Michelle: Mark, quick question. What’s the first word that comes to mind when I say… “networking event”? Mark: Ugh. “Moist.” As in, a moist handshake from a stranger who wants to sell you something you don't need. It’s just… clammy. Michelle: Exactly! That feeling of transactional dread, of scanning a room for name tags, trying to figure out who is "useful." It feels so unnatural. Well, what if the secret to fixing that isn't a better elevator pitch, but something much simpler? Mark: I'm listening. Anything to avoid the clammy handshake. Michelle: That's the core idea behind Susan McPherson's book, The Lost Art of Connecting. McPherson is what you'd call a "serial connector," and she built her career on this. What's fascinating is that her whole philosophy was shaped by her childhood. She talks about watching her parents meticulously clip newspaper articles to send to people, just to say, "I was thinking of you." Mark: Wow, that’s incredibly old-school. It’s like the analog version of sending someone a meme, but with way more effort and sincerity. Michelle: Precisely. It’s this old-school, genuine approach she argues we've lost in our hyper-efficient, digital world. The book was even named a Best Business Book of 2021 because it hit such a nerve, especially post-pandemic when people were craving real connection. Mark: Okay, I'm intrigued. A world without moist handshakes and with more thoughtful newspaper clippings. Let's go. So what's the big secret then? How do we escape the transactional dread?

Michelle: The secret is a simple but profound shift in mindset. McPherson argues that for decades, we've been taught to approach networking by asking, "What can I get from this person?" or "How can they help me?" Her entire method flips that on its head. The most powerful question you can ask is, "How can I help?" Mark: Huh. Okay, my cynical side is kicking in immediately. That sounds lovely, almost utopian. But in the real world, in a competitive business environment, doesn't that just make you a doormat? Aren't people just going to take advantage of that generosity? Michelle: That’s the exact question everyone asks, and it’s a fair one. But the book makes a compelling case that it’s actually a position of power. When you ask "How can I help?", you're not being subservient. You're opening a door. You’re gathering information, you’re learning about their challenges, and you’re positioning yourself as a problem-solver, not a problem-haver. Mark: I can see that. You’re changing the dynamic from a pitch to a consultation. You’re no longer the one asking for something; you’re the one offering a resource. Michelle: Exactly. It immediately breaks down the transactional barrier. Think about it. If someone comes up to you and says, "Hi, I'm Mark, here's what I do, can you introduce me to your boss?" your walls go straight up. But if they say, "Hi Mark, I've been following your work on X, it's fascinating. What's the biggest challenge you're facing with it right now? Is there any way I can help?" you're suddenly in a completely different conversation. Mark: Right, you’re in a collaborative space. It’s a dialogue, not a monologue. It feels more human. Michelle: It’s entirely human. McPherson learned this from her father, who used to say, "Don’t wait until you need a favor to do one for someone else." It’s about building a bank of goodwill and trust over time. And this isn't just a feel-good idea; it has incredible practical applications. Mark: Okay, I need an example. How does this play out in a way that’s not just, you know, offering to help someone move a couch? Michelle: A perfect example from the book is the story of CSRchat. Back in 2010, the author was trying to understand the complex issue of conflict minerals and child labor in the tech industry. She felt completely out of her depth. Instead of trying to become an expert and then present herself as one, she took a different approach. Mark: She asked for help? Michelle: Even better. She offered to provide a space for help. She went on Twitter and started a biweekly chat called #CSRchat. Her "ask" was essentially, "I don't know the answers, but I can host a conversation for all of us to figure it out together. How can I help facilitate this?" Mark: That’s brilliant. She turned her own ignorance into an asset. She became the convener. Michelle: Precisely. And the result was staggering. This simple act of service—of asking how she could help the community connect—created a vibrant global forum. It ran for eight years. Professionals from all over the world joined in, shared knowledge, collaborated on projects, and many even launched their careers from the connections they made in that chat. It all started not with a pitch, but with an offer to serve. Mark: Wow. So the "How can I help?" approach isn't about being a passive helper; it's about actively creating value for a community, which in turn builds your own value and network. Michelle: You've got it. It’s a long-term investment in relationships, not a short-term withdrawal. Mark: Okay, that CSRchat example is powerful. It wasn't just about asking to help, it was about creating the space for it. That feels like the next level. What if you feel like you're on the outside looking in, with no one to even ask? That classic feeling of, "Help, I don't know anyone!"

Michelle: That's the perfect transition, because it leads to the second pillar of her philosophy: the architecture of connection. The book argues that you should "Invite to Get Invited." Instead of waiting for a seat at the table, you build your own table and send out the invitations. Mark: That sounds empowering but also terrifying. Hosting feels like a lot of pressure. You have to have the right people, the right topic... it feels like a big production. Michelle: It doesn't have to be. It can be as simple as inviting two people you find interesting to a 30-minute coffee, virtual or in-person. The point is to take the initiative. When you're the host, you shift from a position of weakness—wondering if you'll be included—to a position of leadership. You control the guest list, you set the tone, and you become the central node of that new connection. Mark: You become the reason the connection exists. I like that. But it still relies on people saying yes. What if you reach out and just get... crickets? Michelle: That's where the psychology of it gets really interesting. The book highlights a classic social psychology experiment that proves this principle in a fascinating way. In 1974, a sociologist at Brigham Young University named Phillip Kunz decided to test the power of reciprocity. Mark: Okay, I’m ready for the science. Michelle: Kunz compiled a list of 600 names and addresses of people he had never met. Complete strangers. He then sent every single one of them a holiday card. Some just had a simple greeting; others had a handwritten note or even a photo of his family. Mark: That’s a bold move. I feel like today that would get you put on some kind of a list. What happened? Michelle: At first, a few cards trickled back. Then, it became an onslaught. He received over 200 replies from these total strangers. Many of them wrote long, detailed letters back, sharing stories about their own families. Mark: Two hundred? That’s a one-in-three response rate from a completely cold outreach. That's better than most marketing campaigns. Michelle: It gets even crazier. For the next 15 years, Kunz and his family continued to receive holiday cards from some of these strangers. People he had never met, never spoken to, felt a connection strong enough to keep in touch for over a decade, all because of one unsolicited act of outreach. Mark: Whoa. So it's a psychological hack, almost. By giving first, you create a social obligation to connect. The holiday card is the 'How can I help?' in paper form. It’s not about being a doormat; it's about initiating the 'dance' of reciprocity. Michelle: That's a perfect way to put it. You're creating a tiny, positive debt that people feel a natural urge to repay, often with a connection. This is why McPherson argues that anyone, even the most introverted person, can be a master connector. It’s not about being the loudest person at the party. It's a learned skill of initiating these small, generous acts. Mark: That really reframes it for me. It’s less about social performance and more about social design. You're architecting the conditions for connection to happen. Michelle: Exactly. You’re not just attending the party; you’re the one sending the invitations. And as Kunz's experiment shows, people are often just waiting for someone to make the first move.

Michelle: So it all comes together, really. The two ideas are two sides of the same coin. The 'How can I help?' mindset fuels the why of connecting—it’s about generosity and service. And the 'be the host' strategy provides the how—it’s about proactive, intentional action. Mark: And what I'm hearing is that the foundation for both is a shift away from seeing your existing network as a static resource to be mined. Your real power isn't who you know right now. Michelle: Exactly. It's about realizing that your greatest asset isn't your contact list, but your ability to create value and space for others. When you do that, the network builds itself around you. The book is full of stories of people who did this—like Amy Nelson, who felt isolated as a working mom in law, so she founded The Riveter, a massive community and coworking space. She didn't find the community she needed, so she built it. Mark: That’s the ultimate form of hosting. So the takeaway here isn't to go to more networking events and get better at small talk. It’s actually the opposite. Michelle: It is. The takeaway is to be more intentional and probably do less, but do it with more meaning. Mark: So instead of going to a big, clammy-handshake event, maybe the better move is to host a small coffee for three interesting people you know. Or even just to execute on that old-school idea from McPherson's parents: send one person an article you think they'd like, with a simple note, no strings attached. Michelle: Exactly. It’s about planting seeds of connection without demanding they sprout into a tree overnight. The art is in the patient, genuine cultivation. Mark: I love that. It feels so much more authentic and, frankly, more enjoyable. Michelle: So for everyone listening, here’s the challenge: Who is one person you can help this week, with no expectation of getting anything back? What one small thing can you give? It could be an introduction, a piece of information, or just a word of encouragement. Mark: That’s a great challenge. And we'd genuinely love to hear what you come up with. Drop us a line on our socials and share your small act of connection. It’s amazing how one small action can ripple outwards. Michelle: It truly is. It's the lost art, but it's one we can all find again. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.