Thoughtfully curating a room isn’t about deciding who belongs. It’s about creating the conditions where meaningful conversation, trust, and authentic connection can flourish.
By Myrtle October
For much of my life, I believed being a good connector meant keeping the door open.
I shared introductions freely and extended invitations widely, trying not to leave anyone out. I offered access to my relationships without always asking what I might receive in return, and often without considering whether the people I connected were aligned with one another.
I thought that was generosity.
Sometimes it was. Other times, it was exhaustion disguised as altruism.
I was frequently the bright, bubbly person in the room, the one who kept the conversation moving, introduced people, filled uncomfortable silences, and tried to make everyone feel included. I cared deeply about supporting others and never wanted anyone to feel they did not belong.
Curating a room does not mean deciding who is worthy. It means deciding what a particular gathering needs.
A Gathering Needs a Purpose
In The Art of Gathering, Priya Parker argues that meaningful gatherings begin with a clear, specific purpose, not with the menu, decor, venue, or familiar list of people we feel obligated to invite. Her work also describes generous authority, a form of active hosting in which the host uses their authority for the good of the group by protecting, temporarily equalizing, and connecting guests.
That framework caused me to look honestly at my own history of bringing people together. I knew how to create an atmosphere and understood aesthetics. I could select a location, create energy, and attract accomplished people. But I had not always applied the same intentionality to the guest list, the boundaries, and the behavior required once everyone arrived.
A mentor recently asked me a deceptively simple question: What is the purpose? Otherwise, are you simply spending money?
Another trusted voice reminded me that the people in the room need to understand what they are coming to receive, and what they are being invited to contribute.
Those questions became part of the foundation for Champagne and Bourbon Bubbles: A Curated Afternoon of Connection, an intimate salon I am hosting on August 7 at Big Grove Tavern.
The purpose is not to fill a room. The purpose is to curate one.
Every Invitation Begins With a Conversation
Courtesy Is the First Conversation
One of the most overlooked aspects of any gathering happens long before guests arrive. A thoughtful RSVP, responding to an email, returning a phone call, or simply acknowledging an invitation may seem like small acts of etiquette. I have come to see them as the beginning of the relationship.
When I don’t hear back from someone after reaching out personally, I don’t assume they are a bad person. I simply recognize that our communication styles, or perhaps our timing, may not be aligned for this particular experience.
For that reason, registration is the beginning of the invitation, not the end of it. Every invitation continues through conversation.
I intentionally take time to connect with each prospective guest, by phone, email, or in person, because I want to understand more than their resume or title. I want to understand who they are, what they’re building, what matters to them, and how they might contribute to the experience of others in the room.
I hold myself to the very same standard. Respect begins with responsiveness. Meaningful gatherings begin with meaningful communication.
That process is not about interrogating people or ranking their accomplishments. It is about considering the chemistry of the room.
Will this person listen as thoughtfully as they speak? Will they arrive only to promote themselves, or will they offer encouragement, wisdom, curiosity, or a valuable introduction?
A curated room is not built solely around status. It is built around contribution.
Protecting Guests Is Part of Hospitality
Privacy and discretion are central to the experience I am designing.
Senior executives, university leaders, business owners, and other visible professionals often move through environments where one careless photograph or out-of-context moment can affect a reputation. I have long been trusted in certain rooms because I do not repeat private conversations or use someone’s presence to elevate myself.
I am bringing that same standard into my gathering. There will be a designated photographer with clear instructions. Personal photographs and public posting must respect the privacy of the people present.
It is not about secrecy or rigidity. It is about creating enough safety for people to relax, think, and speak as human beings rather than as their titles.
A boundary is not automatically unwelcoming. Sometimes a boundary is what makes genuine welcome possible.
As Parker has written about generous exclusion, intentionally drawing a temporary line can protect both the guests and the purpose of a gathering. “By closing the door, you create the room.”
The Host Cannot Be Absent From the Gathering
I once thought the ideal host should be laid-back. Choose the venue. Arrange the food. Open the door. Let adults take care of themselves.
But a host who abdicates authority does not create freedom. They often transfer authority to the loudest person, or to the guest who decides the gathering should become something entirely different.
I learned this lesson early. When I was 16, I planned a birthday party, handled the arrangements, and even charged guests for entry. The room filled, but afterward the amount collected did not match what the gathering cost me, financially or emotionally. People treated the home like a playground. There were too many guests, too many problems, and too little protection for the person who had made the event possible.
Later, when I was entrusted with authority in the media, I again opened systems and opportunities to people I wanted to help. Some respected the access. Others ignored boundaries, disrupted operations, or behaved as though my generosity erased my authority.
Those experiences did not teach me to stop helping people.
“They taught me that generosity without stewardship eventually becomes vulnerability.”
When a host needs to step away, a reliable person must temporarily carry the purpose and standards of the gathering, with clear expectations for vendors, photographers, assistants, and guests. Otherwise, confusion will establish rules the host was afraid to name.
Protect, Equalize, and Connect
The three responsibilities of generous authority frame the salon I am creating.
Protect the guests
Protection includes more than physical safety. It means protecting people from preventable embarrassment, unwanted exposure, aggressive self-promotion, and an environment that has lost its purpose. It also means being prepared to address a problem rather than expecting guests to manage it for me.
Temporarily equalize the guests
Most gatherings inherit a hierarchy before anyone enters. Titles, wealth, public recognition, rank, age, and influence can quietly determine who receives attention and who disappears into the background.
For this reason, I am reconsidering the usual dependence on titles and formal name tags. I want guests to discover one another through conversation rather than scan the room for the person with the most impressive position.
For a few hours, a CEO, a creator, a dean, and a community resident can meet first as people. This does not erase anyone’s accomplishments. It allows something more human to precede them.
Connect the guests
Connection is not accomplished by putting people in the same room and hoping for magic. A host must make thoughtful introductions, design opportunities for conversation, notice who has been left alone, and redirect someone who monopolizes attention.
The event is not centered on passing out business cards, but what happens afterward matters. The introductions, the follow-up conversations, and the relationships that might never have formed otherwise are essential parts of the value.
The conversation is the centerpiece. The hospitality creates the conditions around it.
Design Communicates Before the Host Speaks
A large room with loud music and an open dance floor encourages movement and spectacle, exactly right for a celebration built around dancing. A small room creates another kind of possibility.
For this salon, the environment is designed to support walking, talking, and listening. The food will be simple to enjoy while moving. The decor will be neutral and restrained, with whites, ivories, champagne tones, and subtle metallic details rather than an overstated party environment.
There will not be rows of chairs that divide the room into speakers and spectators, nor a crowded arrangement of tables that traps people in fixed groups.
The physical space should quietly say: Be present. Move with ease. Meet someone. Stay in the conversation.
The aesthetics matter, but only when they serve the purpose.
From Gladys Knight to a Different Kind of Stage
The original inspiration for this gathering was personal.
For years, I have sung songs associated with Gladys Knight, including Midnight Train to Georgia, Neither One of Us, and If I Were Your Woman. Her music has accompanied different chapters of my life and represents a kind of elegance, emotional honesty, cultural memory, and endurance.
As I considered creating an experience around the time of her Champaign appearance, the vision gradually evolved from producing a large event toward something more intimate.
I realized I did not need another stage. I needed a room where the conversation itself could take center stage.
Leaving People Out, or Creating the Right Space?
The most difficult part of intentional gathering has been releasing the internal people-pleaser who wants to invite everyone.
I have had to accept that not every person is right for every room. Someone may be intelligent, accomplished, likable, and valuable, yet still not fit the purpose or chemistry of a particular gathering.
That is not a judgment against the person. It is a decision made in service of the guests who have trusted the host with their time, privacy, energy, and presence.
For too long, I interpreted exclusion as cruelty and inclusion as goodness. Now I understand something more nuanced.
“When I invite people into a space, I become responsible for what I knowingly permit inside it.”
I am creating space for a specific kind of exchange.
The Beginning of an Intentional Practice
This inaugural salon represents more than a single afternoon. It represents years of learning about generosity, access, authority, hospitality, and the responsibility that comes with bringing people together.
What has changed is my understanding of stewardship. I am learning to steward what has been entrusted to me, the relationships, the trust, the energy, the privacy, and the purpose every guest carries into a room. Stewardship, I have learned, is not about controlling people. It is about honoring the responsibility that comes with inviting them into a shared experience.
I still believe in generosity, and in inviting people across industries, generations, races, backgrounds, and experiences to encounter one another.
The strongest communities are not always created by assembling the largest crowd. Sometimes they begin when a host has the courage to establish a clear purpose, choose carefully, protect generously, and connect intentionally.
Hospitality, I’ve discovered, is not the absence of boundaries. It is the thoughtful presence of them.
I once believed the best host left every door open. Today I understand that the best host knows which door to open, whom to welcome, and how to protect the experience once everyone has arrived.
People may forget what was served. They may forget the flowers. They may even forget the venue. But they rarely forget how a thoughtfully curated room made them feel.
That is the room I intend to keep creating.
About the Author
Myrtle October is a Private Legacy Consultant and founder of Champagne & Bourbon Bubbles, where she curates intentional salons that bring together leaders, creatives, entrepreneurs, educators, and community builders through meaningful conversation and thoughtful hospitality. Her work explores the intersection of legacy, discretion, leadership, and the art of creating spaces where authentic relationships flourish.
Connect with Myrtle October on LinkedIn
Works Referenced
Parker, Priya. The Art of Gathering: How We Meet and Why It Matters.
