Convening, Walking, and Talking
The first part of this article is most definitely navel gazing. The second part may actually be useful, so feel free to skip ahead. I’ll only be slightly hurt.
One of the few silver linings from my COVID year was figuring out — finally, at age 56 — my raison d’être: I walk this good earth to convene people.
I’m a bit embarrassed to have taken so long to catch on. I’ve been convening since I was a teen, starting with my synagogue’s youth group. College too (organizing group projects and intramural teams). In the information architecture world (Argus Associates, the IA Summit conference, and the IA Institute). In the User Experience industry (UXnet — may it Rest In Peace—Rosenfeld Media, a bunch of conferences, some small communities, and my favorite new toy, cohorts). Not to mention all the pandemic family Zoom sessions and remote euchre groups. I even include the ancient fable of the blind men and the elephant—an example of convening if there ever was one—in just about every talk I give or article I write. There, I did it again!
Apologies for the navel gazing, but you can’t possibly know what a relief this discovery is for me.
For the past 25 years, I’ve so often felt like an impostor— not a “true” information architect, UX designer, businessperson, or whatever. Nope, just a dilettante who fakes the craft at hand for a little while before getting found out.
But now I see that convening people is a pretty useful, powerful, and not entirely commonplace skill. All those information architects and UXers don’t just convene themselves, for goodness sake! For most of us, finding the people, pointing them in the same direction, and then getting the hell out of the way is that hard part. I can fall out of bed and do just that.
Did you ever see The Commitments? What a fantastic movie. The protagonist, Jimmy Rabbitte, isn’t a musician. But he is a hard-core devotee of soul, so he sets out to assemble and manage the greatest soul band that Dublin’s ever seen. He finds a brass section here, a lead singer there, and so on. They unite just long enough to achieve greatness before collapsing under the weight of egos and infighting. Their bitter demise is painful to behold, but Jimmy bounces away the happy convener: he’s made magic happen, if only for a moment.
I want to be the Jimmy Rabbitte of UX.
I also want to be the Jimmy Rabbitte of my own life. So, this spring, as Brooklyn warmed up and—thank you very much, Pfizer, Moderna, and J&J—opened up, I tried a small experiment in social engineering.
I desperately wanted to get my friends together in person. And, because they come from many different circles, I wanted these friends to meet each other. The more people connect in person, the better a world we create together.
I could have just invited everyone I knew to a party, but so many of us find it hard to truly connect in a large group setting. And if I was hosting, I’d be too busy worrying about running out of hummus to enjoy the conversation.
Instead, I convened small groups for “walk and talk” get-togethers. The idea is crazy simple: you get four to six people who don’t know each other to meet somewhere central (in our case, Brooklyn’s Grand Army Plaza). You do a very quick round of awkward introductions (lean into that awkwardness!). Then you all go for walking together for an hour or so (we meandered our way through Prospect Park, but we could have opted to stroll through the neighborhood instead).
Pairs or threesomes naturally formed, and every once in a while I’d reshuffle the deck. That way everyone talked with at least two new people per session. After we got tired of walking, most of us would end up in a bar to continue the conversation.
Damn, it was fun — and it really worked well. Because everyone invited is a stranger, the awkwardness burden is distributed equally. Talking while walking is great for introverts and, I gather, for some neuro-diverse folks, because no eye contact is needed. If you get stuck strolling with a bore, you’ll be moving on shortly. And, at worst, you’ve only sacrificed an hour of your life.
Please try it yourself. I was able to pull off four walk-and-talks with minimal effort—I just picked a few Friday evenings that I was free and emailed the Brooklyners I wanted to see. Yes, I convene people for breakfast, but I’m sure you know four or five people you’d like to see who don’t know each other. That’s enough for one walk and talk. Convene them!
And please let me know how it goes. OK?
