Jeff Revilla runs a podcast theater in Pennsylvania—a physical space where independent podcasters can record in front of live audiences. After a year of watching hosts step out of their home studios and onto his stage, he’s noticed a pattern that keeps repeating.

I’ve seen people prepare monologues. I’ve seen people prepare like standup comedy routines that they haven’t even tried. They just thought I’m going to write some funny jokes. And time and time again, those things bomb. They fail because you’re not in that moment.

The podcasters who struggle most are the ones who come most prepared. They’ve written out their material. They’ve rehearsed their bits. They’ve tried to control the experience in advance—and it falls flat. The ones who do well are the ones willing to meander through bullet points, talk from the heart, and respond to what’s actually happening in the room.

This isn’t just about live performance. It’s about something deeper: the relationship between control and connection.

In our home studios, we have total control. We can pause, edit, re-record. We can craft the perfect version of what we meant to say. That safety feels like a gift—and it is, in some ways. But Revilla is pointing to its cost. When we optimize for control, we may be optimizing against the very spontaneity that makes conversation come alive.

Consider what happens when you bring a scripted monologue to a live audience. You’re not responding to them—you’re performing at them. There’s no actual exchange happening. The audience can feel the difference between someone reading prepared material and someone genuinely present in the moment. One feels like a broadcast; the other feels like being in the room with someone.

Revilla notes that live audiences are actually more forgiving than podcasters expect. “You’re going to make mistakes tonight,” he tells hosts before they go on. “And you’re the only person in this room who’s going to actually know that you made a mistake.” The audience just thinks it’s part of the show. They’re not looking for perfection—they’re looking for presence.

This reframes what we think we need to have “good” conversation. We assume more preparation means better results. But preparation aimed at control—scripting every word, anticipating every response, eliminating all uncertainty—may work against connection rather than for it. The audience, whether live or listening later, can sense when someone is genuinely responding versus executing a plan.

What if the controlled environment we create for conversation is precisely what prevents it from coming alive? Not because control is bad, but because we’re controlling the wrong things. Structure can help—Revilla says bullet points are fine, having clips ready to play is fine. What doesn’t work is scripting out word for word, trying to predetermine what should unfold spontaneously.

The uncomfortable implication: maybe our conversations would be more alive if we let them be more dangerous. Less edited. Less safe. More willing to be in the moment with whatever actually happens, rather than the thing we planned to make happen.

This field note references the Podtalk episode “Interactive with Jeff Revilla,” published May 16, 2025.