The quiet spin before a workshop

It was just before the planning session, and the air felt a bit thick. We all knew the next few hours would be heavy, and someone had to go first. I brought out the wheel, hoping it would feel less like a command and more like a shared breath.

The pause after the click

I clicked the spin button, and we all watched the names blur past. There was that familiar, quiet tension in the room, the kind where everyone is waiting but no one wants to seem like they care too much. It’s a small thing, really, but in that moment, it holds all the unspoken questions about fairness.When the wheel landed, there was a soft murmur, not of protest, but of quiet acceptance. A few people nodded, and the person it selected gave a small, resigned smile. It was the sound of a decision being made without anyone having to make it.

Letting the wheel carry the weight

Using the wheel this way isn't about avoiding responsibility. It's about removing the friction of choice when the choice itself doesn't matter as much as moving forward does. I’m not deciding who has the hardest job; I’m just finding a neutral way to sequence the conversation.It creates a little pocket of objectivity. The focus shifts from "Why me?" to "Okay, that's settled." You can see people’s shoulders relax just a fraction, because the ambiguity is gone. The work is still there, but the question of how to start it isn't.

A shared point of reference

Afterwards, it just becomes the thing we did. "The wheel picked Sarah," someone will say, and that’s the end of the discussion. It becomes a neutral artifact, a shared reference point that belongs to the whole room.