When an Audience Changes You

The Transforming Power of Relating with Those We Reach

I was about to meet the group when I was told it would include the gang’s leader. I immediately cut the teacher off, “I don’t want to know any more.” I didn’t want to take her pre-judgments; I wanted to meet the group fresh. Of course, it was within seconds of stepping off the bus that I knew exactly who had built a reputation for being the school thug.

At fifteen, Canio towered over me and the group at six-foot-three-inches tall. His presence was strong, and people naturally gave him space. We were about to embark on a ten-day Outward Bound expedition through the Snowy River National Park. I knew immediately he had the potential for leadership, but I didn’t know yet he had potential as a poet.

Everything came easy to Canio, and he was soon earning the trust of the group by stepping in to help set up camp and getting dinner started. When other members were struggling on the side of a mountain, he would run ahead to drop his pack before returning to help them. The attending teacher looked on in shock, was this the same person?

On the second evening I sat back against a tree near the fire with my notebook; a customary way to unwind. He came and sat next to me to bluntly ask, “What you doing?”

“Writing poetry,” I told him.

After a short pause he asked, “Can I do that?”

I reached into my pack and pulled out a spare notebook. Handing it to him he shuffled off to nearby tree to write. A while later he returned to share his creations. I read what he’d given me and was blown away by the profound wisdom that lay in his words.

Each night we repeated the same ritual; two guys sharing poetry by the fire. His teacher looked on in shock. Here was a guy who had repeatedly failed English and was about to be expelled. He had now found a way to express himself.

Your Audience Isn’t Always What You Think It Is

A while later I was teaching conflict resolution to year nine students in a high school. Predictably, the motivation was low. I told them that in two weeks they would be teaching a conflict resolution class to fifth graders at a nearby primary school. They looked on in disbelief, their motivation barely budging.

The day came for them to teach their first class. When we piled off the bus, I was surprised their focus was still not there. As the fifth-grade class joined us outside for the class to start, the students looked at me as if to rescue them. I remained silent; arms folded.

After five painful minutes, a quiet student stepped forward and took control of the moment. The lesson came together in a rough way. The fifth graders were a little confused by what was happening, but the ninth graders got the lesson.

They arrived at our next class alert and ready to learn. They knew I wasn’t going to rescue them. If they were going to survive and thrive as teachers, they had to be prepared. They knew I wasn’t their audience. From there they showed up for their true audience — their junior peers — in what became a powerfully transformative experience for both groups.

The Power of an Audience That Matters

As an educator, I have seen time and again that an audience makes a massive motivational difference. But not just any audience. The secret motivation is an audience that matters to you. One where you value the other’s opinion or feedback. And indeed, when the audience and the poet or teacher come together in a special way, it is becomes something greater. It has the power to become a truly transformative relationship.

Canio was already a poet; I didn’t teach him anything. I did show him he mattered, and I didn’t judge what he shared with me. His schooling to that point had included a lot of judgment on everything from his demeanour to his academic skill. While I started as his audience, we became two poets sharing our hearts.

For our young conflict-resolution teachers, they couldn’t care less what I thought. But the experience of their younger peers did matter, and that was a powerful motivator for them to step up. A powerful exchange developed out of them learning together.

When Your Audience Represents Your Biggest Fear

I was assisting an entrepreneurship program for teens who grew up in the foster care system. Many had been expelled from numerous schools and had come to a dead-end in their formal learning journeys.

The program was appropriately called The Chutzpah Factory College of Entrepreneurship, the brainchild of psychologist, entrepreneur, and educator, Louise Earnshaw. As part of the program, participants were given the opportunity to start a business from scratch.

When they looked at their passions, skills, and talents, one group of three fifteen-year-olds decided to start a consulting business to teach social workers how to better serve young people in care. Any idea in a safe space is easy to come by, but the rubber hits the road at the point you need to face your biggest fear.

The day came for their first workshop. They had designed a three-hour experience and advertised it heavily. As our young consultants saw the forty-something social workers pile into the room, they fled to the bathroom in fear. Blood drained from their faces, they now had to face the group of people who had both supported them but also been there through so much of their painful journeys. One girl threw up from nerves.

Once she had purged her fears, she declared to her peers, “We have to do this.” Some inner power took over and they stepped in front of the audience to deliver what they were told was the best professional development the social workers had ever attended.

Our opinions as educators didn’t matter. But those of their social workers did. And what came out of that experience was more than changed opinions; it was a changed relationship. The group of forty-plus people who attended went from audience to peers. They valued the opinions of the young people they were serving. They started to talk about how to work together.

From Audience to Relationship

As writers we can transform how we relate with our audiences. A key for me is a group of supportive writer friends. They give me encouragement and a safe place to receive needed feedback on improving my craft. It is these friends who cheered me on to be here and share my stories.

Many of you, as readers, I am yet to meet. We don’t yet know each other beyond the words we share on screen. The most exciting and encouraging moments happen through comments and dialogue between articles. These interactions mean more than any stats. I have been prompted to explore topics I’d not considered and unearthed stories from deep in my past. You’re helping me be a better writer.

We all have fears — it is part of being human. There are times when I hesitate to publish a story, afraid of how people may react. But I have been encouraged every time by the reception I have received. As I pursue this work, I keep coming back to these stories and their lessons:

1. How Canio taught me the power to reinvent myself
2. The young students in the conflict resolution class taught me that not every audience matters, but we grow through relating with those that do matter
3. The young consultants showed me we transform ourselves through facing our biggest fears
4. And I can do all of this every time I write.