Unplanned Moments, Popped Bottles, and Trackside Hospitality

Hey Beloved,

I’ve worked a lot of events over the years—but this one caught me off guard. Not because of what happened on the track. But because of what happened around it.

It wasn’t planned.
Wasn’t programmed.
Didn’t make the run of show.

But there it was.

A family from out of the country had mentioned in an email—just once—that it would be their son’s birthday during the event.

Nothing flashy. No ask. Just a note in the fine print of their RSVP.

When they arrived and found their table, we were ready.
Brittney Reese, Olympic long jump champion, walked up with a birthday gift in hand.
She talked with them. Asked the son questions like he was the most important person in the stadium.

He didn’t say much. He just beamed.
Like the whole weekend had been choreographed around that one moment.

It was the kind of memory we miss when we’re too busy executing.
Too focused on the event to notice the experience.

But it’s the kind of moment I’ve learned to look for—
because it’s where the real story lives.

Last weekend, I had the joy of helping shape the Lexus Legacy Experience, a full day VIP upgrade at the 50th Prefontaine Classic—one of the most iconic track & field meets in the world.

My role? Not to run logistics or manage talent.
But to host. To curate an atmosphere.
To make the sidelines feel like center stage.

And what struck me most wasn’t the food (though it was great).
Or the headliners warming up just yards away (though they were electric).
It was the little moments that didn’t need to happen—but did.

One guest flew in alone.
Didn’t know anyone.
You could feel her hesitation as she scanned the crowd.

But ten minutes later?
She was at the bar, sipping a cocktail and laughing with two strangers—
like they’d walked in together.

Then there were the champagne toasts—
yes, planned on paper.
We knew the winners would stop by the experience.
We had the bottles chilled, ready to celebrate.

But what no one could have scripted
was how the athletes would pull guests into the party.
Spraying champagne.
Passing bottles.
Drinking straight from them like they’d all won something together.

At one point, an athlete lifted a bottle to a guest and said:
“Your turn.”

Not as a performance.
But as an invitation.

And in that instant, the guest wasn’t just watching history.
They were part of it.

Hospitality at its best doesn’t just impress.

It interprets.

It takes the raw material of a moment—
a comment, a craving, a need not yet spoken—
and turns it into something that whispers:
“I see you.”

It’s easy to forget this in a world addicted to “scale.”
We get busy measuring guest counts, brand impressions, ROI.

And don’t get me wrong—I love a well-executed plan.
But too often, we measure the wrong things.

We measure what we produced—not who we touched.
We obsess over the event—but overlook the encounter.

The irony?

Most customers/guests will forget 90% of what you planned.
But they will remember the 10% that felt personal.

The moment the staff member remembered their name.
The cocktail made just the way they like it.
The birthday gift from an Olympic legend who sat and lingered like she had nowhere else to be.

That’s the stuff that doesn’t scale.
But it sticks.
It transforms.
It restores something—
not just in the guest, but in the one doing the serving.

That’s what redemptive hospitality is.

Not perfection.
Not polish.

But presence.

The willingness to slow down long enough to say:
You’re not just a reservation.
You’re not just a target audience.
You’re not just passing through.

You’re a person.

And right now, in this place,
you matter.

I keep thinking about that boy with the birthday gift.
The way he looked at Brittney.
Like something sacred was unfolding.

And maybe it was.

Maybe the sacred happens not in the show itself,
but in how we prepare the space for people to receive it.

Maybe the finish line isn’t the point.
Maybe the moment before it—the look, the welcome, the warmth—
is where the real race begins.

With you,
Nathan

Real quick—

This August, I’m opening a small, online 6-week workshop on Unreasonable Hospitality.

We’ll cover things like guest journey mapping, elevating everyday moments, and designing experiences that make people feel welcomed, seen, and valued.

If that sounds like something you’d want in on, just hit reply and say “yes.”

I’ll make sure you’re the first to know when it opens.

Before you go, a question for you (or your team):

What’s one place in your world where you could trade efficiency for presence?
Where you could create a moment—not to impress,
but to honor?

Not for scale.
Not for strategy.
Just for someone to feel seen.

Because that’s where the world slows down.
And the work becomes holy.