The Chair in the Corner: What Happens When You Let Them Listen

I remember the first time I sat in a meeting I “didn’t belong” in.

I was 26, barely out of an admin role, still answering the phone with a chirpy “Development Office, this is Lynne,” and I got a calendar invite that made me do a double take. Strategic Planning Committee.

Me. In a room full of vice presidents, deans, and directors with corner offices and blazers more expensive than my rent.

At first, I thought it was a mistake. So, I called my VP’s assistant to clarify.

“Nope,” she said. “She wants you there. Bring a notebook.”

Now let me tell you, I didn’t speak. Not once. I was seated off to the side, out of the way, no nameplate, no fancy title. But I listened. I watched. I absorbed everything—how decisions were made, how budgets were defended, how strategy was debated with both sharp elbows and sincere collaboration. I watched people disagree respectfully. I saw how leadership handled pressure. And I left that room different.

I didn’t just learn what our priorities were. I learned how priorities are made.

And that changed everything.

I owe that VP more than I can say. Because she didn’t just give me a peek behind the curtain—she gave me a place in the room. Not to contribute. Not to perform. But to learn. To stretch. To understand what I was working toward beyond my job description.

I share this story because it is so simple. And yet so rare.

We talk a lot about staff development in the nonprofit world—about mentorship, professional training, conference budgets. All important, yes. But sometimes the most transformational learning doesn’t come from a formal session or an expensive workshop. Sometimes it comes from a quiet seat in the corner of a meeting you wouldn’t normally be invited to.

And sometimes, that little chair in the corner becomes the first step toward a very big future.

Here’s the hard truth: too often, we gatekeep the very spaces that could help our colleagues grow. We assume someone isn’t ready, or we worry they’ll ask a “silly” question, or we simply forget to look around and think, “Who else should hear this?”

But here’s the even harder truth: we lose people when we don’t grow them.

The number of talented, mission-driven folks I’ve seen leave roles—not because they were unhappy, but because they felt invisible—is staggering. And preventable.

You don’t need a new budget line or a grand HR plan to start changing this. You just need to offer a seat.

Invite the stewardship coordinator to sit in on the campaign planning meeting.

Let the annual giving associate listen to the board’s finance update.

Bring your gift processing team into a conversation about donor experience design.

You don’t need them to speak. You need them to see.

To see the big picture. To see how what they do connects to what the organization is becoming. To see that their work matters—even when their title doesn’t yet scream leadership.

Now I can hear some of you thinking, “But isn’t it awkward? Won’t it be distracting?”

Not if you set the expectation. Not if you say, “I’d love for you to join this meeting just to listen and learn. No need to speak. No pressure. Just be present and take it in.”

When you frame it as development—not delegation—it changes everything.

It says: “You matter here.”

It says: “We believe in your growth.”

It says: “You belong in this room someday, and here’s a glimpse of what that looks like.”

That VP who invited me all those years ago? She did it again and again—not just for me, but for others. She made it a quiet practice. She called it “pulling back the tent flap.” And years later, I saw those same junior staffers sitting at that table—not in the corner, but in leadership chairs of their own.

That’s legacy. That’s leadership. That’s donor relations at its finest—because it’s relationship-building not just with donors, but with people. With the very team members who carry this work forward long after we’ve moved on.

So, the next time you’re heading into a big meeting, look around. Think about who’s not in the room, but should be.

Not to participate. Not to impress.

Just to listen. Just to grow.

Just to start becoming the kind of leader you were lucky enough to learn from.

That empty chair in the corner? It might be the most powerful seat in the room.

Fill it. Intentionally. Generously. Repeatedly.

And then, someday, watch who rises. You won’t regret it.

Written by Lynne Wester