I remember nothing from that biology class at Otago University eighteen years ago – not the curriculum, not my classmates, not even what grade I got. But I remember his frogs.

There was this professor who would hand out chocolate frogs when we answered bonus questions correctly. He’d share a frog fact of the day during breaks, and his face would light up talking about the incredible healing compounds found in various frog venoms and skin secretions. The potential locked away in these tiny creatures to cure human diseases, to solve problems we hadn’t even discovered yet.

I was 21, studying Health Sciences, and I remember being absolutely captivated – not by biology particularly, but by how much he cared about frogs. His enthusiasm was infectious, ringing out through one of those big old 1970s Archway lecture theatres. Students would lean forward despite themselves when he started talking about his research trips to South America, and into the Amazon rainforest.

Recently, I was preparing for an upcoming speaking engagement, feeling nervous about how to share technical concepts effectively. Someone recommended I watch Damian Conway’s talk on instantly better presentations. I clicked play, coffee in hand, hoping for some practical tips.

Then Damian said something that made me pause: “Seeing someone excited, is exciting.”

He went on to talk about David Attenborough being the best technical presenter in the world (in his opinion) – not because of perfect delivery or comprehensive knowledge, but because you can see his passion for the natural world in everything he does, everything he says. He really, really cares.

And suddenly, I was back in that lecture hall at Otago University. That professor whose name I couldn’t even remember.

Watching Damian’s video, I realised what had made that class so memorable wasn’t the subject matter at all – it was witnessing someone who genuinely, deeply loved what they were sharing.

This reminded me of an instructor training course I took many years ago now. I had to deliver a short talk on anything, so I chose neuroscience and talked about alien hand syndrome – this fascinating condition where one hand acts independently of conscious control. I thought it was so incredibly interesting, and had recently been absorbed into The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales. People in my class told me for years afterward how much they’d enjoyed that presentation.

There was something about the intersection of complex technical topics and authentic enthusiasm that kept showing up in my life. And as someone with ADHD who struggles to work on or focus on things I don’t find genuinely interesting, I’d been seeing this need as a constraint I had to work around.

But I began to see it differently – as a superpower I should be leaning into more intentionally.

Curious about that long-ago frog professor, I did some research. His name was Phil Bishop – Professor Phil Bishop from the Department of Zoology at the University of Otago.

Phil began his frog fascination very young and devoted over 30 years of his career to studying them in depth. He made amazing discoveries – including that New Zealand frogs communicate chemically – and authored over 80 scientific papers. He was integral to the native frog recovery plan, a compelling communicator who earned national recognition for his teaching and outreach.

Professor Bishop passed away in January 2021. He has since been honored in ways that would have delighted him – there’s now a fossil frog species named after him: Leiopelma bishopi, Bishop’s frog.

And here I am, eighteen years later, still carrying something he planted in that lecture hall. Not facts about amphibians, but something much more valuable – the understanding that genuine passion is what makes knowledge come alive.

When Damian Conway praised David Attenborough, he was describing exactly what Professor Bishop had: that rare ability to make others care about something through the sheer force of your own caring. Whether it’s frogs or the natural world or frontend development tools – you have to find a way to be excited, moved, enthralled by what you’re sharing.

I think about other speakers and writers I admire most deeply, and the pattern holds. It’s never about perfect delivery or comprehensive expertise. It’s about authentic enthusiasm for ideas that matter to them.

As I prepare for an upcoming speaking engagement, I’m no longer thinking about becoming an expert in something new or delivering dry technical content. Instead, I’m thinking about sharing what genuinely excites me most. I’m thinking about how to tell that story with the same infectious care that made chocolate frogs memorable in a lecture hall two decades ago.

Professor Bishop taught me something I didn’t realise I was learning: that genuine passion isn’t something to manage or work around, but the very thing that makes technical communication powerful and lasting. He probably never knew that his chocolate frogs would still be working their magic eighteen years later, inspiring someone in a completely different industry to approach technical presentations differently.

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