I've been thinking about how many things in my life started with someone saying my name in a room I wasn't in.

An introduction.

A recommendation.

"You should talk to Chris."

"I think he'd be good for this."

"Have you considered him?"

We spend a lot of time talking about networking.

I'm beginning to think we've put too much emphasis on collecting connections and not enough on becoming connected.

There's a difference.

A contact knows your name.

A relationship knows your story.

And someone who's truly in your corner knows enough about your story to tell it when you're not there.

I've been reminded of that lately.

There have been conversations with mentors who have affirmed things in me that I was questioning myself.

There have also been conversations with people I've mentored who turned around and poured something back into me.

That's been humbling.

Because we're taught to think mentorship flows downhill.

Experience to youth.

Teacher to student.

Leader to emerging leader.

Life has taught me otherwise.

Wisdom moves in every direction.

Sometimes the person you thought you were pouring into shows up carrying exactly what you needed.

That's community.

And maybe that's also why I've been reconsidering the word networking.

Networking often starts with:

"Who do I need to meet?"

Community asks:

"Who needs to meet each other?"

Networking asks:

"Who can help me?"

Community asks:

"Who can I help?"

Networking can be transactional.

Relationships become transformational.

And here's the part I've been wrestling with:

It's easy to recognize the people who opened doors for us.

But whose door are we opening?

Who are you recommending?

Who are you introducing?

Who are you encouraging when their confidence gets shaky?

Whose name are you saying in rooms they haven't entered yet?

Because eventually success has to become bigger than access for ourselves.

It has to become access for others.

I don't believe any of us are completely self-made.

Someone taught us.

Someone challenged us.

Someone hired us.

Someone forgave a mistake.

Someone made an introduction.

Someone gave us a stage before everybody else knew our name.

Someone simply said:

"I believe in you."

And sometimes that was enough to keep going.

So lately I've been trying to pay closer attention to my corner.

Not how many people are in it.

But who's really there.

Who tells me the truth?

Who celebrates without competing?

Who challenges me to think bigger?

Who prays for me?

Who can tell me I'm wrong without me questioning whether they're still for me?

Those relationships are wealth.

But here's the other side:

I have to be that person too.

I can't ask for community and only practice networking.

I can't ask people to advocate for me while remaining silent about talented people I know.

I can't expect people to make room for me if I'm unwilling to pull out another chair.

Maybe the question isn't simply:

Who's in your corner?

Maybe it's:

Whose corner are you in?