When Clever Stops Working

I used to think the best scenes came from clever ideas.

If I could front-load a tidy premise and stack a few plot beats, the rest would take care of itself. Then, at rehearsal one night, everything changed with something so small I almost missed it.

We ran a drill that punishes clever. Tag outs, fast pivots, lots of chances to get in our own way. I opened a scene with a tidy, smart offer. My friend matched me with an even tidier one.

The first laugh landed.

Then the air went thin. You could feel the room lean back. We stacked more words to fix it. That did not help.

Navares, our coach, is on Zoom. He's watching our every move. He does not give us a new game or a smarter line. He says three things:

Look in their eyes. Breathe. Make one clear choice.

Even on Zoom, the room shifts.

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The Reset That Changed Everything

We reset. We stand closer than feels comfortable. We actually look in their eyes. Not a darting glance, a real look. Most people cannot hold your gaze, but in improv, that's the window into the soul of the character. Whatever is on their face will be the emotional focus of that scene. We take a breath we can hear.

I say one simple sentence. My friend answers from the body, not the brain.

Heat shows up.

The scene gets specific. We find the reason we are there. The laugh comes back, not because we chase it, but because the rest of our troupe, an Embarrassment of Pandas, sees two people in a real moment.

Eye contact and breath. The quietest rule.

It feels like someone turned down a hum in my head I did not know was there. The noise was my need to perform. Once it drops, I can hear my friend. I can hear myself.

From Stage to Workshop

The same rule travels.

This week, I take it into a very different room. Downtown Santa Barbara, our annual Story to Standing Ovation event. This program helps transform stories into compelling talks that inspire people to take action. Over two days, which concludes today, Sunday, participants transform their stories and talks into powerful messages that will ultimately change lives. We're counting on it.

When we pair up to share stories, I try something:

Look in their eyes. Breathe. One clear choice.

Mike Roberts is sharing his story. Mike is on a mission to revolutionize how people access careers in technology by replacing outdated, gate-kept pathways with inclusive, earn-and-learn apprenticeship models. Through his work at Creating Coding Careers and The Apprenticeship Playbook, he is building scalable systems that enable individuals, especially those from underrepresented and overlooked communities, to acquire real skills, gain paid experience, and transition directly into sustainable tech careers. He's brilliant and on a mission.

What Mike is learning here is honing his message, getting crystal clear as he's in charge of spreading the word. My job is not to teach him anything about improv. The idea of being present and looking someone in the eyes - that's what allowed me to soak in everything that matters most to him and give him simple, honest feedback. Instead of rehearsing what I'll say while he talks, I look at his face. I feel my feet on the floor. I take one honest breath. I hear the talk that is actually in the room, not the one I wish he had given.

When his time ends, we do an exercise where we simulate him pitching his idea, with me acting as a curator and someone who'd bring him onto my stage. I offer simple feedback in the form of three questions:

"What is the idea the world needs to hear? Why do they need to hear it now? And why are you the best person to bring that idea to the world?"

Simple feedback and powerful, as I believe they are the most important questions a thought leader must answer - I think of it as leading with your thoughts. The next time he gave me his two-minute pitch it was 100 times better - and it had been terrific originally. It's all about fine-tuning and feeling the energy of what you're communicating.

Throughout these two days, he and the others in the program have transformed their stories into powerful messages. His talk is polished so well that he'll go back and grow his empire.

Presence is the smallest lever that moves the largest rooms.

That makes attention feel like a moral choice.

Why Presence Transfers

I know what you're thinking. This sounds vulnerable. Risky. Most business conversations reward speed and armor, not slow looks and honest breath.

But here's what I've learned.

Our nervous systems are contagious. Research from neuroscience backs this up - we mirror each other's stress states within milliseconds. If mine is sprinting, yours will sprint to keep up. If mine settles for a beat, yours has permission to settle too.

Once that happens, we get access to better information. We notice bodies, not just words. We hear what is under the line, not just the line.

That is where stories live. That is where decisions live.

The same rule applies at our weekly rehearsal upstairs in a local fitness center, which is airy and full of light. We start in silence. Look into each other's eyes for a while. When I enter with a look and a breath, the voice shows up on its own. The body changes on its own. I do not have to drag the scene anywhere. It starts to pull me.

The best part is what it does to mistakes.

Before, a flub would jolt me into apology or overdrive. After, a mistake becomes a brush stroke I can use. Look. Breathe. Choose. Accept the wobble and shape it.

Where Ideas Meet Attention

None of this means ideas do not matter. They do, because, as we have learned from TED, Ideas Change Everything. They matter more after the connection lands.

Clever turns to glue when it rests on attention. Without attention, clever is a performance. With attention, clever becomes conversation.

There is a drill we use that is invisible to the audience. We call it the one thing drill.

Enter the scene and let your eyes land on one thing. A wrinkle in a shirt. A chipped mug. The way your friend shifts weight from one foot to the other. Let that one thing matter. Breathe with it. Then let that guide your first choice.

It keeps you from announcing who you are. It helps you reveal who you are.

The audience can feel the difference. So can a client across a table. So can a student who is about to give the talk of their life.

Try This Anywhere

You can try this anywhere.

Before your next conversation that matters, give yourself ten seconds at the threshold. Put your hand on the door frame, or hover your cursor over the Join button. Look at one thing in your space to bring your attention into your body. Take two breaths you can hear.

Walk in and decide one clear first move:

* A question

* A compliment that is specific

* A simple statement of where you are and what you care about

Then stop. Let the other person move next.

You will feel rude at first. You will feel present a moment later.

I'll spend the rest of my life trying to master this. I still grab for speed when I am nervous. I still talk too much when I want to prove I belong. The rule does not fix that. It just gives me a way back.

Look in their eyes. Breathe. Choose. Repeat as needed.

What Opens Next

The night that scene turned from noise to music, it felt like a magic trick.

It was not magic. It was attention.

Attention is a skill. Like knife work. Like editing. Like any craft you care to name. The more I practice it, the more it opens doors to genuine conversation rather than performance. To influence that feels like a partnership instead of manipulation.

To the moment you are actually in, instead of the one you planned to have.

What conversation have you been performing your way through instead of actually having? Try the three-word rule this week and let me know what shifts.

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