The Secret Humanity of LinkedIn:

The Benefit of Breaking Through Your Network Borders        

I began my foray into the networking domain like many others – as a social media afterthought. I wasn’t particularly enamored with LinkedIn as I didn’t believe I had much use for it. Other platforms provided me more of what I sought; connection with people from my life’s circle and a window into their lives – the birth a child, graduations, weddings, first steps, a new job. And pictures. Images of joyfulness manifested through selfies, group photos, and artistic interpretations of bowls of pasta no one would otherwise care about. LinkedIn provided me none of that. In the competition for my limited time I found nothing I valued within a sea of professional headshots and articles about teambuilding. 

For a long time Facebook provided meaningful connection and genuine enjoyment. I credit the platform with rekindling a relationship with a childhood friend that evolved into a yearly get together. Young people from my past found me to ask for advice, assistance, or to share their joys or sorrows. I learned of noble causes, shared in heartwarming or inspiring stories, laughed at ludicrous and preposterous videos and memes. I attempted exotic recipes, and possibly, just possibly, fought back a tear or two watching a deaf baby hear his mother’s voice for the first time.

Then something strange happened. I started to see less of what genuinely interested me, and started to see more commercials loosely veiled as “sponsored content.” More posts by my friends with an axe to grind populated my feed, and the number of articles vilifying one political party or another supplanted the personal news from family. It happened slowly, the product of a learning algorithm that took every click of my mouse and interpreted what I should see. It calculated how long I spent looking at a particular piece of content and interpreted it as a reflection of my soul. God forbid I actually clicked on an advertiser’s link. One day I was paging through a paper catalogue, and an hour later an advertisement for the same company appeared on my feed. I concluded I could no longer keep ahead of the algorithm, or that my devices had become sentient.

I wasn’t alone in my dismay. To their credit Facebook recognized it. They launched a campaign to bring the things we all thought were important back into focus. We’d see less ads, and more family. But the algorithm required to manage the input of 2.4 billion humans didn’t give up so easily – so my interest in visiting the platform waned. I still visited to find the heartwarming, the inspirational, and the laughable – but the payoff was rarely worth the effort.

Around the same time I began to plan my career transition. I’ve spent more than 20 years in the Army, and the time is fast approaching to venture into new territory. So I did what every aspiring new hire does these days, I turned my attention to my sleepy LinkedIn network and set on expanding it. And expand it I did. In no time at all my list of connections blossomed into the hundreds, and within just a few years my connection count changed from a specific number, to the mysterious and intriguing “500+” label.

My network was impressive, so I thought. But when I looked at my network – really looked at it, I noticed something. It was a network of me. Though numerous, my connections all had the same experiences and education as me. They had been to the same places, held the same jobs, some of their profile pictures even looked like me. The more I thought about it, the less impressed I was with my network. So I decided to do something about it. I decided to venture beyond the comfortable borders of my existing network of me.

I was cautious at first, testing the waters with professionals loosely tied to my network. After all I didn’t want to accidentally connect with any odd-balls. This was a professional platform – for professional endeavors. Best to stay close to the border so my network didn’t start to look like a virtual Burning Man Festival.

Turns out networks are living, breathing organisms. Once it breaks through a border, it spreads it’s tendrils toward the sun. Every new connection exposed me to an infinite universe of opinions and interests. My (barely) diverse connections introduced me to ever broadening content .One day, on a whim, I sent an invitation to someone with whom I had nothing in common. We shared no work history. We shared no experiences. We weren’t from the same country. Most alarmingly, he had a cartoon illustration as his profile picture. But his content was positive, and he posted frequently about his mission to change the world by encouraging people to pick up one piece of microtrash a day. In less than 24 hours he accepted my invitation to connect. My network border was officially breached, laid wide open to new people and ideas.

Over time I added more and more wildly different people. My perception of professionalism rapidly began to change. I found people every bit as dedicated to their work lives as I bringing change, or positivity, or advocacy. I connected with a young man who overcame his own adversity and started an organization to advocate for others facing the same challenges. I connected with a doctor advocating the use of cannabis to ease the effects of PTSD. Slowly, my LinkedIn feed began to resemble everything I used to enjoy about FaceBook – but in a different way.

Instead of being exposed to positivity and change, I engaged with it. By connecting with people who made positivity and change their profession, I was part of the conversation, not simply a consumer of it. I had discussions, and became part of their effort. The same kind of algorithm that had preyed on my consumerism now brought me into the efforts and lives of people who enriched my life. Then one day I realized I was spending more time on LinkedIn than I was on any other platform, not because I had some career aspiration, but because it enabled and bettered me. When I broke through my network boundaries – I discovered a world of people making humanity their profession, and I was richer for it.

All it took was an invitation to connect, a touch of humility, and a little courage. I encourage you to give it a try. You’ll be glad you did.