Before the show began

This weekend my daughter and I got to see our favourite podcast live in Toronto.

Before I go any further: if you have children in your life, subscribe to the Brains On! universe. Created by and for curious kids, Brains On! tackles everything from space and AI to animals,emotions, and the human body with a level of intelligence and respect that is surprisingly rare. Their new series on puberty is among the best resources I have encountered, not only for children navigating those changes today, but for many adults who grew up in an era where information was sparse, awkward, or simply unavailable.

Needless to say, we were pumped!

As we walked up to the venue, I felt like I used to in my teens, heading to see Dave Matthews or The Tragically Hip for probably the eighth time and bursting with that concert anticipation.

As we approached the entrance, we heard a familiar voice.

It was Sanden Totten.

Until that moment, our relationship with Sanden had existed entirely through speakers. Their voice had accompanied car rides, crafting sprees, and countless conversations in our home, but we had never seen their face.

And there they were standing outside the venue.

Not backstage.

Not hidden away preparing for the show.

Outside.

Welcoming families as they arrived.

They posed for photos, listened to stories, answered questions, and whenever there was a break in the conversation or a lull between groups, they performed magic tricks.

Actual magic tricks.

Imagine arriving at a concert to discover your favourite musician standing out front singing a verse from your favourite song.

We already adored Sanden.

Now we were all in.

What struck me wasn't simply the generosity of it. It was the timing. The show hadn't started. Nobody would have blamed them for staying backstage. Nobody expected them to be standing outside greeting families one by one.

Yet there they were.

By the time the lights dimmed and the performance began, something had shifted. We weren't just excited about the show. We were invested in its success. Every time Sanden appeared on stage, we cheered a little louder.

They had seen us.

Now we saw them.

As it turned out, the magic wasn't random at all. It became part of the show itself. The audience was led through illusions and demonstrations exploring how the brain interprets what it sees, using magic to reveal the science behind perception. Looking back, Sanden had been preparing us for the show long before we found our seats.

The show would have been excellent regardless. The science was fascinating. The humour landed. The audience was captivated.

But standing outside changed the experience.

There is something powerful about people who are willing to stand at the front door. People who introduce themselves before they ask for your attention. People who build connection before they step onto the stage.

Whether that stage is a theatre, a classroom, a company, a family, or a community, the principle feels remarkably similar. We often assume that influence begins when the performance starts.

Sanden reminded me that it begins much earlier.

It begins the moment someone feels welcomed.

It begins the moment someone feels seen.

And sometimes, it begins with a magic trick on the sidewalk before the doors even open.