We've never had more ways to connect. So why the hell is actual connection so difficult?
Everybody wants community.
Find your tribe! Join our network! Connect with like-minded people!
Good grief. We've got Facebook groups, Discord servers, networking events, virtual gatherings, and online communities for just about everything imaginable.
You'd think loneliness would be going out of business.
Instead, we can spend an afternoon surrounded by people and come away feeling more alone than when we arrived.
How the hell does that work?
I've been puzzling over this lately. We're remarkably good at creating places for people to gather, but I'm beginning to wonder whether we know what to do once we get there.
And the more I think about it, the stranger it gets.
Are we all waiting for somebody else?
You meet someone at an event. Have a terrific conversation. Laugh, exchange ideas, discover things in common.
You leave thinking, Hey, I'd really like to talk to that person again.
And then... crickets.
Maybe they're busy. Maybe you don't want to bother them. Maybe they were just being polite.
So you wait.
Here's where it gets ridiculous.
Psychologists have identified something called the liking gap. Research suggests we often underestimate how much other people enjoy talking to us.
That doesn't mean everyone who enjoys a conversation wants to become friends, but it does make me wonder how often we're misreading one another.
Then there's a 2024 study that found fewer than a third of participants contacted an old friend, even when they wanted to reconnect, thought their friend would appreciate it, and had the opportunity to send a message.
Wait. What?
They wanted to reconnect. They believed it would be welcomed.
And most still didn't do it.
Apparently, wanting connection and actually doing something about it are two entirely different activities.
I'm guilty of this myself.
I've caught myself thinking, If somebody really wants to get to know me, they'll make the effort.
A perfectly reasonable position until I remember all the times I've talked myself out of contacting someone I genuinely liked.
Apparently, I expect other people to overcome the very insecurities I'm still wrestling with.
Well, shit.
We've built the community. Now what?
Here's something else I find puzzling.
I belong to an online business community where the founder has a remarkable ability to make people feel seen. She remembers people, takes an interest, and creates opportunities for everyone to connect.
Yet participation has been declining.
Why?
I honestly don't know.
And that's what makes it interesting.
If people feel welcomed and valued, why aren't they showing up?
Maybe they're overwhelmed. Maybe their priorities have changed. Maybe they're getting exactly what they need without attending every event.
Who decided that belonging required perfect attendance anyway?
Some people are perfectly happy observing from the sidelines. Others participate when something catches their interest. Not everyone joins a community expecting to make friends.
Maybe we're not even looking for the same thing when we say we want community.
And then there's the organizer.
I've been thinking about this quite a bit since building TechAlchemy Village.
I've created places where people can work together, learn, play games, share ideas, or simply hang out.
I can create opportunities for people to connect.
But what happens next?
Can a community really depend on one person to keep everybody connected?
And if the organizer is doing all the welcoming, introducing, encouraging, and checking in, at what point do the members begin developing connections of their own?
I don't know the answer.
I'm not even convinced declining attendance necessarily means a community is failing.
But it does make me question what we're actually measuring when we talk about a successful community.
Networking or collecting potentially useful humans?
Now here's something I've noticed in business communities.
We can become awfully selective about which connections are worth our time.
Is this person a potential client? Could they refer someone? Is this event relevant to my business?
Fair questions. I'm running a business too. I'd quite like it to make money, thank you very much.
But I wonder what happens when we start evaluating every interaction by its potential return.
I regularly attend events in the Rippily community that have little to do with my immediate interests.
Sometimes I wonder why the hell I signed up.
Then somebody mentions something.
A tiny tidbit. An unfamiliar tool. A different perspective. Something that sends my brain charging off in an entirely unexpected direction.
I've had enough of those little discoveries turn into something significant that I keep showing up.
And occasionally, I meet someone I really enjoy.
Imagine that. A useful connection that didn't arrive wearing a name tag marked Business Opportunity.
Which makes me wonder how many interesting people, ideas, or opportunities I've missed simply because something didn't appear relevant at first glance.
That's a rather annoying thought.
And then there's that bloody V word.
Vulnerability.
Ugh.
We want connection, but getting to know people comes with a rather inconvenient possibility.
They can hurt us.
For years, I thought keeping people at a distance was a perfectly sensible way to avoid that.
And it worked.
Sort of.
The trouble with building walls is that they're not particularly selective about what they keep out.
Eventually, I realized that protecting myself from disappointment was also costing me experiences I actually wanted.
Friendship. Connection. New perspectives. Even discovering things about myself through other people's eyes.
Has becoming more comfortable with vulnerability made rejection hurt less?
Not one bloody bit.
But I've decided the risk is worth it.
And that has me wondering how many of us are looking for connection while doing our damnedest to avoid the uncertainty that comes with it.
There's a rather inconvenient contradiction.
Maybe we're measuring the wrong things.
We've developed incredible technology for bringing people together.
We can find a community for almost anything, attend events without leaving home, and communicate with someone on the other side of the planet before the kettle boils.
We can count members, registrations, attendance, comments, and reactions.
But how do we measure whether someone actually feels they belong?
Is a quiet member who rarely attends getting nothing from the community? Or do they find comfort in knowing it's there?
Is a busy event successful because fifty people showed up, even if nobody remembers anyone afterward?
And what about the person who notices something you wrote, remembers it, and brings it up the next time you meet?
That little moment might mean more than a hundred reactions on a post.
Good luck putting that on an analytics dashboard.
I keep coming back to the same uncomfortable possibility.
We've become incredibly good at finding people. I'm not sure we've become any better at actually being interested in them.
And perhaps that explains at least part of our strange little predicament.
We want connection, but we're afraid of rejection. We enjoy meeting people, but hesitate to follow up. We join communities with wildly different expectations, then wonder why they aren't delivering what we imagined.
Meanwhile, the person sitting across from us might be wrestling with exactly the same things.
I'm not convinced there's one answer to any of this.
I do know that some of the most worthwhile connections I've made began with conversations I almost didn't have.
Which makes me wonder how many I've missed.
Everybody wants community. Nobody says hello.
Okay, perhaps that's a little unfair.
People do say hello. I say hello. Sometimes rather awkwardly, but I give it a go.
Maybe the bigger mystery isn't why nobody says hello.
Maybe it's why so many of our hellos never become anything more.
Now THAT is something I'd like to understand.
Until next time Friends...
What do you think? Why do we have so many opportunities to connect, yet still struggle to turn those connections into a sense of belonging?