There I was, overthinking in my hotel room in Helsinki, questioning every decision that led me to this moment.
Who on earth would listen to my keynote?
What was I thinking?
Give me a regular talk any day—those 30-minute slots where the expectations are lower, and the stakes feel manageable. But a keynote? That word alone carries weight. Gravitas. Spotlight. Nerve-wrecking. And don’t even get me started on imposter syndrome. I mean, Linda Liukas, Tricia Broderick, and Joe Justice were the other keynote speakers. People I have looked up to my entire career, and now I am on the same stage!
Let me rewind.
I was invited to give the opening keynote on Friday at ScanAgile in Finland. A huge honor, no doubt about that. And also: cue the perpetual mental loop I go through before every talk. It goes a little like this: initial excitement, followed by creeping anxiety, escalating into full-on nerves that crescendo in the 30 minutes before I go on stage. By that point, I’m a jittery cocktail of imposter syndrome, performance anxiety, and doubt. Seriously, there are moments where I wish I had never agreed to do this. The weird part? This always happens.
By now, I have embraced that these nerves are just part of my process. The nerves don’t mean I’m not ready. They’re just loud. And relentless. But the loop has a known ending—two minutes into the talk. Once I’m on stage, something magical happens. It’s like a switch flips. I’m suddenly comfortable, even energized. The audience becomes real, not abstract. I start connecting dots I hadn’t even planned for. The story unfolds with a rhythm of its own, and I just follow it. And when I see people nodding along or reacting to something I’ve said—that’s the dopamine hit that fuels the next five hours. Pure adrenaline. A kind of high that leaves me wired well into the evening.
This keynote was no different, except for the fact that it was different. First of all, it was ScanAgile. One of the best conferences I have ever attended. The ScanAgile crew were fantastic, and the audience was warm and engaged. But the thing that really set it apart was the weight I felt leading up to it. Keynotes aren’t just about sharing ideas. They’re about setting the tone. Opening a space. Framing the day. That pressure felt real. My talk was called Deceiving Ourselves: 10 Lies Organizations Tell. I had my deck, stories, and structure, and for the first time ever, I practiced out loud. But I also had doubts.
Would it land?
Would people care?
What if the audience has never seen these lies?
Classic inner critic stuff.
And yet, two minutes in, the loop ended. Flow state kicked in. I found myself improvising, playing with the room, riffing off the energy I was getting back. It became a conversation, not a performance. And it reminded me why I love doing this. Apart from, y’know, the classic demo effect. The moment I wanted to pull up my Menti, I noticed a lost connection. And while I wanted to take my browser off full-screen mode, I activated the Airplane mode. Using classic Sprint Review scenarios like “it just worked on my machine a minute ago”, I could create some space to get the issue fixed. Afterward, the adrenaline kept me buzzing through hallway chats, DMs on LinkedIn, and the inevitable flood of new thoughts. That’s the other end of my loop: reflection. I replay moments in my head. I think about what worked, what could be better, and—most importantly—what ideas came to me because of the talk.
That’s one of the most underrated parts of public speaking: it doesn’t just transmit ideas; it creates them. When I reflect on this keynote, I’m struck by how many new connections I made mentally just by saying things out loud. There’s a clarity that comes from externalizing your thoughts to a room full of people. It sharpens your thinking in ways that solitary writing never could.
So what did I learn?
- The loop is still part of the deal. The nerves are a feature, not a bug.
- Keynotes aren’t about being the smartest person in the room. They’re about framing a conversation, opening up thinking, and giving people something to carry with them into the rest of the day.
- Adrenaline is real. Don’t plan anything that requires calm or coherence for at least five hours post-talk.
- Every talk is a prototype – and different. I learn something new each time—about myself, my ideas, and my audience.
So yeah, I survived my first keynote. I loved it. And while the loop will probably be back in full force next time, I’ll enter it with a little more grace. Maybe even appreciation. Wanna know the best part? I already landed my next keynote…
And if you’re ever asked to give a keynote and find yourself pacing in a hotel room somewhere far from home, just know: that chaos inside your head is just the prelude. Two minutes in, the magic begins.
