CONFESSION #001:

THE NETWORK I DON'T HAVE

People assume I am well connected. They see the title. They see the tenure. They see the numbers from a different decade. They decide I must have a network that can open any door.

I have let them believe it. There is no value in correcting the story.

The truth is simple. My so-called Rolodex is a list of people I have known long enough to text without an introduction. Some are former co-workers. Some are distant acquaintances I met at a conference where nobody learned anything. Some are classmates from a school that did nothing to prepare us for actual work. Most respond out of habit, not interest.

The team treats it like an asset. They come to me when a target stops replying. They come to me when a deal will not move. They come to me when the outbound engine falls apart in front of everyone. They believe I can produce a warm path on command.

I play the part. I scroll through names in my phone as if each one might solve something. I pick the one who still answers every few months. I craft a polite message that suggests I am checking in for personal reasons. They usually reply with a thumbs up. Sometimes they do not reply at all. This is what strategic outreach looks like behind the curtain.

The team never sees the silence. They only see the one or two introductions that land each quarter. Survivor bias keeps the illusion stable. They think I have reach. They think I have influence. They think I can get anyone to return a call.

The reality is that I can open a few doors, and only the ones that were already cracked. Everything else quires time, leverage, or an alignment of circumstances that has nothing to do with me.

When those doors stay shut, the room gets quiet. The team waits for me to announce the next move. I pretend to think through options that do not exist. Everyone already knows how this ends.

Someone suggests we try a hail mary. I nod as if the idea is new.