Public speaking and the power of the stage

A client asked me the other day if I'd deliver a keynote over Teams.

I politely declined.

Not because there's anything wrong with Teams or doing a virtual talk. We have remarkable technology that enables us to connect from anywhere in the world. But asking someone to deliver a keynote through a screen is a bit like asking a chef to describe a lobster thermidor dish over the telephone.

You might receive the information, but you'll miss the experience.

We've become very good at believing that communication is simply the transmission of words. It isn't.

Communication is atmosphere, it's connection. It's attention. It's trust. It's the moment in a room when 200 people stop looking at their laptops and truly connect with a real person.

Few people remember what you say. But they will always remember how they felt. And part of this, maybe a very important part, is how you felt.

What a screen takes away

I was deeply engaged watching Louis Theroux interview Dame Judi Dench the other night. Something she said resonated deeply — the kind of thing that had me reaching for my notebook. The kind of thing many of us who like to share ideas from the stage feel but often don't find the words for.

That you feel the learning in your bones, the energy in your body and the wiring in your brain firing when you're on stage.

It's a very human feeling that remote talks often don't generate.

The screen creates a barrier. Most presentation software shows you your slides, maybe one or two people who happen to have their cameras on, and not much else. Often you don't see the audience at all. It feels like speaking into a void. Speaking to an emptiness. Half the time I'm wondering whether I'm even still connected to the call, and that creates an anxiety I like to try to avoid on top of my already energetic nerves.

There's little to no feedback. The occasional question comes in — which is, frankly, distracting in itself. A hand goes up now and again, which almost never happens halfway through an in-person talk. You're speaking to everyone and no one at the same time.

The barrier isn't just what the audience can't send back to you. It's also what it does to you. You're not moving. You're glued to the spot where the microphone, the screen and the device are. And however hard you work to lower it, that barrier plays a part in your performance.

A keynote or talk isn't just you talking. It isn't just you transmitting information to another person – a blog post can do that, so can an email.

It's you putting on an act and connecting with other people. It is you using the audience's time, energy and attention carefully, and giving them something worth investing in.

Speaking to a screen, with no feedback, no eye contact and no room to move, tends to stifle your ability to deliver on that promise, and hollow you out in the process.

A talk is always a learning event

The mistakes you make. The audience coming in late. The lack of laughter at what is clearly a good joke – well, I find my jokes funny. The forgotten line. The little story you did or didn't deviate into. The eye contact from the third row.

It's all learning. What worked, what to do differently next time, how to sharpen a slide or a sentence, how to make the meaning land quicker, that time you knew you should have taken an extra beat before the punchline. And the realisation that public speaking is a pretty tough thing to do. Every one of them is an opportunity to develop the craft, to get better, to learn how to connect more on a human level.

You can learn some of this from a screen. But the environment, the lack of feedback, the distance between people, if they are even there at all, and the sensation of speaking into a void make it much harder.

Why the room matters

At the end of the day, it comes down to a single thing — and Dame Judi Dench captured it — you are in the same room as the people you're seeking to inspire, teach, or move.

You feel connected. The barriers are down. The energy is seen and felt and sensed. You feel seen and felt and sensed. You are connecting with other humans.

For anyone who takes real satisfaction from speaking on a stage, that is what it feels like to be alive.

Things could go wrong. You're not hiding behind anything. You are being human, moving, speaking, connecting. You can feel it in your bones, in your skin, in your mind. It makes you feel alive.

And a little scared.

That, I think, is what shows through in the difference between a good talk and one that merely delivered information. The presenter shared their passion, their enthusiasm, their energy — their vulnerability, even — with you. There was a connection. You don't have to agree with what they were saying but you will feel it. And so will they.

The thing communication is really for

That connection is one of the most fundamental aspects of effective communication. Being understood, and connected, at a human level.

There is more to it than presence. Communication is also craft, structure, meaning, restraint, storytelling. But it becomes much harder to connect with people when a barrier is in the way. And it's much harder to feel alive without the stage, the room, the audience, the human looking at you, and the very real potential that this may not go to plan.

Which is why I don't do virtual talks any more. Not because I can't, or because the information wouldn't transmit, or because people wouldn't learn something. Something more primal than that.

I like people. I want to connect with people. I want to learn whether I can get better.

And I want to feel alive. I think many great conference speakers feel the same.