A radically different approach to speaking. Just maybe moments.

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Most people assume the purpose of speaking is to convince and persuade. We hear it all around us that the purpose of speaking is to land the point, win the room, and leave with agreement neatly in hand.

We’re led to believe that speaking is really all about using communication as a blunt tool to force audience compliance and submission. 

But the longer I’ve worked with speakers as a speechwriter and speaker coach, the more I’ve watched smart audiences quietly resist well-crafted arguments. This is why the more I write for big stages and seen my clients' successes, the more I’ve come to believe something radically different:

The purpose of speaking is to create “just maybe” moments.

A just maybe moment is small, often invisible, and incredibly powerful. It’s the instant a listener thinks, “Just maybe… I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.” Or, “Just maybe … there’s another option here.” Or, “Just maybe … I could try this.” It’s not a public declaration. It’s an internal shift. And that shift is where change actually begins.

Because audiences have agency. Always. They can refuse what you’re saying. They can question your framing, resist your tone, reject your premise, or simply decide that today isn’t the day they’re willing to move. That freedom isn’t a barrier to speaking. Instead, it’s the reality that makes speaking deeply meaningful. The moment you forget the audience is free, your talk starts to sound like a demand. And demands (like shame) rarely travel well.

That’s why “just maybe” matters. Maybe isn’t hesitation, it’s consideration. It’s an honest moment of openness that still belongs to the listener. A quick “yes” can be polite, shallow, and even performative. But a “maybe” signals something deeper: I’m thinking. I’m turning this over. I’m not ready to claim it, but I can’t unhear it. 

In other words, the listener is beginning to do their own work with your idea.

And that’s the goal. Not agreement as a transaction, but ownership as an outcome.

When people feel like you talked them into something, they don’t really own it. They borrow it for the length of your talk, then give it back when they’re stressed, busy, or back in familiar routines. But when people feel like they arrived at an insight themselves, it becomes part of how they see the world. They remember it differently. They defend it. They share it. They act on it.

A great talk helps the audience participate in the meaning. It doesn’t just deliver conclusions, but builds a path where listeners can walk themselves toward an idea at their own pace.

That’s why the throughline matters so much. The throughline isn’t “my big idea.” It’s the gift-idea the audience can carry with them. It’s an idea that helps them name something they’ve felt but couldn’t quite articulate. That’s when they, ever so slowly, start doing something with it.

Just maybe moments usually aren’t dramatic. They show up as a pause, a quiet recalibration, a softening. These moments are given air to breathe when a speaker names the audience’s resistance without punishing it. When a story opens a new interpretation without insisting on it. When the speaker offers an experiment rather than a conversion. When a question is asked with real respect, and the listener can answer it privately in a way that matters … to them.

The fastest way to kill a just maybe moment is to take their agency away. Audiences don’t resist because they’re irrational. They resist when they feel cornered, judged, or managed. Even with great data and clean logic, people brace when a message threatens autonomy, identity, intelligence, lived experience, and all the other things that make us human. In those moments, they aren’t weighing your argument. They’re protecting themselves.

So the craft of creating just maybe moments is the craft of speaking in a way that preserves dignity and invites choice.

One way to do that is to write and speak like you’re offering an invitation. Small language shifts make a big difference. Replace “you should” with “what if we … ” Replace “here’s the answer” with “here’s what I’ve noticed.” Replace sweeping certainty with specific observation. This isn’t about being timid. It’s about being credible, human, and usable.

Another way is to leave room for the listener to complete the thought. People trust conclusions they’ve helped create. If your talk is an open circuit. If it gives the audience space to connect the idea to their own experience, THAT’S when your message becomes theirs. Questions can do this beautifully when they’re genuine.

Questions like:  

Where have you seen this in your world? What does staying the same cost you? What might change if you tried the opposite for a week? A good question doesn’t trap a listener. It frees them. But questions must be surgically placed to give the audience room to breathe. 

Stories do this too, especially when they respect complexity. The most powerful stories aren’t hero stories where the speaker is the winner and everyone else is behind. They’re learning stories. Stories that land all rely on real tension, an honest insight, and a choice the listener can picture themselves making. For example, when you tell a story where you had to confront your own assumptions, you give the audience permission to do the same without shame.

And sometimes the simplest way to create a just maybe moment is to offer a small experiment. Not a grand commitment. Not a total identity shift. Just a next step that feels safe enough to try.

Here are some possibilities: Try this in your next meeting. Test this question in a 1:1. Run this for two weeks and see what changes. Experiments protect agency because they keep the decision in the listener’s hands. You’re not asking them to surrender but giving them a tool.

Even the ending of a talk can be designed for maybe. The best endings don’t tighten the rope. They hand the idea back to the audience with clarity and respect: If this resonates, here’s one next step. If it doesn’t, keep what’s useful and leave the rest. You don’t have to decide today, just notice what you notice this week. Paradoxically, that release often creates more movement than pressure ever could, because trust grows where agency is honored.

Ultimately, just maybe moments are the reason audiences remember certain talks for years. Not because the speaker was flawless, but because something in the message created a mirror. The listener saw themselves in it. They felt something shift. They walked out with language for something they already carried, and a new way to choose what came next.

So when you sit down to write your next talk, don’t start by asking, How do I get them to agree? 

Start with a better question:

Where can I create a just maybe moment, so audiences can make up their own mind, feel ownership, and choose their next step with dignity?

That’s what speaking is for.