Behind the Curtain as a Conference Chair

This post is the first in a three-part series reflecting on DjangoCon US 2025 — In this post, I’m taking you behind the scenes of DjangoCon US 2025 to share what it taught me about leadership, community, and the power of holding space for others.

This September, I stood on stage in my hometown of Chicago to welcome the Django community to DjangoCon US 2025. It was one of those moments that felt both surreal and humbling, you look out over a sea of faces and realize you’re not just at a conference, you’re part of a living, breathing community that thrives on collaboration, kindness, and shared curiosity.

Chairing DjangoCon taught me something simple but profound: leadership isn’t about control, it’s about creating space. Space for speakers to shine, for volunteers to lead, and for attendees to connect. This post is my reflection on what it meant to hold that space and watch a community come alive.

The Build-Up

Early planning sessions that turned an idea into reality.

Chairing a conference is a bit like project management on steroids: timelines, budgets, logistics, and coordination across dozens of people. I won’t pretend it was easy, there were nights when Slack notifications blurred into my dreams, and mornings when the to-do list felt taller than the Willis Tower.

But before any of that, there was one pivotal moment that set it all in motion: submitting the proposal to the DEFNA board to bring DjangoCon US to Chicago for 2025 and now 2026.

I wanted to showcase not just a city I love, but the spirit of Chicago: welcoming, collaborative, and quietly bold. Chicago has an energy that reflects the Django community itself—diverse, hardworking, and grounded in heart. When DEFNA said yes, I felt both joy and responsibility wash over me. I couldn’t wait to bring DjangoCon to my hometown and curate a conference that honored its legacy while giving it a fresh dose of Chicago energy.

Even then, I knew this wasn’t mine to control, my role was to guide, empower, and to trust the process. That mindset became my north star through every decision that followed.

The Magic in the Chaos

The real magic is made by volunteers.

What I love most about DjangoCon is that no one person “makes” the conference. Sure, the chair does some heavy lifting, but the real magic comes from speakers, volunteers, and attendees.

Some of my favorite parts of DjangoCon were the volunteers gently helping someone find their way on their first day, or the group of attendees huddled around a speaker after their talk, asking questions and bouncing ideas off of each other. Those moments reminded me that DjangoCon isn’t defined by flawless logistics; it’s defined by the connections that happen when people feel welcomed enough to show up fully.

It was a reminder that leadership isn’t about fixing every problem; it’s about holding steady so others can thrive through the messiness.

What Leadership Really Looked Like

Leadership isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence.

Being chair taught me that leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about listening, supporting, and getting out of the way when others are already doing something great.

There were hiccups—a microphone that cut out mid-session, signage that could’ve been clearer, schedules that shifted on the fly. But people were patient, kind, and willing to pitch in. The imperfections became part of the shared experience,reminders that we’re all here for the people, not the polish.

Gratitude at the Core

The community behind the conference. I’m deeply grateful for the organizing team that worked tirelessly, the speakers who shared their brilliance, the volunteers who made it all possible, and Bart Pawlik, whose photography captured the heart of DjangoCon US 2025 beautifully.

Chairing DjangoCon wasn’t perfect, and I wouldn’t want it to be. It was real, it was human, and it was filled with the spirit of the Django community: open, welcoming, and generous.

Every smile, every hallway conversation, every thank-you reinforced that leading with openness is what builds belonging.

Closing

A city that matched the energy of the community.

Looking back, I realize my job wasn’t to create a flawless event. It was to create a container where community could happen. That’s exactly what happened, whether in packed session rooms, hallway chats, or late-night Chicago adventures.

In the end, chairing DjangoCon taught me that leadership isn’t about control, it’s about holding space for others to flourish. When you do that, community becomes the true leader.

Coming soon: Part 2 — Rediscovering DjangoCon as an Attendee.