable answering. At the banquet later that night, I couldn't help but draw in to myself: quiet and unassuming, just listening to the keynote. Afterwards, I was delighted that there was so much leftover food. I had once asked what happened to all of it; packaged food could be donated, but everything else was thrown out. So, I had no reservations about stealing away to the back of the room and loading up a few plates for the week.
He saw, and he smiled. He came up to me and I grew quite nervous — it's not a dignified or professional look to be seeking out the scraps. He told me that I was intelligent and passionate, if a bit new to it all, and that he could see me becoming a great professor. Of course, I didn't know how to respond, but suddenly it was a good day. Dr. Bala, you will be missed.