Weekly Insights #66 - What Happens When You Follow the Script Too Closely
On trusting what you’ve practiced when the moment arrives
“Train your mind to adapt to any circumstance. In this way, if circumstances take you off script, you won't be desperate for a new prompting.”
— Based on Discourses 2.2.20b–25a -Epictetus
People often move through material faster than the listener can keep up. What feels natural to the speaker is new to the listener. The listener needs small moments to take in what they’re hearing and sort it in real time. When those moments disappear, the exchange stops feeling like a conversation and pulls toward a monologue.
This came up in my conversation last week with Susan Moore during our recent “Your Authentic Voice” podcast. Someone commented in the live stream about a line I tossed in almost without thinking: we should listen to how we sound, because other people have to hear it. I meant it half as a joke, but it’s true. Listening to yourself isn’t easy. Most people avoid it. But once you get past the discomfort, you start noticing things you didn’t know you were doing—small habits, places where the idea moved too quickly, or even moments where something came across better than you expected.
When someone is nervous, or when they’re speaking from something they’ve written out in full, the delivery changes. I noticed it in some of the Stoic Week video presentations. Stoic Week features daily videos from different Stoic teachers, and the format makes it easy to notice how each presenter delivers their ideas. The speakers knew their material well, but they prepared full paragraphs instead of bullet points. When the whole idea is written out, the temptation to read is strong. Once your eyes land on the text, the pace picks up. People read faster than they speak, and you can hear the difference.
I’ve used the Orfeo example before. He’s allowed to bring Eurydice out of the underworld only if he doesn’t turn around. Knowing the rule makes it harder not to look. A script does something similar. As soon as the words are right in front of you, your attention drifts to the page. You check that you haven’t missed anything. You try to honor the exact phrasing. It’s understandable. But the moment your visual focus leaves the listener and goes back to the text, the sound shifts. It starts to resemble reading more than speaking.
We can read silently at a much faster rate than we can speak aloud. Even when someone is trying to sound conversational, the eyes move ahead. The voice tries to keep up. That’s where the speed comes from: the mismatch between silent reading speed and spoken language.
I notice this in myself. When I get interested or passionate, I interrupt my own sentences. The thought moves ahead faster than the sound. I have to be disciplined to finish the idea I’m speaking before I follow the next one. There’s nothing wrong with the energy behind it, but spoken words need a different pace than internal thoughts. That pause is crucial for listener comprehension.
Breath plays a role here, though not in the “run out of air” sense people often describe. Breath gives the idea space. A quiet inhale before you start lets the message begin cleanly. A pause at the end of the sentence gives the listener time to take it in. These pauses don’t slow anything down. They give the whole exchange a steadier rhythm.
On video calls, especially when cameras are off, keeping a steady pace becomes even more important. Without visual cues, the listener relies entirely on the timing of your words.
One of the Stoic Week speakers handled this well. They left real pauses. Those pauses gave me time to write something down or absorb the idea before they continued. With steady pacing, their structure was clear. When a speaker keeps going without a break, you lose that chance. They’re already on the next point while you’re still holding on to the first.
I noticed this again in the BA World Day sessions I attended. One of the presenters delivered his material like a conversation. This was online, not live. He wasn’t reacting to a room. But he had so much experience in this setting that the delivery felt natural. I found myself nodding and smiling at him as if he could see me. I was completely alone. We weren’t in the same place, probably not in the same time zone. Yet it felt personal. That kind of delivery comes from practicing until “conversational” becomes something you can actually hear in your own recordings.
Repetition often shows up when someone knows a topic well but hasn’t had as much experience speaking it aloud. When a person isn’t used to giving themselves real pauses, the space that appears at the end of a sentence can feel unfamiliar. Even a half-second feels longer internally than it actually is.
That’s usually where repetition comes from. The speaker starts filling the space with something they’ve already said. They’re not trying to repeat themselves. They’re simply keeping the sound moving, because stillness doesn’t feel normal yet.
People with deep knowledge also tend to carry several versions of the same idea in their mind. If they’re not sure whether the point landed, they reach for another version. To the listener, it can feel like the same idea returning again.
Most people also don’t listen to themselves often enough to hear these patterns. When you listen back, you hear where the idea drifted or where you filled space that didn’t need filling. You also hear the moments that worked, which is just as important.
It’s something I see often, especially when someone is still getting used to speaking their ideas out loud. It’s part of learning to speak at a pace that matches the listener rather than the speed of your thoughts. With practice, you become more comfortable pausing, finishing one idea before starting the next, and letting the moment guide the next sentence.
There are small habits that make speaking clearer. None of them are dramatic. They simply steady the way an idea comes out. Taking a moment before speaking helps you choose the shape of the thought. A quiet inhale sets the rhythm. A pause at the end lets the idea land. Staying with one thought long enough to finish it gives the next one a clearer path.
Over time, the whole thing becomes more natural. You start to feel at ease with the pacing and the spacing that support clarity. It’s a little like becoming comfortable in your own skin. There isn’t a shortcut for that. You learn it by practicing, by listening back, by doing the work. And when you begin speaking, you trust that what you’ve practiced will show up. Once you’re in the middle of it, there’s no space for second-guessing. The skills you’ve built tend to come forward if you allow them to.
“Let your words be few and well-chosen.”
— Based on Enchiridion 33.2-Epictetus
When you give an idea space to land—when you stay with one thought long enough for the listener to absorb it—you rarely need to say more than what’s already been said. Clarity often comes from steadiness, not volume. Pauses do the work you used to do with extra explanation. And what you’ve practiced quietly begins to support you in the moment.
