It was the same every morning. We’d all gather, coffee in hand, and there’d be that brief, awkward silence. I’d look around the room, trying to decide who to call on first, and I could feel the weight of that tiny decision. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it always felt like one.
Choosing felt like picking sides
I’d catch myself thinking, ‘Did I call on Sarah yesterday? Maybe I should start with Alex today.’ It was a mental calculation I didn’t want to be making. The goal was to hear from everyone, but the simple act of choosing an order introduced a subtle friction I hadn’t anticipated.It wasn’t about favoritism, but the perception of it. I could see the slight hesitation in people’s eyes when I’d glance their way. They were waiting for the cue, and my glance became that cue. I realized I was accidentally creating a pattern, a hierarchy of attention, just by looking around the room before speaking.
Letting the wheel decide for us
So, one morning, I just put a list of names on a digital spinner before the meeting. I didn’t make a speech about it; I just shared my screen and clicked ‘spin.’ The pointer landed on a name, and that person started. There was a small, collective exhale in the room, almost imperceptible.The dynamic shifted immediately. The ‘who goes first’ tension vanished. My role changed from the decider to the facilitator. I was no longer the one holding the invisible baton; the wheel was. It removed me from the equation in the best possible way.
The clarity it brought
Suddenly, the standup was about the work again, not the order. The conversation flowed more naturally because the starting point was neutral. It was a small tool that handled a small problem, but the relief it provided was genuinely large.
Accepting the randomness
Some days the same person might start twice in a row. And that was okay. Because it was fair. We all accepted the outcome because the process was transparent and impartial. It gave us a clear, agreed-upon starting line every single day.
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