I went to the theatre on the weekend. At the conclusion, someone near the front stood up, and within seconds, half the audience was on its feet.

Standing ovations are one of those rituals we do without thinking, and the emotion behind them is anything but automatic.  It’s that rare feeling of having witnessed something that genuinely moved us, something we don’t want to let slip by without acknowledgement. Usually someone else moves first, and we then follow. At that point, the standing ovation becomes collective and almost inevitable.

But on the way home, I was reflecting: What makes us stand up first?  Not when it’s safe to, or when the person next to us has already committed.  But genuinely first, before we know whether anyone will join us, and before we can scan the room and calculate the risk.

In organisations, there’s a version of this moment that plays out differently. It’s the meeting where someone names the thing no one else will name. Or the moment someone stands up (metaphorically, sometimes literally) and says ‘this deserves recognition. This matters. I’m not going to let it pass unremarked.’

Most of us have felt that impulse. Maybe it’s for the colleague who held the team together through a restructure while the official narrative moved on. Or for the quiet leader who told the truth when the data was uncomfortable. Or for the person who did the unglamorous work that made everyone else look good. We notice it and we feel it.  And then we do a very quick, very sophisticated calculation: Will this land well? Is it our place to say it? What will people think? And the moment passes.

And here’s what’s worth noticing. It’s rarely fear of being wrong that stops us. We usually know the thing is true. It’s fear of being seen as difficult, as disruptive, as someone who doesn’t read the room. We’ve learned, often very early in our careers, that the room has a preferred temperature. And we’ve become expert at maintaining it.

There’s a well-known phrase in organisations, usually spoken in a low voice, and with a knowing look. Career suicide. It’s shorthand for: what you’re about to do might be true and right, but you probably shouldn’t do it.

The interesting question isn’t whether it’s risky. It often is. The more interesting question is, what would matter enough that we’d do it anyway? What would make us stand up in the room, before anyone else, not knowing if anyone would follow, because it needed to be said and we were the one who saw it?

That’s not a rhetorical question, it’s a diagnostic one. Because what we’re willing to stand for (publicly, visibly, at some personal cost) tells us something important about who we actually are, as distinct from who we’re performing ourselves to be.

Most senior leaders are surrounded by people who’ve learned not to start the standing ovation. The culture has quietly, efficiently taught them when to stay in their seats.

So what would you stand up and applaud in your organisation, even if you were the only one on your feet? And what’s stopping you?

The performance worth applauding might not be on a stage. It might be happening right now, in your organisation. And somewhere, someone is hoping you’ll be the one who stands up first.