You started by building your network—the close colleagues around you who can inspire you and help you succeed. You moved on to developing an audience—the true believers who connect with your message and love what you do. Now the final step is turning those diffuse, individual contacts into a community. The best ideas don’t stay tied to their creators forever; they go out into the world and make a difference because people make them their own. Mike Lydon compiled the case studies for his urban planning e-books, but now they’re freely circulating, inspiring activists on multiple continents to experiment with ideas that make communities more livable. Similarly, your ideas—once they hit critical mass—can become a movement. In this chapter, we’ll talk about how to bring people together, in person and online, who share a passion for an idea, whether it’s empowering creative professionals, building a social justice community, or helping professionals become better at their jobs.
Some who impugn the concept of thought leadership seem to think it’s all about self-aggrandizement. That may be true for some, but real thought leaders have an idea they want to share with the world—one they know is important enough to fight for. Of course, it’s an accomplishment to have created and spread a powerful idea, and money and accolades may come your way as a result, but the ultimate test of an idea’s value is whether others want to take it up and spread it on their own. A great idea is about more than just you. You can begin to create a movement by becoming a connector, or building a platform that allows a community to form. You can become a mentor to like-minded others and bring people together around that point of view, and perhaps strip away the seriousness that so often comes with “community building” and inject a forgotten element of fun that keeps people coming back. Whatever your strategy, the goal is the same: finding new ways to connect people and help them empower one another.
BECOME A CONNECTOR
One of the best gifts you can give is to connect people who can benefit from knowing one another. If you’ve accrued a wide network, you probably know people who’d like to meet. Taking the time to facilitate it builds your own reputation as a giver, but it also allows amazing new things to happen—conversations, transactions, and innovations that wouldn’t have been possible without the introductions you provided. If you can develop ways to connect colleagues or match “buyers” with “sellers” (of any kind), you can create a powerful community that surrounds you, and is grateful to you, but isn’t about you.
As Peter Shankman built his PR firm over the course of a decade, reporters would constantly ping him. “They’d call and say, ‘Hey, I’m doing a story—who do you know?’” Maybe they were looking for moms concerned about their kids’ diet. Or a recent grad who couldn’t find a job. Or an expert on monetary policy. Whatever it was, and however arcane the request, Shankman tried to assist. It felt good to help out, plus it built up his favor bank with reporters, whom he needed to cover his own PR clients.
But at a certain point, the requests became overwhelming. In 2007, he created a Facebook group to broadcast the requests to interested people, and soon shifted to an e-mail list, which he christened Help a Reporter Out (HARO). By 2010, it had grown to “three hundred thousand people reading my e-mails three times a day,” he recalls. “We had a seventy-nine percent open rate, which is ridiculous.”
Indeed, most e-mail newsletters hover around a 30 percent open rate, if they’re lucky. But HARO, available to subscribers for free, provided an invaluable service: access to reporters who were working on stories and hungry for sources. Journalists would e-mail their request to Shankman (“I’m looking for career experts for a story in XYZ magazine, with a deadline of Monday at five P.M.”). He’d categorize it (“business”) and compile it in a list with other requests.
After it went out, recipients—including other PR firms, small business owners and entrepreneurs, and in-house communications staff at organizations seeking coverage—would scour it for relevant opportunities. They’d click on a link for the stories they thought they (or their clients) would fit, write a short response explaining why the reporter might be interested in talking to them, and submit. The reporter could then review all the responses, and choose whom to contact. Shankman had become the perfect middleman, linking two parties who were extremely eager to connect.
Of course, the service was an invaluable help to his rivals, other PR firms. When Shankman started, he was doing it for free, but it quickly gained in popularity, and companies proactively reached out to him to see if he’d accept advertising. Within two months, he’d sold out his ad space six months into the future.
He realized he had a phenomenon on his hands. The advertising revenue allowed him to hire two staffers to help manage the growing volume; they worked out of his apartment. Meanwhile, his own brand was skyrocketing. “My name was in your in-box three times a day, so you knew who I was,” he says. “It was immediate brand recognition. Reporters got tremendous value out of it. And if I had a client [to pitch], reporters would listen to me because they trusted me.”
By 2010, Shankman’s side project was drawing revenues of nearly $1 million per year.1 That year, he sold it to a PR software company (now known as OutMarket) for undisclosed terms. He shuttered his PR firm and, boosted by HARO, launched a career as a full-time author, speaker, and consultant. With a simple, free idea, he provided tremendous value to hundreds of thousands of journalists and marketing professionals. In the process, he built a powerful and loyal following that’s enabled him to take his career to the next level.
As a PR specialist, Shankman intimately understood the frustration of journalists who couldn’t find the right person to interview for their articles, and companies or individuals desperate to tell their story but unable to find a journalist who was interested. At practically zero cost, he built an e-mail list—an almost ridiculously simple tool that nonetheless reduced inefficiencies in the marketplace and provided a valuable service. In almost every industry, there are gaps. Authors want to be discovered, and agents—overwhelmed by aspirants—want to find the gems. Home buyers want to sell their houses, and prospective new owners want to sift through and find the one that’s right for them. Entrepreneurs want start-up capital, and venture capitalists want to find the unicorn-like investment that can return 10x or 100x what they put in. If you can find unique and efficient ways of bringing both sides together and making it easier for them to connect, you can build a powerful community.
Think about the parties you might be able to connect, en masse or individually, and how they could benefit. The author James Altucher writes about the concept of “permission networking”—making a thoughtful connection between two (or sometimes more) people, for a specific reason, and with the permission of both. For instance, if John writes a magazine column about tech start-ups and Mary has just launched an amazing new venture-backed company, it may be a win-win for me to connect them—but only if they both agree first (John may not want to meet anyone now because he’s got enough column material for the next six months, and Mary may want to wait on media opportunities because she’s assessing an acquisition offer). Reach out to them separately, make the reason for your introduction clear, and see if they’re game. If yes, you can proceed with the connection. Making thoughtful connections and introductions helps others, and they’ll be appreciative that you were the one to bring them together.
ASK YOURSELF:
CREATE A PLATFORM FOR COMMUNITY
Through HARO, Peter Shankman directly matched up parties who wanted to connect with each other (journalists and sources). But what if you could also harness the power of the Internet to create an active community that engaged more broadly with one another? You could help others build relationships, trade best practices, share ideas, and perhaps attract new clients or opportunities.
Scott Belsky, who took design classes in college and hung out with talented, artistic friends, decided that kind of platform was exactly what he wanted to build for the creative community. He admired their visionary ideas—and found it sad and frustrating when, so often, he saw them fail to follow through on that vision. “I realized the likelihood of an idea happening has no correlation to how great the idea is,” he says. “But if that’s not a factor, what is?”
He suspected it was people’s difficulty getting and staying organized, and holding themselves accountable for progress. That’s certainly not a problem unique to the creative world, as he discovered when he landed a job at Goldman Sachs after college. Many executives have the same challenges, but there are vastly more resources, from executive coaches to training programs, to help them with it. What could artists or other creative professionals accomplish if they had the same opportunities?
He applied to business school, with a singular focus: helping to organize the creative world. “I remember in my essays saying, ‘This is the most disorganized community on the planet and I want to do something about it,’” he says. At Harvard Business School, where most students are dying to get hired by Goldman, the firm he’d just left, he didn’t exactly fit in. “I was very misunderstood,” he recalls. “I remember Career Services thought I was sick because I hadn’t dropped a résumé off [for consulting and investment bank interviews], and everyone else had. There were not a lot of entrepreneurial ventures in 2007 and 2008,” when he was in school.
The first product Belsky hoped to offer was a paper-based organizing tool, and that also mystified his classmates. “I think people were like, ‘He designed a paper pad he’s going to sell? That’s what he’s going to do after business school?’” Undeterred, he relished the chance to work with the creativity expert Professor Teresa Amabile, as well as the focused opportunity to explore his idea. “Business school provided a time where I could get away with playing with it without having to answer to anyone,” he says. “I didn’t have any investors, I didn’t have to explain myself. If it didn’t work out a year and a half later, no one would ask me about it. So there was some risk mitigation in exploring the idea that business school afforded.”
He made the most of it, commuting each week between Boston and New York, where he was working with two staffers on his start-up. Besides the organizing tool, his company—known as Behance—launched a book series with advice on how creatives can be more effective and productive, an annual conference featuring inspiring speakers, and blog content focused on nitty-gritty questions that bedevil many creative professionals: How do you know what to charge? When do you fire clients? How do you hire people to help you? Books, conferences, and paper-based organizers might seem like an unusual mix, but to Belsky, the commonality was clear: “Everything we do is to organize and empower creative people. We use any medium we can to try to achieve this mission.”
One feature particularly stood out. Creatives could upload their portfolios to the site, allowing them to get feedback and gain exposure. “Before Behance, everyone had their personal Web site that was discovered by maybe ten people,” says Belsky. “No one would have their Web site show up in Google, unless you search for that person’s name. A [personal Web site] preaches to the choir, to people who know you.” Behance, as the first widely popular portfolio site, became a legitimate discovery vehicle that led to connections and contracts.
Fundamentally, says Belsky, the business is about community. By 2012, the site had grown to more than a million members. Late that year, even Belsky’s Harvard Business School classmates had to realize the value of what he’d created, when he sold the company to Adobe for a reported $150 million in cash and stock.2 He stayed on as vice president of community for Adobe, which is famous for tools like Illustrator and Photoshop that are widely used by creatives. “The initial tenet for Behance was to ‘leverage our role in the epicenter of the creative world,’” he says. “And we wrote that at a time when we were by no means the epicenter of the creative world. But that’s what we aspired to be, and that’s the route we took.”
Many of us start with a problem we’d like to solve, or a population we’d like to help. For Belsky, it was: How can artists or other creative professionals better accomplish their vision? Identify the problem you want to solve, and think about ways you can bring others together so they can connect and learn from one another. It could be online or in the real world. One fun strategy is hosting dinners (or brunches, or cocktail parties) for people you think should meet. For instance, I’ve started a semiregular dinner series for business authors in the New York City area, which enables them to network with one another, and when I’m traveling to other cities, will often host a meetup for locals who participate in Renaissance Weekend, one of my favorite conferences, which features an eclectic mix of professionals from the worlds of business, politics, and more. You could do the same for any group—connecting “alumni” of a certain company where you used to work, colleagues who all have their own podcasts, or friends who work in the finance industry. Whether it’s a Web site, a listserv, or a brunch party, creating a platform for others to connect and engage can dramatically accelerate the pace with which great new ideas can flourish.
ASK YOURSELF:
CREATE A TRIBE
You’ve built a following for your idea, and it’s begun to spread. Like-minded communities are springing up, and people are connecting because of you. What next? In chapter 5, we talked about Abraham Maslow and his hierarchy of needs; at the top was self-actualization, or fulfilling one’s true potential. Later in life, Maslow added another, even higher level: self-transcendence, or going beyond our own individual experience. Self-transcendence can be understood spiritually, but it also reflects a fundamental truth about thought leadership: once you’ve achieved your own goals, the next—profoundly fulfilling—step is to help teach others how to achieve theirs. It’s rare behavior in a world filled with so many constantly striving professionals. But it’s one that Seth Godin has embraced. While many popular business authors charge high fees for access to them—and Godin does the same, when it comes to corporate speaking engagements—he has a different policy for his everyday fan base.
He may be unique among top business thinkers in running his own periodic internship programs, including a six-month “alternative MBA” in 2009, in which interns from around the world moved to New York to work with Godin. “I got more out of it than they did,” he says, “because the act of sitting with people face-to-face for that long was really powerful for all of us.” It’s quite likely the interns would have shelled out substantial money for the opportunity to get to know Godin; but as part of his ethos of generosity, he does the opposite and pays them. Three hundred fifty people applied for Godin’s program; his acceptance rate was 2.5 percent. For the class of 2015, Harvard Business School’s was 12 percent.3
Four years later, Godin put out a call for a new crop of interns. ”. . . [A]s usual, there are no guarantees,” he wrote. “No guarantees that it will work, or even launch. I can promise that it’ll be interesting.”4 That was enough for Tim Walker. A thirty-five-year-old Canadian, he grew up going to a summer camp in Ontario, just an hour north of the one where Godin had once worked—a fact he knew because he was a fanatical reader of Godin’s blog. “Life is a bit of an adventure,” he says, “and if you have a chance to work with someone who’s a hero of yours and get it firsthand, then you do it.”
Some might wonder why a thirty-five-year-old would want a summer internship. Isn’t that a college thing? But Walker, who had recently sold the digital agency he’d cofounded, was looking for new opportunities. “Part of it is probably generational,” he says. “The idea that you’re going to learn all the stuff you need to learn at the beginning of your career, and then go have a career, is just a very traditional way of thinking about work and learning. We’re now having tons of careers and changing directions, so I think you need to have that mind-set to survive nowadays: that you’re going to be constantly learning.”
Walker knew the competition would be intense. In fact, the 2013 internship drew more than 3,500 applications. Somehow, he had to stand out and get noticed. “He’s shaped so many of my ideas,” he says. “It’s a great way to learn: get as close to the things that light you up as possible and hope the dots connect after a little while.”
He was ready for the challenge. “They say you should research your employer before you apply for a job, that you should know about the company and read their Web site and all that kind of stuff,” he says. “Well, it’s like I had been doing fifteen years of that [with Godin] before the opportunity arrived. I knew all this stuff about Seth and what he’s like and what he appreciates. So it was really just drawing back and thinking about points that I knew would resonate with him.” Walker talked about their shared love of camping: “He was big into solo canoeing, and I was like, ‘You learn a particular mind-set at summer camp. It’s a place of growth and learning, where you help people be their best selves.’ I knew he would understand, and I said, ‘I’ll bring that to your project.’”
Walker also wrote about Project Lifeboat, a volunteer initiative he founded with his partner, Alia McKee, that focuses on providing tools to strengthen friendships. And because Godin was looking for interns with particular business skills, Walker emphasized his role starting and growing Biro, the digital agency he’d sold. When Walker got the nod, he was ecstatic. For two weeks, he moved into a hotel in a small town north of New York City where Godin lives and works. It turns out he wasn’t the only nontraditional intern. “This was the most diverse group I had ever hung out with,” he says. “The only thing we had in common was that we knew Seth. There was a forty-five-year-old African American lawyer from D.C. There was a woman from Panama who does entrepreneurial education. There were two Ruby on Rails programmers from Brooklyn in their twenties. You name it and that person was there.”
Like a good camp counselor, Godin set the tone. Walker recalls, “He’s like, ‘Here’s the thing, here’s the idea I have. Let’s work it out.’ There were no rules that said you had to do something. . . . It was like a Montessori school.” One of the best parts of the experience, Walker says, was observing Godin’s leadership style up close. “It’s this amazing mix of ‘We have shit to do and we’re going to get it done, and you’re not going to be very comfortable because you’re going to be pushed out of your limits, and I’m going to be holding you to account and there’s no messing around.’ And then mixing that with, ‘And I’m going to cook all of you lunch every day and tell you wonderful stories to inspire you and show you that it’s okay, whatever you’re feeling in this situation.’”
Godin took a genuine interest in the interns, Walker recalls. “At one point, the woman from Panama was talking about how fences are a sign of being middle class—that when you’ve reached out of poverty, you build a fence. And he just stopped the whole thing and said, ‘Tell me more about this.’ She told him, and he was like, ‘I’m a story collector. This is what I do. Everywhere I go, I’m looking for these nuggets that can teach me something and teach other people something in a new way.’ You can see his eyes light up: ‘Whoa, stop, tell me what goes on in Panama.’”
The project Walker and his compatriots worked on was called Krypton, which created curricula for people to study an idea (such as overcoming fear) and come together to discuss it. The syllabus would include everything from reading book excerpts to blog posts to watching TED talks and reading Wikipedia entries. But Godin’s ambitions for the project were much larger than a simple book club. Recalls Walker, “He talked about it to us as, ‘We’re going to be disrupting the education system. We have to find a new way to learn.’”
The interns built syllabi for ten courses, including ones based around Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project and Jacqueline Novogratz’s The Blue Sweater (a memoir about fighting global poverty). “They were really good courses,” says Walker. The technology side of the project—creating a platform to help people organize their Krypton courses—didn’t go as planned. “It was a disaster,” he says. “Everything was happening at the same time, so we were planning [the project] at the same time as the technology people were building it.”
The technology glitches didn’t dampen Walker’s enthusiasm for the project, however. “Sometimes, if you’re around your hero and something doesn’t work, you’re like, ‘He’s not the person I thought he was.’” But Godin was different from the start. “He didn’t build himself up to be perfect. That helps when things go wrong; that’s great leadership: ‘Failure is okay. We tried things as an experiment, and we do our best.’”
You don’t necessarily have to start your own internship program. But are there ways you can become a mentor to others, and connect them not just to you, but to an idea and to one another (the definition of a “tribe” that Godin offers in his popular book Tribes: We Need You to Lead Us)? Serving as a mentor can be a powerful way to crystallize your own ideas, give back to others, learn new tricks, and build a base of support for your idea in the world.
Think through who your ideal mentee would be. What kind of person could you help the most? Who would you be most interested in spending time with? If you work at a software company and have great social skills, perhaps you could take young engineers under your wing and help them learn to communicate more effectively. Perhaps you feel called to mentor women or people of color at your company, or you could coach fellow professionals who have lost their jobs and are trying to find their way back into the workforce.
Do you have a ready stream of potential mentees now? If you’re a senior partner at a law firm, there are probably tons of young associates who’d be excited to spend more time learning from you. If you’re in a position with fewer ready-made opportunities, you can raise your hand to volunteer—perhaps through your local chamber of commerce or professional development group, or spread the word among your friends and colleagues. It’s also important to think through what your ideal mentor-mentee relationship would look like, so you can start the connection off right. Perhaps you’d like a short, intensive session like Godin’s recent internship program, or you might prefer a lower-impact engagement over time (meeting once a month for breakfast over the course of a year).
Finally, it’s worth exploring what you’d like to get out of the connection. This shouldn’t be a one-way street, with the mentee receiving all the benefit. Think about what you’d like to learn from them, whether it’s getting a Gen Y perspective on the workplace, a peek into new technology trends, or perhaps a cross-cultural experience if you’re working with someone from a different background. The sense that you’re learning and growing will make the relationship more enjoyable, and also help the mentee feel comfortable that they’re also giving value back to you.
Godin, for his part, has cultivated a generation of talent. Past interns include Ramit Sethi and Harper Reed, chief technology officer for Barack Obama’s 2012 reelection campaign and, before that, CTO of the popular online start-up Threadless. His ethos of mentorship has impacted both readers and the people who have worked with him up close. The lasting lesson, says Tim Walker, is that if you have an idea, “it’s generous to bring it forward.”
ASK YOURSELF:
MAKE IT FUN
Finally, as you think about making an impact with your work, it’s also essential to ask yourself: how can we create something people can’t wait to participate in? These days, we’re all too busy. We have too many meetings and obligations; we have to stay late for work; we don’t get enough time with our friends and family. The last thing the world needs is another boring initiative with droning conference calls. Too often, we forget that our professional lives can, and should, be joyful. Being bored isn’t a sign that something is serious and important; it’s a sign that something is seriously wrong. It’s possible to share ideas, make connections, build a following—and simultaneously have a blast. Tech start-ups are famous for their perks, from delicious free food to on-site chair massages, which help make people excited to come to work. Charlie Hoehn, author of Play It Away, writes about his realization that business meetings are infinitely more enjoyable if you schedule a game of catch with someone instead of just grabbing a coffee. Similarly, if you can find a way to organize something different—and fun—you’ll prompt people to want to come to your meetings or take part in your initiative. At that point, you stand a very good chance of having your idea go viral, because people want to talk about what excites them. That’s the insight that propelled nonprofit fund-raiser Robbie Samuels to his professional success.
Over the years, he’d become frustrated with the silos inside Boston’s social justice community. Why weren’t the environmentalists talking with the health care advocates, or the LGBT activists talking with the antiracism community? There was plenty to learn from one another. “I was hoping to find other organizers, and we’d get to know and support each other,” he recalls. “We’d prevent reinventing the wheel, share best practices, and reinvigorate our work.” Everyone liked the idea, but told him they were too busy to participate. “I realized that what we needed was something that wasn’t a meeting, wasn’t a conference, and wasn’t work, and would help us avoid burnout.”
He hit on the idea of starting a Meetup group, and called it Socializing for Justice (SoJust). Twice a month, nonprofit advocates and their friends would gather for a purely social event—Bowling for Justice, Cocktails for Justice, Knitting for Justice, and the like. Within six weeks, they were drawing 150 attendees. Part of it was the climate that Samuels and his cofounder, Hilary Allen, sought to create. Participants all wore name tags that also read “I’m looking for” and “Ask me about,” which provided easy conversation starters. “Right away, it was about creating a welcoming space and engaging with people,” he says. “How could we do something that would help people feel engaged and connected?”
For Samuels, it came down to what he describes as “the difference between inviting and welcoming.” Many events invite diverse participants to attend—and then are flummoxed when they either don’t show up or fail to return. “As organizers, we host things and talk about who didn’t show up,” he says. “We hypothesize about where they get their information—fill in the blank who ‘they’ is, though in Boston it’s often people of color—and so we post on those Web sites or in that newsletter. But when they show up, they circle the room, no one talks to them, and they leave. We have to make it a priority for all regulars to be welcoming, and that’s a cultural shift we’ve adopted for SoJust.”
As soon as you attend three meetings in a relatively short period of time, you’re pulled aside. “We remind you about the culture and how welcoming everyone was,” says Samuels. Now you’re expected to act like a host and be similarly welcoming to others. “The magical part is that if you focus on welcoming everybody, you’ll invariably welcome those who need it—demographic outliers, like someone who’s older when most people are younger, or people of color in a mostly white environment.”
Samuels developed a principle to govern SoJust interactions, charmingly titled “Bagels vs. Croissants.” Whereas participants at most other organizations’ events huddle into tight circles (like a bagel), making it difficult for outsiders to break into the conversation, SoJusters are exhorted to stand in a semicircle (like a croissant) so they can welcome strangers into the fold. Even the events themselves are intended to encourage mixing and diversity. In the early days of the group, they’d deliberately meet in locations all across the city, from the traditionally black Roxbury to the yuppie haven of Jamaica Plain. “We really didn’t want to become pigeonholed at all—we didn’t want to be the gay group, or the liberal group, or the environmental group, or the white group,” he says. “That was something very intentional.”
Over the past eight years, SoJust has grown to more than 2,400 members. People have found job and volunteer opportunities through the network, and developed their professional skills through regular “SkillShare” events, in which an expert presents a low-cost workshop. Samuels believes the networking has helped strengthen the nonprofit community as a whole, but he counts himself as one of the biggest beneficiaries.
He began offering workshops through SoJust, including “The Art of the Schmooze,” his philosophy of how to network in an inclusive fashion. His trainings have become so popular, he’s launched a side business providing them for universities and other nonprofits. “There are several trainings I offer on a regular basis for what I think is very good money, and I work with great organizations,” he says. “I love teaching and doing trainings and I don’t think I would have known where to start if I hadn’t had the groundwork [of SoJust]. The platform of SoJust made it easy for me to be seen as an expert, because people saw it was successful and I was in the middle of it.”
He’s also benefited in other ways. Samuels led a small group discussion at a “Dating While Feminist” meeting held by a partner organization. He met Jess, and invited her to the next SoJust event. “It was Board Games for Justice, and she was good at Scrabble and looking for someone to play with regularly.” Today, she’s his wife. If it hadn’t been for SoJust, “we wouldn’t have crossed paths in this big city. We really wouldn’t.”
Samuels was successful because he realized that if he was going to succeed in bringing people together, it would have to be a social event they actively wanted to attend. In the much-heralded “attention economy,” it’s more important than ever to ensure that people opt in—that you’re creating something so valuable, they choose to seek it out. When Samuels provided the opportunity for tired and overworked nonprofit organizers to connect with like-minded peers, relax, make friends, and have fun, they couldn’t resist.
How can you take advantage of the same idea? His target audience probably needed more professional development activities, but that’s not what they wanted—so he lured them in with Cocktails for Justice, and built a following so robust, it grew to become one of the most important professional development and networking venues in the city. Too often, we think of social change and professional success as deadly serious endeavors. But perhaps we need to ask ourselves how we can bring more fun into everything we do.
Think about the activities you do purely for pleasure. A classic example is taking current or prospective clients out for a golf game, and enjoying beautiful weather and several hours of in-depth conversation with them. But—thankfully for nongolfers like myself—that’s not the only way to do it. If you like cooking, think about ways to integrate that into your networking (I sometimes invite business contacts over for spaghetti and my homemade marinara sauce). Could you turn an art opening into a meetup opportunity for professionals who share your interest? How about inviting a group to join you for an author discussion and dinner afterward? Or, if your group gets large or prominent enough, you could even start inviting authors or other business leaders to speak to your organization directly. In a world where the lines of work and your personal life are blurring, you might as well blend networking and your hobbies in order to make them both more fun.
ASK YOURSELF: