The moment the first words come out: Thoughts on Hosting, Speaking, and Being a Mirror

Hosting an event is

being a mirror.

The invisible work
is what you let be reflected.

It must be something physical.

Maybe it’s the way my brain is wired. All elements are there, but nervousness does not arrive.

The lights shine so brightly that I can’t see a single face in the crowd. The mic receiver presses gently against my back like a reassuring hand. My feet are firmly grounded. Every word about to leave my mouth must be the right one.

Everything is timed. Every second of the now is stitched from days, sometimes months, of preparation.

And yet, the weight of that preparation disappears. It belongs to the past.

We’re here now. A breath in.

I feel the audience. Their breath is held. They’re waiting. What is going to happen? Eyes wide. Chins slightly raised. Energy taut. My co-host and I glance at each other. The intro music is late. Or is it? It feels like a 10-minute delay. Maybe it’s been 3 seconds.

When your senses are sharpened, time stretches. The Earth itself seems to wait for your cue, like your attention alone is what keeps it spinning.

And then, the music plays.

We nod. We step in.

"Welcome everyone!"

The words land with clarity and ease. Simple words carried with the right energy. And something shifts in the room. The shoulders lower just slightly. The audience is still hyper attentive, but the weight is starting to disappear.

This is the quiet, almost invisible work of a host. It’s the work of invitation. Of energy translation. Of making space.

You set the emotional tone.
And without tension, the audience can receive.

At events like the Fastned Days or All Hands gatherings, I saw this happen again and again. People would come with something important to share—numbers, challenges, ideas, future plans. But none of it matters if the room is closed. And the room is always closed, at first.

Until someone opens it.

That’s the role of a good host. You’re not the star. You’re the switch.

After every event, someone would say:

“Wow, you’re such a natural.”

“You weren’t nervous at all—I felt calm because you were calm.”

Maybe it is how I’m wired. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be learned.

Because speaking well isn’t about perfection. It’s not about memorizing every line or erasing your nerves. It’s about becoming a mirror. When you feel safe, others feel safe. When you speak from clarity, others can follow.

Hosting, speaking, moderating—these are not performance arts. They are relational ones. They are not about knowing everything. They are about presence. About building a bridge between your preparation and their attention.

And here’s the most important thing for you who's about to give a speech:

You’ve already done the work.
Not just last week, in your slides and script.

But in everything that brought you here.

Every choice, every experience. You already carry the knowledge. Now your only task is to speak it out loud—clearly, kindly, confidently.

That’s where I come in.

As a freelance host, moderator, and LEGO® Serious Play® facilitator, I help people step into that space with confidence. I help your ideas land—not just on slides, but in minds. I help your audience breathe with you, think with you, and walk away having felt something real.

Because that’s what a good event does. It’s not just a transfer of information.

It’s a shared moment of meaning.