What If No One Turns Up?

Have you ever wanted to run a small in-person event but stopped yourself because you were worried no one would turn up?

That was me — until last weekend.

I ran a new public event called The New Grandad Club. I hoped for twelve people. One person showed up.

And I didn’t lose a moment of sleep.

Because I’ve learned how to manage the consequences of failure to almost zero.

Here’s how.

The Day Pain Lost Its Power

Let’s rewind to 1973. I’m twelve years old, riding a motorbike, when I collide headfirst into another rider. I black out. When I come to, part of my elbow is missing.

At 22, I fall ten metres from a cliff. By pure luck, I land between two boulders — in a head-sized gap. I black out again. My shoulders are wrecked.

At 31, I electrocute myself trying to fix a kitchen stove. I don’t black out this time. I remember every toe-tingling moment before I’m flung into a wall.

Here’s the weird part: in none of these moments did I feel pain. Not the slicing, dicing, frying kind. Just a massive, invisible force pressing down — like being buried under a sofa cushion while the other kids pile on top.

It was fear, not agony.

And it taught me something: death sounds terrifying in the telling, but underwhelming in reality.

I don’t want to die, but I don’t fear it anymore. That’s liberating.

The Fear That Hurt More Than Death

For decades, my bigger fear wasn’t dying. It was rejection.

To ask and be told “no” felt like they were saying no to me.

That misunderstanding cost me hundreds of opportunities.

But when I realised that people were simply saying no to what I was offering — not who I was — I was free.

I began to ask. To sell. To step up. To risk rejection.

And everything changed.

The Street Magic Meltdown

At 47, I was a magician who wanted to busk on the streets of Brisbane.

To do that, I needed two things I didn’t have: confidence and a rhino hide.

It’s 10:59 a.m. I’ve got the 11–12 slot at Brisbane’s busiest pitch in Southbank. There are eight steps between me and the centre.

I’m terrified.

I must stand in a busy thoroughfare, yell at strangers to stop, prove I’m worth their time, and then ask them to pay for the inconvenience.

The only thing stopping me is an imaginary line.

I step over it. The bridge pulls back behind me. I’m committed — to success or humiliation.

I start yelling:
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re about to see the greatest magic show on earth!”

No one stops.

By 11:15 I’m packing away my props under the gaze of café diners, pretending composure while dying inside.

Then a hand touches my shoulder.

An English tourist smiles. “Don’t worry, mate. Just not your day. It’ll be better next time.”

He walks on.

I look around. The café crowd has already returned to scrolling, chatting, living their lives.

No one cares.

And that’s when it hits me: I’m not as important as I think I am.

My tragedy had an audience of one — me.

From that moment on, I stopped wasting energy on things no one else was thinking about.

How I Manage Failure to Zero

1. The City Office

I run Laser Session Days — six 45-minute slots where anyone can book time with me for advice.

Do I have a real city office? No. It’s just a café.

If one person books, I head in for an hour. If two do, I café-hop. If none, I work from home.

I can promote “city office days” with complete integrity — and sleep soundly either way.

Outcome: I’ve managed the consequences of failure to almost zero.

2. The One-to-One Switch

When I ran Smart Sessions — free breakfast workshops on using video in business — I used to stress about low attendance.

So I created a rule: 24 hours before, if fewer than five people were registered, I converted the event into private 30-minute Zoom calls.

No explanations. Just value.

People loved it. The café got a polite cancellation. My time was protected.

Eight successful sessions later, I’d learned the same lesson: change the format, not your worth.

3. The Con Con

This one’s from my friend Leanne Hughes. She pre-sold a two-day conference with nothing but a date, a venue, and a promise.

If enough people paid within 24 hours, the event would happen. If not, no event.

She sold out. No stress. No risk. No sleepless nights.

She’d managed the consequences of failure — you guessed it — to almost zero.

The Real Trick

These strategies aren’t about avoiding failure. They’re about removing its sting so you can take bigger swings.

If you’ve got something to say or share, I hope this gives you permission to start.

Because once you realise the consequences are almost zero —
you’ll finally step across your imaginary line.

✨ Quote from the Post

“I’m not as important as I think I am — and that’s the most liberating truth of all.”

🔑 Takeaways

• Fear of failure fades when you reduce its consequences.

• People aren’t watching you as closely as you think.

• Courage isn’t the absence of fear — it’s crossing the imaginary line anyway.

• You can design your life to fail safely and still move forward.
  
  
  

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If we haven’t met yet…

I never considered myself good at change until I went from

Average shot → Army sniper

Home movies → National Geographic cameraman

Fumbling card tricks → Professional magician

Never swinging a hammer → Built a home

High school dropout → Published author

Business rookie → Sold a business

Stutterer → Motivational speaker

Turns out I know how to change and I know how to stand on stage & make audiences want to be adaptable & resilient too.