An Enquiry: On What Lies Between

Exploring connectedness, connectivity & connectorship

Photo credit: Sam Baumber

Hannah Smith, November 6th, 2020

We are so used to looking at objects. We look, and we see things. People, trees, birds and bees. My organisation and your organisation. Discrete items — each one apart from another. But what if — instead of separation — we saw connection? What if we could see what lies between? The glue that holds it all together. Our families, our organisations, our communities — and our ambitions to make the world a safer, kinder, fairer place.

These Covid times have got more of us thinking about the importance of connection, connectedness and connectivity. What it means to feel connected, disconnected, more connected. About how we develop and maintain our connectedness without physical proximity. The importance of our connection to the rest of the natural world. Like never before, we are experiencing just how interconnected our personal and global challenges are. There is a brighter light shining on the stickiness between us. The glue between ourselves.

Imagine if we could talk as easily about this ‘invisible in-between’ as we do about the ‘things’. Had a similar depth of understanding around how this mysterious matter grows and develops. And a similar appreciation for the craft of fostering, nurturing and developing it. Perhaps a little more fluency, a little more dexterity here could enable us to better connect our multitude of individual efforts. Perhaps it could help us invest and design more wisely. And perhaps it could even increase our collective capacity to address the hyper-connected challenges of our hyper-connected world.

Photo credit: Hannah Smith

Connectedness, connectivity & connectorship

Biologist Merlin Sheldrake calls the relationship between organisms ‘the most basic principle of ecology’. I am embarking on an enquiry that centres on this principle — that there is value in developing our capacities to see, understand and work with ‘what lies between’. It’s an enquiry with three strands — like a woven braid. Each strand a part of hauling ourselves forward in a quest to see better through the lens of connection.

The first strand is ‘connectedness’. What is mysterious matter, this glue, this stickiness, this amorphous substance that grows between us? We reach for words like trust, empathy, familiarity, intimacy but how exactly does it emerge and evolve? What conditions facilitate or inhibit its development? What’s the difference between ‘a connection’ and ‘connectedness? And why does it matter?

The second strand is ‘connectivity’. Think of this as the amount and quality of connectedness in a system. The mycelial network from which our shared endeavours grow. How do we assess the presence, volume and quality of connectedness across our systems? And how purposefully are we fostering it? Is it, in fact, something that can be fostered or will serendipity and magic always play a role?

Which leads to the final strand — ‘connectorship’. The idea that there exists a craft, a skill, a practice — of actively developing connectedness and connectivity. Like entrepreneurship — it’s an activity that seeks to create new value in the world. Whereas entrepreneurs grow ventures, businesses and organisations — ‘connectors’ grow connectedness between nodes in a system — thus fostering its connectivity.

Photo credit: Hannah Smith

Unravelling the strands

“Relationships move at the speed of trust, and social change moves at the speed of relationships” — Jennifer Bailey

Let us begin with connectedness. Imagine it as a substance. Something slightly sticky perhaps. It attaches us to each other. To our organisations. To our places. It is largely invisible and variable in its consistency but — like pancake batter or a good sourdough — it’s a substance we can get to know with practice. Think of all the language and knowledge we have for objects, for places and for people. And compare that with the paucity of our ability to visualise, describe and understand the quality of what attaches them to each other. To me, this is where the juice is — in the joining.

I am curious as to the extent to which this substance, this ‘stickiness’ can be understood in and of itself. Is what lies between two people, the same as what lies between a person and an organisation or community? Or between a person and place? Does connectedness develop in the same way between humans, as it does between a human and an animal, or a place? And if so, what might we learn from this? What might be the implications for our thinking about relationships between humans and the rest of the natural world?

Photos credit: Sam Baumber

“The future won’t be a new big, tower of power- but well trodden paths from house to house” — Raimon Panikkar

And so to connectivity. When I think of connectivity I picture a rich, colourful, dynamic heat map. Something that helps us perceive and understand more about the quantity and quality of connectedness in a system. Not just the connections — the simple ties of ‘who knows who’ that you might see on a classic network map — but an indication of the nature and state of the relationships between the nodes. Where the most generative pockets are, and where there are gaping holes.

Connectivity as the soil — the earthy goodness — of a system is another useful metaphor. Where it is rich and well nourished, what is seeded there is more likely to flourish. Paying attention to how and where connectedness is forming — or failing to form — can help us understand more about the health of our systems. About what’s flowing and growing, and about where the blockages are. In turn this can help us focus our energy and resources. What kind of conditions and activities help or hinder greater, and richer connectivity? And where it is poor, how can it best be nourished?

“Hope is the consequence of action” — Cornel West and Roberto Unger

Which brings us to connectorship. If connectivity is the soil of a system, perhaps those who do the work of making and deepening connections are the quiet wee creatures of that system — the birds, the bees and the beasties. As there appear to be natural entrepreneurs, so there seem to be natural connectors. Most of us know people who seem to more frequently facilitate connections between others. They are often quiet, humble, more introverted types. Focused on the whole, not the parts — and who instinctively understand the value of enhancing connectivity.

So much is written and understood about the science and art of entrepreneurship. It is studied, funded, supported, held up as an economic engine and a pillar of strength. The entrepreneur is seen as an alchemist — a spinner of gold from rare reserves of ideas, energy and dogged determination. Imagine if connectorship occupied a similar place in our consciousness. ‘Connectors’ as the weavers of all the untapped potential hidden between people and organisations. With the same commitment to purpose, but through nourishing whole systems instead of single organisations. What skills, tools and insights might ‘connectors’ have that all of us can learn from? How might we better resource the valuable work they do? What might be possible if we could become more conscious, purposeful and skilful about how we nourish our connectedness, and the connectivity in our systems? How much more effective could we become?

Where to from here?

On one level, connecting is something we do and understand intuitively. An in-built human capacity — much like parenting, caring, grieving or falling in love. But I believe it’s still possible to interrogate our instincts. Embrace our curiosity and refuse to rest comfortably on easy assumptions. As these strange times continue, it is surely valuable to be continually enquiring.

Kāore te tōtara e tū mokemoke — The majestic tōtara doesn’t stand alone

It’s easy to look at the forest of our endeavours and be drawn to the biggest, most striking trees. But these trees are rooted in soil. Kept healthy by a multitude of quiet creatures. For those of us more accustomed to a paradigm of separation, this more interconnected, whole systems perspective can be daunting. After all, heroes make for compelling stories. But I believe it’s time for such narratives to shift. Our interconnected challenges call for interconnected solutions. We humans are not separate from the earth, the water and many forms of life on which our own lives depend. We exist in relationship. A great wild, occasionally overwhelming mesh of relationship. This knowledge lies at the heart of so many indigenous cultures, yet has been sidelined by our increasingly dominant Western ways of being and doing. The times we are living are surely telling us it’s time for a re-understanding. In the words of poet William Stafford, ‘it is time for the heroes to all go home’.

Over these coming months I will be purposefully enquiring into these notions of connectedness, connectivity and connectorship. Combining thinking and doing, scholarship and stories I will explore some dimensions of connectedness, the challenges of building connectivity and consider the skills and tools of connectorship.

My grounding place for this work will be Aotearoa New Zealand, through my work with Pocketknife and as part of the Edmund Hillary Fellowship — a fascinating, global collective of bright minds and warm souls who are engaged in meeting the challenges of our time head-on. By experimenting, exploring, creating and reflecting — together — I hope we can build connectivity in our own systems, and share learnings along the way. Please connect or comment if you have thoughts, questions or would like to get involved in the exploration. Or sign up for regular updates here.

And more soon. Much more.

Naku te rourou, nau te rourou ka ora ai te iwi
— With your basket and my basket, the people will thrive

Thanks: Many, many conversations have helped shape this piece and this project. Particular thanks to Sam Baumber, Natasha Zimmerman, Hélène Malandain, Richard Alderson, Erin Crampton, Denise Young, Rosie Walford, Ants Cabraal and my dear friends at The Point People — whose time, words, wisdom and encouragement have made all the difference.