I recall when I performed before a large live audience at age five. I was a tiny little thing no taller than the piano bench. When I stepped out into the stage, the audience of course giggled. No sooner, I took a bow and looked out into a seemingly endless horizon filled with people, then up to a full balcony, and then up to a second filled balcony ... and my heart sunk not with fear but with a question, "Why do all these people want to hear a little kid play? What good can I bring?"
As I stood there measuring the multitudes and absorbing their laughter and applause, the sound of powerful floodlights cracked above me and I crawled up the bench, to more laughter. My feet dangled down the seat to no purpose other than be still, then without delay I performed. I performed three ballades by Tchaikovsky, Mendelsohn, and Brahms without concern for prior mockery. When done, it was a standing applause, and even though I parachutted off the bench there was no laughter now. Size, in the end, didn't matter.
Each interview reminds me of this event. A child learning about infinity, small, humbled by the size of infinity and the lack of knowledge therein, yet in love with Love and performing science ballades learned and expressed from the heart, unafraid of speaking yet wondering, "What can this child offer so many people?" Size in the end doesn't matter, only the light in our hearts does.