I Stopped Watching the Stage

For the first several years of my career, I spent most of my attention on the stage.

That probably sounds obvious. After all, that’s where the presenters were, where the announcements happened, and where months of planning finally became visible. If something was going to go right or wrong, it usually started there. Watching the stage felt like the job.

Somewhere along the way, though, I realized I wasn’t watching it nearly as much anymore.

Without really thinking about it, I had started watching the audience instead.

I don’t remember deciding to make that change. It just happened, and once it did, I never really went back.

Looking Beyond the Presentation

One of the things I’ve always found interesting is how differently people listen.

Some people react almost immediately. You can see it in their expression or the way they start taking notes. Others can sit through an entire presentation without giving away much of anything. Then, every once in a while, someone who hasn’t seemed particularly engaged will hear one sentence that causes them to put their phone down or lean forward just a little.

I’ve probably spent too much time wondering what happened in that moment.

It may not have been the sentence itself. Maybe it reminded them of something they already believed. Maybe it answered a question they hadn’t been able to put into words yet. Maybe it simply arrived at exactly the right time.

I honestly don’t know.

What I do know is that I’ve become much more interested in moments like that than I am in whether people enjoyed the presentation. Those are different questions, and over the years I’ve found myself asking the second one less and the first one more.

What People Remember

I’ve seen more standing ovations than I could ever count, and I still enjoy watching them. They represent a tremendous amount of work by a lot of talented people, and when a room responds that way it’s worth appreciating.

At the same time, some of the meetings I remember most didn’t end with that kind of reaction.

They ended with people walking out in small groups, continuing conversations they had started inside the room. Sometimes I’d hear those same conversations weeks later. Occasionally a client would bring up a story from the meeting months afterward, almost as though it had become part of the way they thought about a problem they were trying to solve.

That has always interested me more than applause.

If someone remembers one conversation from an event five years later, I’m not sure it matters whether they remember the lighting, the staging, or even who happened to be speaking when they heard it.

I think about that more now than I used to.

What Stays With Us

The older I get, the more I’ve noticed that people rarely tell stories by recounting everything that happened.

They tell you the part that stayed with them.

A friend recommends a book but only talks about one chapter. Someone describes a vacation and tells the same story every time. A teacher from decades ago is remembered for one conversation that lasted five minutes.

I’ve caught myself doing exactly the same thing.

Maybe that’s just how memory works.

Maybe we don’t carry experiences around with us as complete packages. Maybe we carry a handful of moments that become attached to other parts of our lives, and over time those moments end up meaning more than they did when they first happened.

I don’t know if that’s true.

It just seems to explain a lot of what I’ve seen.

Why I’ve Started Thinking Differently About Creativity

When I was younger, I probably thought creativity was mostly about making something more interesting.

I don’t think I’d describe it that way anymore.

Everything that goes into a great event still matters. The writing matters. The visuals matter. The pacing matters. The technical execution matters because those things help people pay attention and make an experience worth being part of.

But I’ve started to think that all of those things are really supporting something much simpler.

They’re helping an idea find its way into someone’s life.

Most ideas won’t.

That’s perfectly normal.

Every once in a while, though, someone hears something that keeps showing up long after the meeting is over. It becomes part of another conversation or influences a decision they make months later.

Those are the moments I’ve become most curious about.

Before You Go

Lately I’ve been wondering if we spend a little too much time evaluating experiences while they’re happening.

We ask whether people liked the presentation, whether the audience stayed engaged, whether the event received a standing ovation or good survey scores. Those things certainly have their place, but I’m not convinced they’re the whole story.

I’m becoming more interested in what happens after everyone goes home.

What did people keep talking about?

What idea quietly followed them back to work?

What conversation changed because of something they heard?

Those answers are harder to measure.

They’re also the ones I find myself thinking about long after the lights have gone out.