I’ve always been highly aware of the importance of the first 30 seconds of any interaction.
Who am I? Why am I here? And why should you care?
I want to be able to answer those questions clearly and confidently, pitched at the appropriate level of detail for whatever situation I’m in.
I once worked with someone whose answerphone message started: “Hello, this is, erm…” and then he said his name. That erm bothered me every single time I heard it. What state of mind was he in on the day he recorded that message that made him unsure of what his own name was? Obviously, he wasn’t. But that tiny hesitation communicated uncertainty. And once I’d noticed it, I couldn’t unnotice it.
There’s a story about Steve Jobs asking people he bumped into at Apple who they were and what they were working on. In some versions of the story, if they couldn’t explain themselves convincingly, the encounter didn’t end particularly well for them.
Whether that’s entirely true or has acquired a bit of Jobs mythology over the years, the idea stuck with me. Walking the corridors of Microsoft, I made sure I could answer the equivalent question if it ever came my way.
Who are you?
What do you do here?
Why does it matter?
Not with a job title. Job titles are often almost useless outside the bit of the organisation that invented them. I wanted to be able to explain why I was there, succinctly and in the context of the business.
The same applied before meetings. Particularly meetings with people I hadn’t met before.
I’d make sure I knew what my ‘bio’ was for that situation. Not because I was changing who I was, but because context matters. You need to pitch yourself at the right level for the people you’re talking to and explain why you are in this particular conversation.
Sometimes that might be:
“I’m here because I’m the executive sponsor for the project.”
Or:
“I’m here because this project could land with one of my teams in the future, so I want to understand it early.”
Or:
“I’m here because I’m the escalation path if something goes wrong.”
Same person. Different reason for being in the room.
I’ve seen exactly the same thing happen when someone walks onto a stage, and it makes me wince every time.
“Hello, my name is, erm…”
No.
Of all the things you’re going to say in the next 20, 30 or 60 minutes, your own name should not come as a surprise. Your first 30 seconds should be the part you know cold.
In fact, I think you should know them well enough that you can say them while you’re doing something else: looking around the room, finding a friendly face, checking that people can hear you, absorbing the atmosphere, slowing your breathing and establishing your rhythm.
Those 30 seconds aren’t just for the audience.
They’re for you.
They give your brain time to catch up with your body. You’ve walked onto the stage. You’ve started talking. Nothing terrible has happened. You know these words. You’ve said them dozens of times before.
And now you’re off.
The same principle applies away from a stage. A job interview. A board meeting. A customer call. A networking event. An unexpected conversation with someone senior in the corridor.
You shouldn’t be inventing who you are while you’re saying it.
Know your first 30 seconds.
Mine, today, is:
“Hello, my name is Andrew Spooner, and I help technology leaders communicate with clarity and impact.”
Everything after that can be a conversation.
I’m Andrew Spooner. I help people find and tell better stories about technology. If you’ve got one that needs telling, get in touch.