The first time I got payed as a speaker was in a taxi

Carlos Cantú • June 12, 2025

You’d think the first time I ever gave a proper “speech” would’ve been in front of a small crowd, maybe a work event, or at least a nervous toast at a friend’s party. Nope. My first real attempt at public speaking happened in the back seat of a taxi.


I had been preparing some lines, trying to get over that fear of putting my thoughts into spoken words. The driver noticed me muttering to myself and asked what I was doing. Instead of brushing it off, I thought, why not? So I told him, “Actually, I’m practicing a little speech.” He laughed and said, “Go on then—practice on me.”


So I did. Right there, stuck in traffic, I delivered my first “speech.” No stage lights, no fancy microphone—just me, a captive audience of one, and the faint smell of air freshener shaped like a pine tree.


Here’s the twist: when I finished, the driver was silent for a second. Then he looked at me through the rearview mirror and said, “That really touched me.” And when we got to my stop? He refused to take my money. “That was worth more than the fare,” he said.


It hit me right then: speaking isn’t about being perfect, polished, or professional. It’s about connection. If words spoken in the back of a cab can reach someone enough to make them wave off the meter, imagine what they can do in a room full of colleagues, friends, or strangers.


That moment taught me something speeches and workshops never could: your voice matters, even in the most ordinary of places. Especially in the most ordinary of places.


So if you’re waiting for the “right” stage, the perfect script, or the courage to suddenly appear—stop waiting. Start where you are. Even if that’s the back seat of a taxi.

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You can't Syndrome My Impostor!

By Carlos Cantú • June 12, 2025
Impostor syndrome is basically that little gremlin in your head whispering, “They’re going to figure out you have no clue what you’re doing.” Newsflash: neither does anyone else. Half the boardrooms in London, Berlin, or Paris are filled with people nodding confidently while silently Googling acronyms under the table. The difference isn’t who knows the answers—it’s who’s bold enough to fake composure with a straight face.  So why are we terrified to admit it? Because we’re conditioned to put on a polished act. At work, we strut around like we’re at some formal dinner in Brussels, trying not to drop the cutlery. God forbid anyone notices we sometimes feel like frauds. But the reality? The second you confess it over a pint, espresso, or glass of wine, most people will laugh and say, “Same here.” Suddenly the scary monster turns out to be a paper dragon. Here’s the twist: impostor syndrome isn’t proof you’re failing—it’s proof you’re stretching. You don’t get that sinking feeling when you’re stuck in your comfort zone, doing the same thing on repeat. You feel it when you’re in new territory—leading a project, pitching across cultures, learning the ropes of a new market. That shaky feeling? That’s growth disguised as doubt. And let’s be real: admitting it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you relatable. Nobody actually bonds over someone acting like a perfect professional robot. People connect over the messy truth—“Yeah, sometimes I’m just winging it too.” Authenticity wins out every time, whether you’re in Madrid, Milan, or Manchester. So, here’s a dare. Next time that impostor voice shows up, say it out loud. Ask a colleague, “Do you ever feel like you’re bluffing your way through this?” Chances are, they’ll grin and nod. And just like that, the silence cracks. Fear hates daylight, and impostor syndrome hates being talked about. Bottom line: stop letting it drive. Everyone’s faking it a little, and that’s fine. Owning it? That’s not weakness—that’s power.

Don't let them sleep at your company party

By Carlos Cantú • June 12, 2025
Everybody deserves to be awake at a company retirement.