Blueprints of intentional experiences
A question well-placed can change the whole room
I’ve been reflecting lately on a simple principle that keeps coming up in how we work, how we organize events like Thunder Talks, and honestly, how we relate to others in everyday life.
It's about perspective and how rarely we pause to see things from the other side.
Build for them
When we organize events, we don't begin with logistics or content. Instead, we sit in an empty chair and imagine: I've never been here before. I'm not sure if I belong. How do I want to be welcomed?
People show up from all kinds of contexts – introverts, extroverts, tech people, creatives, skeptics, community-seekers. Each of them carries different hopes, questions, or even hesitations. So we start there. With them.
At each event, we prepare small gifts – a book and a message that might land close to the soul. We welcome people not as guests, but as friends stepping into our home. We meet them, we try to know them, we do our best to make them feel comfortable. To create a human experience.
At Thunder Talks, we want to shape the kind of events that invite more than listening. We want them to be collaborative spaces where people don't just receive inspiration but create it together through questions, conversations, and genuine engagement.
So we made space through words, through a quiet animation. We sent out a signal that this is a safe place to ask, to share. One question can open a door, and your voice might give someone else permission to use theirs.
All of this started by imagining the introvert in the back row, the one who carries a question they won’t ask out loud. What would nudge them just enough? What might quiet the noise of self-doubt?
This is reverse engineering through empathy. Instead of limiting to questions like "Will they like what we've built?", you go deeper and shape what do they actually need. This way, people feel understood before they even realize they needed to be.
Tell me like a human
What I also notice is that we often act in ways we'd never accept from others.
We give feedback abruptly, but if someone used the same tone with us, we'd call it cold or unkind. We deliver the truth fast and raw, then feel frustrated when teammates do the same to us.
Marshall Rosenberg, in his work on Nonviolent Communication, puts it simply: “The greatest gift we can offer is honest expression, delivered with compassion.” And it's not enough to be right, you have to be effective. If your truth only hurts without helping, if it shuts people down instead of opening them up, then what was the point?
Real honesty requires courage, but it's about ensuring the truth has a place to be received. Not just heard, but actually felt.
When you're unsure how to approach a difficult conversation, picture yourself on the receiving end:
How would you want to hear this?
What tone would make you feel respected, even if the message is tough?
What space would help you stay open, rather than feel defensive?
We don’t have to dilute the truth. We just need to make space for it to land, human to human. If we want to build strong communities or relationships, this is where it starts – with honesty that’s anchored in empathy.
How I stay grounded
One of the most powerful shifts you can make is to start by turning the mirror toward yourself. It has become something of a golden rule for me.
If I were part of this community, what would I care about?
If I were the customer, what would I expect, what would make me trust or return?
If I were attending this event, what would make me feel like I belonged here?
This kind of reflective thinking is not always easy. Sometimes, we’re so close to the work or so focused on efficiency that it feels unnatural to pause and shift perspectives. But the habit of asking these internal questions, of sitting metaphorically on the other side of the table, is often where clarity begins.
Because when you start from yourself, from your humanness, you begin to strip away assumptions. You stop designing for personas and start designing for people.
This practice reconnects your work to real human experience. And even when the answers aren’t obvious or immediate, the effort to try is where the value lies.
With thought,
Cris
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