Networking With Wonky Eyes
Being open about my wonky eyes will help me navigate the networking minefield.
Networking is a strange activity. It involves launching yourself into a room and telling other people how great you are. If you're a decent person, and most people are, it also involves listening to other people telling you how great they are.
If you're in business or a professional, networking is useful. People need to know you exist if you want them to buy your books or paintings, go to your shows or avail of your courses. But it's also an uncomfortable activity. You're exposing yourself.
Networking in Unknown Territory
Yesterday I went to a networking event and found it quite a strain. I wasn't expecting to feel that way; it was a casual coffee event. But the event was in an unfamiliar room, and my wonky eyes don't like unfamiliar rooms.
Photo Description: Here's a pic of me in my lucky red networking shirt with a banner in the background.
There was nothing wrong with the room itself; technically it met all access requirements. But I was affected by it in ways you couldn't legislate for. Sighted people can zoom in on a chair they want to sit on and stride over to it. I've a faulty zoom, so chairs fill up before I can reach them.
Zooming and Eyecatching
And sighted people can catch the eye of the person they want to talk to. Which is why I'm startled when someone gets up in the middle of a conversation, because they've spotted someone out of the corner of their eye.
Yesterday, all that zooming and eye-catching meant that I couldn't quite reach the table which was at the heart of the action, the table everyone wanted to be at. It was no-one's fault. Like I say, you can't legislate for it.
Speaking Openly About Wonky Eyes
I talk fairly openly about my wonky eyes, but I've only recently revealed my partial sight in professional settings like this in recent times. This is so I can avoid another barrier that you also can't legislate for – pity. If people feel sorry for me, they're less likely to do business with me, or to see me as someone they can do business with.
The trouble is, I see well enough to get by without saying a word about it. I see almost well enough to think that I can navigate a room the way a sighted person does. But not quite. And people aren't going to know that unless I'm open about it.
My recent opening up has yielded dividends; people are pure mad to offer me lifts to events. So, I will keep going in that vein, telling them about the faulty zoom and the failure to catch eyes. They'll understand what it's like to network in a familiar room with wonky eyes.
Stepping Around Tripwires
I forget sometimes that unfamiliar rooms have this affect on me. Yesterday was a reminder to put a plan in place to deal with this unfamiliar room. And I won't be the only one who needs to plan for invisible tripwires.
There are people in that room with language barriers, neurodiverse people for whom the room sounds like it's full of town criers, people who had to prise themselves away from children who clung to their legs.
Networking may be a strange, counterintuitive activity, but if we open our gobs about our little tripwires, we can move through these rooms with kindness.