Standing in the Dunedin Town Hall, waiting to speak in front of a full house of designers, builders, and industry peers, I felt something familiar return - the same nerves that derailed my regional awards speech a couple of months earlier. It’s a strange thing: I can design with clarity and feel confident in most situations, but give me a microphone and the calm tends to slip.

But this time felt different. A week earlier, I’d presented the end-of-season awards to my son’s under-11 rugby team in a packed clubhouse. After a long silence while I sorted my notes, I found my footing. I realised the only approach that worked was the simplest one: be myself. Speak plainly, stay grounded, keep a sense of humour. My other half even gave it a great review.

So in Dunedin, I did the same. I spoke about the clients - their trust, their patience, and their commitment to the process. They navigated material surges, interest-rate jumps, and everything the last few years have thrown. Their tenacity shaped the project as much as any drawing or detail.

I’ve always preferred letting the work speak quietly for itself. But I’m learning there are moments when you need to speak for the work - and sometimes, speak for the people who made it possible. The nerves are still there, and perhaps that’s a good sign. It means the work matters. The relationships matter.

And maybe, with a few more rugby-club speeches under my belt, I’ll even start looking forward to it. For now, I’m grateful for the recognition, the people, and the reminder that good architecture is never a solo act.