09/14/2026
I almost said no to one of the best dinners I've had all year because I wasn't sure I belonged at the table.
I was at the National Speakers Association annual conference - a newbie, my first time. I had a conversation with someone who recognized me from a virtual event in 2020, and he asked me if I’d like to join him for dinner with a few others.
I questioned whether I should put myself out there, eat dinner in my room or hang with a few friends.
I asked myself: What would my future self tell me to do? GO!
As the group of 10 walked to the restaurant, I felt surrounded by a sea of greatness. That I didn’t belong.
One of the hosts explained this would be a Jeffersonian dinner. One rule: when anybody speaks, everybody listens. He would pose a question, and every person around the table would answer in turn.
The first question was simple. Introduce yourself and tell us what brought you here. From the first intro, you could feel the group's collective presence.
I panicked about what I’d say. My inner monologue said, ‘You’ve worked for Martha, Fast Company, so what?’ They’ve actually done first-of-its-kind things. They’ve turned challenges into life-altering dedication to the forgotten.
Feeling like I don't belong is my kryptonite. Inside, I was melting down while seated in the middle of the table with no way to escape, duck out, or excuse myself. That inner critic has a way of pulling our attention inward, making us question whether we're enough when the better question might be, What does this moment need from me?
I pulled myself out of the drowning thought spiral and decided I could judge myself against these amazing humans, or I could add to the dinner, bring some value to the conversation, ask really good questions, and not try to prove why I earned an invite.
My voice shook when I started talking. Not my best, but I got through.
The second question: ‘Tell us about a moment in your life you are proud of.’
Each person went deeper than the one before. It was like every story gave the next person permission to open the door a little further.
I felt so grateful to be there. I felt like there was a reason I was meant to be there, even if I didn’t know what it was in the moment.
By the end, I knew those nine people in a way that felt real, meaningful, and memorable - not as contacts or LinkedIn connections, but as people.
Each of us grew through each other. Everyone belonged. A no-judgment zone.
We don't have enough years to learn everything through our own experience.
We need other people's.
Their mistakes and perspectives. The things they've survived, built, lost, learned, and figured out.
And they need ours.
That's one reason the rooms we choose matter so much.
The right room doesn't just introduce you to more people. It gives you access to more life.
I had almost let the feeling that I didn't belong keep me from a room that expanded me. Maybe that's one of the things our inner imposter gets wrong.
It interprets discomfort as evidence that we don't belong, when sometimes discomfort is simply evidence that we're growing.
I went into that dinner worried about whether I measured up. I left thinking much less about myself and much more about what I had learned from everyone else.
Put yourself in rooms where people stretch what you know. Where their experience expands yours.
If you don’t know where to find these rooms, why not host your own Jeffersonian dinner? Two questions as the main course.
Lorne Michaels once said: “If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.”
Here's my take:
The right room isn't where you're the smartest. It's where everyone brings something that makes everyone else smarter.
Instead of asking if I belong, I’m asking what I can learn because I said yes to being here.
