John R. Miles

It hit me hard one night during a warm-up game. My partner threw out a ridiculous line. I froze. Not because I didn't have a comeback, but because I was silently judging it, wondering how I could twist it into something funnier or more in control. That's when I realized I wasn't in the moment. I was protecting myself from it. My mouth went dry. My brain spun.

It hit me hard one night during a warm-up game. My partner threw out a ridiculous line. I froze. Not because I didn't have a comeback, but because I was silently judging it, wondering how I could twist it into something funnier or more in control. That's when I realized I wasn't in the moment. I was protecting myself from it. My mouth went dry. My brain spun.

It hit me hard one night during a warm-up game. My partner threw out a ridiculous line. I froze. Not because I didn't have a comeback, but because I was silently judging it, wondering how I could twist it into something funnier or more in control. That's when I realized I wasn't in the moment. I was protecting myself from it. My mouth went dry. My brain spun.

And in that silence, I heard something louder than laughter. Fear. And that's where so many of us lose the thread in conversation. We think we're connecting, but we're actually performing, pleasing, protecting, posturing. We're contorting ourselves, trying to be interesting, likable, competent, in control. And in the process, we disconnect from our own voice.

And in that silence, I heard something louder than laughter. Fear. And that's where so many of us lose the thread in conversation. We think we're connecting, but we're actually performing, pleasing, protecting, posturing. We're contorting ourselves, trying to be interesting, likable, competent, in control. And in the process, we disconnect from our own voice.

And in that silence, I heard something louder than laughter. Fear. And that's where so many of us lose the thread in conversation. We think we're connecting, but we're actually performing, pleasing, protecting, posturing. We're contorting ourselves, trying to be interesting, likable, competent, in control. And in the process, we disconnect from our own voice.

Dr. Brooks, who I mentioned earlier, has explored this in depth. She describes how our fear of being judged shifts us into impression management mode. It's subtle, but powerful. We tweak our tone. We censor our stories. We try to read the room. while quietly abandoning ourselves in the process. There's a name for this, social mirroring.

Dr. Brooks, who I mentioned earlier, has explored this in depth. She describes how our fear of being judged shifts us into impression management mode. It's subtle, but powerful. We tweak our tone. We censor our stories. We try to read the room. while quietly abandoning ourselves in the process. There's a name for this, social mirroring.

Dr. Brooks, who I mentioned earlier, has explored this in depth. She describes how our fear of being judged shifts us into impression management mode. It's subtle, but powerful. We tweak our tone. We censor our stories. We try to read the room. while quietly abandoning ourselves in the process. There's a name for this, social mirroring.

It's the tendency to unconsciously mold ourselves to fit the energy or expectations of the person in front of us. In high stakes or unfamiliar settings, this kicks in fast. We scan for cues. We match their pace. We nod even when we disagree. We offer compliments instead of honesty. Not because we're fake, but because we're wired to seek safety and sameness. But here's the cost.

It's the tendency to unconsciously mold ourselves to fit the energy or expectations of the person in front of us. In high stakes or unfamiliar settings, this kicks in fast. We scan for cues. We match their pace. We nod even when we disagree. We offer compliments instead of honesty. Not because we're fake, but because we're wired to seek safety and sameness. But here's the cost.

It's the tendency to unconsciously mold ourselves to fit the energy or expectations of the person in front of us. In high stakes or unfamiliar settings, this kicks in fast. We scan for cues. We match their pace. We nod even when we disagree. We offer compliments instead of honesty. Not because we're fake, but because we're wired to seek safety and sameness. But here's the cost.

When you're constantly shape-shifting, you lose clarity on who you are. And if you're not anchored internally, your words might land, but your presence won't. Psychologist Susan David puts it this way, discomfort is the price of admission to a meaningful life. And that includes meaningful connection. Because authenticity isn't just a buzzword. It's a nervous system state.

When you're constantly shape-shifting, you lose clarity on who you are. And if you're not anchored internally, your words might land, but your presence won't. Psychologist Susan David puts it this way, discomfort is the price of admission to a meaningful life. And that includes meaningful connection. Because authenticity isn't just a buzzword. It's a nervous system state.

When you're constantly shape-shifting, you lose clarity on who you are. And if you're not anchored internally, your words might land, but your presence won't. Psychologist Susan David puts it this way, discomfort is the price of admission to a meaningful life. And that includes meaningful connection. Because authenticity isn't just a buzzword. It's a nervous system state.

When you're grounded in your values and emotions, when you know what you're feeling and why, you show up differently. People can feel it, even if they can't name it. That's what I learned in improv. It wasn't about saying the cleverest thing. It was about saying the truest thing from a place of play, presence. and permission to be fully myself.

When you're grounded in your values and emotions, when you know what you're feeling and why, you show up differently. People can feel it, even if they can't name it. That's what I learned in improv. It wasn't about saying the cleverest thing. It was about saying the truest thing from a place of play, presence. and permission to be fully myself.

When you're grounded in your values and emotions, when you know what you're feeling and why, you show up differently. People can feel it, even if they can't name it. That's what I learned in improv. It wasn't about saying the cleverest thing. It was about saying the truest thing from a place of play, presence. and permission to be fully myself.

And that same principle applies everywhere, from the boardroom to the dinner table. If you've ever left a conversation feeling strangely hollow, this might be why. You weren't fake, but maybe you weren't fully there either. So the question isn't just, am I communicating clearly? It's, am I communicating from connection? or from performance.

And that same principle applies everywhere, from the boardroom to the dinner table. If you've ever left a conversation feeling strangely hollow, this might be why. You weren't fake, but maybe you weren't fully there either. So the question isn't just, am I communicating clearly? It's, am I communicating from connection? or from performance.