There’s a reason public speaking feels terrifying.

Not “I’m a little nervous” terrifying.
More like “Something is deeply wrong and I should not be doing this” terrifying.

That reaction isn’t random. It’s biological.

In the animal world, there are few worse places to be than:

• Out in the open
• Nothing to hide behind
• No weapons
• A group of other creatures staring directly at you

That’s not a presentation. That’s lunch. And you’re it.

So when you stand up in a meeting or prepare to speak in front of a group, your brain goes:

“We should not be here. This is a terrible idea.”

And to be fair… that instinct is about two million years old.

It’s just no longer accurate.

The Skydiving Problem

It’s a lot like skydiving, actually.

You get on the plane.
Everything is fine. Until it isn’t.

The higher you go, the more your mind starts to chatter:
“This seems unnecessary.”
– “This seems like a mistake.”
– – “This is definitely a mistake.”

Then the door opens.
And suddenly every survival instinct you’ve ever inherited shows up at once, screaming:
“This is literally the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Here’s the interesting part.
Those instincts are trying to protect you. They’re just wildly out of date.

People jump out of planes every day and land safely.
People speak in meetings every day and survive.

If speaking actually killed people, I’d understand the fear.

But it doesn’t.

The Moment Most People Back Out

At the edge of the plane, you have two options:

1. Listen to the voice
2. Jump anyway

In skydiving, the decision is made before you get on the plane. It’s too expensive to change your mind at the last second.

In speaking and in most professional settings, the decision happens in real time.

And in that moment, most people listen to the voice.

They stay quiet in meetings. They pass on presenting. They wait until they feel “ready.”
Which, conveniently, never arrives.

This is a pattern that compounds. One quiet moment becomes a habit. And the habit becomes an identity: “I’m just not a confident speaker.”

Spoiler: they are. They just haven’t gotten through that initial fear yet.

What Happens If You Jump

The first few seconds are exactly what you expect.

Your entire system lights up.
Adrenaline. Noise. Chaos

Your mind screams, “See? I told you!”

And then something interesting happens.
You don’t die.

In fact, after that initial surge, there’s a shift:
Clarity. Focus. Awareness.

You’re still falling. But now you’re present.

Speaking works the same way.

The beginning is the hardest part. The anticipation is almost always worse than the reality. And once someone is in it, actually talking, actually connecting, their brain catches up fast.

The problem isn’t ability. It’s the story people tell themselves in the 30 seconds before they open their mouth.

A Simple Way to Start Rewiring This

You don’t need to jump out of a plane. (I mean, you could. It will definitely change the way you operate in the world!)

You just need to start proving your brain wrong in smaller ways.

Try this the next time you’re in a meeting:

• Say one thing earlier than you normally would
• Not perfect, not polished, just… said

That’s it.

You’re not trying to impress anyone. You’re just interrupting the pattern.

Because every time you do that, your brain updates slightly. “Oh. We did that. And we’re still alive.”

Do that a few times and something shifts.

What This Means for Your Team

Here’s what most communication training misses:

You can’t think your way out of a fear response. You can’t workshop it away with slides and frameworks.

You have to move through it.

And the only way to do that is repetition. Real reps, in a room, with other people watching.

Not practicing alone. Not rehearsing to a mirror. Actually doing the thing, in front of humans, and surviving it.

Do it a handful of times and the story starts to change. Not because someone told you to believe in yourself. Because you have actual evidence now.

Once the fear loses its grip, everything gets easier: Speaking up in meetings. Pitching ideas to leadership. Running a room. Coaching teams.

These aren’t separate skills that need separate training. They’re all downstream of one thing: the ability to stand in front of people and not disappear.

Confidence doesn’t come before the action. It’s what’s left after you survive the thing you thought might kill you. Over and over again.

That’s not a mindset shift. That’s just exposure. Done enough times, it just works.

One of the things I say most when coaching presenters is simple:
“Get more reps!”
Because every time you get up in front of people, it gets a little easier.

Final Thought

Your fear isn’t wrong. It’s just outdated. And the fastest way to update it isn’t to think differently. It’s to act. Then let your brain catch up.

This is one of the simplest patterns we work on in workshops.
And one of the fastest to change once people experience it.

Because once people experience it firsthand, they stop waiting to feel ready.

They start acting like they already are.

We’re constantly listening to the little voice in our heads. The one that says, “Who are you to say that?” and “Remember what happened the last time you tried that?“

Occasionally, in moments of triumph, it says, “I am awesome at this.“
Those moments are rarer than we’d like.

Mostly, it’s a running commentary of everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong, or might somehow go wrong again. And as annoying as that is, it’s not trying to ruin your life. It genuinely wants to protect you.

Your brain is not broken

That voice lives at the base of your brain. Some call it the lizard brain. All it wants is for you to be safe, comfortable, and happy. A perfect existence for this ancient, small piece of your brain would look something like this: you, in a warm, cozy space, with food and drink on demand, nothing to worry about, and zero exposure to the outside world.

Half a million years ago, that instinct made sense. Life was dangerous. Things with teeth. Things with poison. Other people who weren’t thrilled you existed. Standing out was risky. Being alone was worse. Your brain learned, very quickly, to treat anything unfamiliar as a potential threat.

That worked great… for about 499,900 years.

The world changed. Your brain didn’t get the memo.

Everything looks like danger now

You’re not being chased by anything.
You’re sending emails. Speaking in meetings. Sharing ideas. Maybe trying to put yourself out there a little more.

And your brain? Still treating it like you just wandered into an open clearing surrounded by things that want to eat you.

Say something wrong in a meeting?
You’ll look stupid. If you look stupid, people might judge you. If they judge you, they might not like you. And if they don’t like you, you’re fired. You’ll die homeless and alone. Congratulations, your brain has just escalated this to “certain death in the wilderness.”

It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. But in the moment, it feels completely real.

Your brain has made social standing, reputation, and how others see you into a matter of life and death. Quite literally, it sees public failure as almost as bad as actually dying.

That’s why you hesitate. That’s why you sweat. That’s why your heart does that thing before you speak up in a room full of people.

The cost of waiting for the right moment

One woman I worked with, Claire, was sharp and usually the most prepared person in the room. She shared a quick story with me about a time when she had a genuinely good idea during a meeting. Not a “maybe” idea. A good one.

She waited for the right moment to say it. And while she waited, the voice kicked in.
Is this actually as good as I think it is?
What if someone already thought of this?
What if I say it wrong?

By the time she talked herself into speaking up, the meeting had moved on.

Nothing terrible happened. But nothing happened at all.

That’s the cost. Not a dramatic failure, just a quiet disappearance of something that could have mattered.

You can’t just “turn it off”

At this point, the obvious move seems to be to stop listening to the voice. Ignore it. Push through it. Tell it to shut up.

Oh, if only it were that easy, my friend.

It’s your own brain. You can’t unsubscribe. And the truly inconvenient part? It knows you. It knows every button to push, every shortcut to distraction, every way to make “I’ll do it later” feel completely reasonable.

The more you try to muscle past it, the more creative it gets. Suddenly, you’re very interested in reorganizing your desk, or that one thing you need to look up, or something really shiny.

The shift that actually works

The goal isn’t to silence the voice. It’s to stop treating it like the final authority.

Here’s what I’ve found actually works: you hear it, you name it, and then you move anyway.

Not a whole ritual. Not a dramatic standoff. Just a small, quiet acknowledgment: “Got it. You’re trying to keep me safe. We’re safe. And we’re going to do this anyway.”

That moment changes everything. Because now you’re not unconsciously obeying a reflex. You’ve heard it. You’ve seen it. And you get to choose what comes next.

“If you don’t consciously hear the voice that is stopping you, you just do what it says. Until you hear it, it runs the show.”

This is where Improv comes in

People think Improv is about being funny. Or quick. Or clever under pressure.

It’s not. Well, it can be. But that’s not why I use it.

Improv is one of the fastest ways I’ve found to make that internal voice visible in a room full of people who’d normally never volunteer for something like this.

The moment you step into a simple exercise, even a completely low-stakes one, that voice shows up immediately. Before you’ve said a single word, we can almost see it happening in your face.

Don’t mess this up.
Say something good.
Why did you volunteer?

I’ll pause them sometimes and just call it out.

“You just had three ideas and rejected all of them, didn’t you?”

They laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s accurate.

And then the hesitation. Not because you don’t have ideas. Because the filter kicked in.

What changes

Once people start noticing that voice in a playful, low-risk setting, something interesting happens.

They realize they can still act with it there. They can speak before the idea is polished. They can respond instead of retreating.

I worked with a group where one guy, an engineer named Dave, told us he barely spoke in discussions. He was smart, thoughtful, and clearly paid attention… but was very quiet.

During one simple rant exercise I run, he just went for it. No overthinking. Just quick.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, unpolished, and completely alive. And it moved things forward.

Afterward, he said, “That’s the first time, maybe ever, I didn’t wait until I was sure.”

That’s the shift.

The real skill

The people who move forward aren’t fearless. They just don’t treat every uncomfortable moment like a survival situation. They feel it, that familiar tightening, and they move anyway.

That’s a skill. And like any skill, it can be practiced.

Turns out, hooting and hollering, and playing ridiculous games with a bunch of colleagues is one of the better ways to do it.

Not because the games matter that much.

Because for a moment, you stop waiting to feel ready… and realize you can function just fine without it.

Toby Martini helps teams and individuals find their voice through the unexpected power of improv. His workshop, Wing It & Win, has been called “the most fun we’ve ever had learning something real.”

I was surprised how much the class helped me in daily life. It made me a better speaker and teacher too.” – Scott Berkun

That tends to be people’s first reaction: surprise.

Because most people have a very specific (and very wrong) picture of what Improv is.

The Fear Everyone Has

When people hear about my workshops, there’s usually interest, followed immediately by hesitation.

Not about the benefits. But about what they think they’ll be forced to do.

They imagine being shoved onto a dark stage while someone yells, “Be funny. Now! Go.”

Which sounds less like learning and more like a socially acceptable nightmare.

That’s not what happens.

What It’s Actually Like

Improv, at its core, is built on support.

Good Improv isn’t about being the funniest person in the room. It’s about making your partner look good, paying attention, and building something together.

Which means the environment ends up being surprisingly safe.

No one’s put on the spot. No one’s left hanging. No one’s twisting in the wind.
(And if they were, that would just be bad teaching, not “edgy training.”)

Why It Works

Here’s the part that matters.

Every conversation in life is an act of improvisation: no one gives you a script for the day when you wake up… going to Improv class makes me comfortable in dealing with whatever happens.” – Scott Berkun

That’s the whole game.

You don’t get scripts in real life. Not in meetings. Not in difficult conversations. Not when something goes sideways and everyone turns to you.

Improv trains the skill underneath all of that.

Being able to think, respond, and create… even when you’re unsure.
Not perfectly. Just effectively. That’s where things start to change.

What We’re Really Practicing

In my workshops, Improv is just the tool.

What we’re actually working on is:

• Communicating clearly under pressure
• Speaking up instead of waiting for the perfect moment
• Listening well enough to actually respond (not just loading up your next point)
• Getting comfortable when things feel uncertain

In other words, the stuff that makes people better at their jobs and easier to work with.

If You’ve Been Curious but Hesitant

That hesitation you feel? Totally normal.

Almost everyone walks in thinking, “I’m not sure this is for me.”

Then they realize two things pretty quickly:
It’s not what they expected, and they’re better at it than they thought.

And more importantly, they leave with something they can actually use.

If you’ve ever thought, “This might be useful, but I’m not sure I’d be good at it,” you’re exactly the kind of person this was built for.

Want to read the full article from Scott Berkun? It’s here:
http://scottberkun.com/2013/what-i-learned-from-improv-class/

Here are three behaviors that can change that in meetings, tough conversations, and in the moments that don’t go according to plan. Not perfectly. Just better.

These are the same things we practice in improv workshops, even when we don’t name them directly. Because when people experience them, something clicks that a list never quite delivers.

1. Decide It’s Going to Go Well

Before any interaction, like a meeting, a pitch, or any conversation, decide that something useful is going to come out of it.

Not perfect. Not flawless. Just useful.

Most people don’t do this. You walk in running quiet predictions:

“This might be awkward.”

“They probably won’t be interested.”

“I might mess this up.”

So you hold back. You wait. You play it safe.
And the conversation moves on without you.

Instead, try this:
“Someone in this room needs something.”

“There’s a conversation worth having.”

“Something here can be moved forward.”

In workshops, I’ll put people into situations where they don’t feel ready, don’t know what’s coming, and don’t have time to prepare.

The ones who do best aren’t the most talented. They’re almost always the ones who decided, before they started, that something would work.

That decision changes how you listen, how you respond, and what you notice.

Other people can feel it.

2. Treat It Like a Game

Most of what we call “work” isn’t inherently boring. It’s just framed that way.

Change the frame and the experience changes with it.

Games work because they give you a goal, a way to track progress, and a reason to engage.
You can apply that to almost anything.

A tedious task?
Make it a speed challenge.

A tough conversation?
Make it a game of curiosity. How much can you actually learn about the other person?

I’ve seen people having Excel speed races, and while it’s not for me, I could tell they were enjoying it.

In workshops, this shift happens fast. Give people a structured “game,” and suddenly they’re engaged, creative, and fully present.

Same people. Same skills. Different frame.

Tom Sawyer got kids to pay him to paint a fence by making it a game. You don’t have to go that far, but you can absolutely change how you approach what’s in front of you.

The work doesn’t change. Your experience of it does.

3. Leave people better than you found them

In any conversation, you have a quiet opportunity:
Leave the other person a little more energized, seen, or capable than you found them.

Most people are waiting to talk. Some are genuinely listening. Very few are actively helping the other person think.

Try this instead:
Listen like you’re going to have to repeat exactly what they said. Then paraphrase it and give it back to them. not to echo, but to show them that you actually heard them.

When people feel understood at that level, something shifts.
They get clearer. More confident. More open.

That’s where better conversations and better outcomes come from.

In Improv, if you make your partner look good, the whole scene works. That rule turns out to apply pretty much everywhere.

This Is Where It Pays Off

None of this requires a personality change. It’s just three choices you can make, over and over:

• Decide something useful will happen
• Treat the moment like a game
• Leave people better than you found them

The moments that used to feel stressful start to feel workable. Even interesting.

And once that happens, you don’t need everything to go perfectly.
You don’t need perfect conditions. You need a way to handle imperfect ones.

That’s not something you’re born with.
It’s something you can practice.
It’s exactly what we train in Improv.

At the bottom of all improv training lies an astoundingly useful skill:

Being comfortable being uncomfortable.

Whenever I run workshops, that’s the real outcome I’m aiming for. I don’t usually announce it. We just play games, move around, laugh, and think in creative ways people haven’t in a while.

But what’s actually happening?

I’m putting people into uncomfortable situations… and teaching them how to still think, respond, and create from that space anyway.

What would your life look like if, in the worst possible moments
– when you’re unsure, under pressure, or completely thrown off –
you could still come up with good ideas?

Not perfect ones.
Not polished ones.
Just… useful, forward-moving ideas.

That’s the real prize of Improv.

People often associate this kind of skill with high-intensity environments. Military training. Emergency response. Skydiving. Situations where staying calm under pressure isn’t optional.

Why is improv such a powerful training ground?

Because you get to practice that same mental flexibility… with a dramatically lower chance of literally dying.

Here’s how this plays out in training:

I’ll introduce a game. Usually, something that blends physical movement and language in a way that scrambles people just enough to be uncomfortable.

They struggle.
Then they start to get it.
Then… just as they get comfortable…

I change the rules.

Now they’re uncomfortable again.
And again.
And again.

The goal is not to get good at the game.

The goal is to get good at continually creating even when your brain is scrambled. That’s the skill. That’s what transfers.

If that sounds scary, I promise that it really isn’t.
Improv is fun! Everyone is laughing and having a great time in this shared struggle. There’s never one person in a spotlight, twisting in the wind.

Some people will naturally do well at certain exercises.

So we switch it.
Different games challenge different people. I cycle through different types. Now the confident ones are off-balance, and the quieter ones suddenly have an advantage. The person who sailed through the first game gets a little thrown by the next one. No one coasts.

Luckily, there are hundreds of improv games, and nobody, not even seasoned improvisers, can rock all of them. That’s the point.
The discomfort is the curriculum.

This rotation matters.
Because in real life, you don’t get to operate only in your strengths.

You get pulled into meetings you didn’t expect.
Questions you weren’t ready for.
Conversations that go sideways.

The skill isn’t mastery of a situation.
It’s adaptability inside of one.

If you’re not taking an improv class, you can still build this skill.

Find ways to make yourself uncomfortable on purpose.

Speak up when you’d normally stay quiet.
Start conversations with people you don’t know.
Whatever makes you hesitate and think “I would never do that” – that’s probably exactly what you should try.

The key is commitment.
Don’t give up too quickly. Push past where you think you can go and notice what happens to your creativity in those moments. Because something interesting happens in those moments:

You get more creative.
More present.
More resourceful.

Think about where this shows up: leading a team through uncertainty, handling a tough client conversation, presenting without a script, navigating conflict without shutting down.

Some people call it “grace under pressure.”

Others call it “keeping a cool head.”

I call it being comfortable being uncomfortable.

Whatever you call it, it’s a skill that pays off everywhere.
It’s the difference between teams that freeze under pressure and teams that adapt in real time.

And unlike skydiving, you can practice it without signing a waiver.

Now get into an improv class. Or better yet, bring one to your team.