The Slide I Didn’t Want to Delete

After an all-nighter and one too many energy drinks, I finally finished the slide deck for my first technical presentation.

With a sigh of relief, I took off my computer glasses and placed them on the keyboard. As the morning light peeked through the curtains, I felt confident that my effort would show—every plot and detail carefully put together.

I didn’t realize yet that clarity and completeness are not the same thing. I thought the quality of my work would speak for itself.

The First Crack in Confidence

As my slides went out in an email to a collaborator, I stepped away for lunch, trying to calm the jitter from the energy drinks.

When I got back, there was already a reply waiting. Not a good one.

She had gone through the slides and said it wasn’t what she was looking for—it needed rework.

I felt a sting reading that. I had spent hours on those slides. They weren’t just slides. They were my work. Every detail was carefully thought through. How could she dismiss all of that so quickly?

I knew this was my first technical presentation, and reacting right away wouldn’t help. Instead, I decided to get a second opinion from my advisor.

“This Distracts From the Main Message”

I arrived a little early during our usual lab hours.

I placed my computer on the workbench and pulled up the slides. He scrolled through them, stroking his white beard, then paused on a slide full of equations.

“This distracts from the main message.”

I didn’t expect that.

I had spent hours on that slide—carefully working through the derivations, making sure everything was precise. It felt like all that effort didn’t matter.

“Really?” I asked.

The Hard Pill: Removing the Slide

I sat there, staring at the slide. It stung.

If my advisor agreed, then my work really wasn’t presentation-worthy. I had spent hours on it—working through the derivations, convinced it showed my thinking clearly.

I trusted his expertise, but I wasn’t ready to delete it. I moved the slide to the backup section instead. As I went through the presentation again, something felt different.

The pace was lighter. I wasn’t worrying about whether people could follow every equation. I could focus on communicating the insight.

That’s when I started to see it—

I was building slides for myself, not for the audience.

Clarity > Completeness

At the time, I thought more detail meant a better presentation.

Instead of helping the audience understand the concept, I was using equations to validate my own ability. My advisor’s feedback shifted my perspective—from creating slides to communicating a message.

The key to a great presentation isn’t completeness. It’s clarity.

Now, when I prepare a presentation, I ask myself: “What is the message?”
And as I review each slide: “Does this serve the main message?”

It was hard to move that slide to the backup section. I was proud of it.
But only after letting go of that attachment did I start to see what I was missing.

Clarity matters more than completeness.

When we pour ourselves into our work, it’s easy to get stuck in our own perspective.

Letting go, even a little, creates space to see the bigger picture.

What Can You Let Go of Today?

This idea doesn’t just apply to presentations. It shows up in writing, in projects, and even in how we think about our work.

We hold on to things because we spent time on them. Because we’re proud of them. Because they feel like a reflection of us.

But that doesn’t mean they belong.

If something doesn’t serve the main message, it’s worth questioning. It could be a slide, a paragraph, or even an idea you’ve been defending.

Letting go doesn’t mean the work was wasted. It just means you’re choosing clarity over attachment.

So the next time you review your work, ask yourself: “What am I holding onto that doesn’t need to be there?”

Sometimes the best improvement isn’t about addition. It’s having the courage to subtract something you created.