The quiet before someone speaks

You know the moment. The daily check-in ends, and there's that heavy pause. Everyone's eyes are down, waiting for someone else to fill the space. It's not reluctance, exactly. It's just the weight of an unspoken question: who goes next?

When the pause becomes a room

I used to feel a pull to just assign someone. To point and say 'you go'. But that felt like adding pressure, not relieving it. The silence wasn't about having nothing to say. It was about the invisible queue we all felt but couldn't see.I wanted a way to make that queue visible. Something that didn't come from me, the manager, making a choice. It needed to feel neutral, almost like the room itself was deciding.

A turn decided by chance

So I made a simple digital wheel with everyone's name. No order, no ranking. Just a circle of equal segments. The rule was simple: after the formal agenda, we'd spin it. Whoever it landed on would share an update, a blocker, or just a thought for the day.The first time we used it, the dynamic shifted immediately. The tense waiting evaporated. There was a slight, collective exhale. The decision was out of our hands, and that was a relief.

What the wheel held

It wasn't about forcing contribution. It was about dissolving the awkwardness of selection. The spin created a small, shared moment of anticipation that felt lighter than the dread of being called on.

The space it opened

People started speaking more freely, knowing their turn was governed by chance, not judgment. The focus moved from 'why am I being picked' to 'what do I have to share'. It was a subtle but powerful difference.