The Official Author Page of Dr. Rick L. Mask (The Social Capitalist) and the Home of Social Capital 2.0

I was in France again.

Somehow, that sentence is becoming increasingly normal in my life.

This time, the journey took me through Paris, the storybook streets of Colmar, and the remarkable Château de Chambord. There is something about travel that continues to create space for reflection for me. Maybe it’s being removed from routine. Maybe it’s walking streets where millions of lives have unfolded before mine. Or maybe it’s simply having enough distance from the familiar to see yourself a little more clearly.

And lately, I’ve had a lot to think about.

Professionally, things are moving in exciting directions.

In October, I’ll be hosting a leadership series centered on social capital. In November, I’ll be traveling to Washington, D.C., to speak about social capital again. I’m also partnering with several organizations to create events and conversations around something I have spent years studying:

Human connection.

How we build it.

How we lose it.

Why it matters.

And what happens to people, organizations, and communities when it disappears.

On the surface, all of this feels wonderfully aligned.

But underneath it, another realization has been taking shape.

I Know a Lot About Connection

I have researched social capital.

I have written about it.

I have taught it.

I have spoken about it around the world.

I have studied networks, trust, relationships, leadership, belonging, and the increasingly complicated ways human beings attempt to connect with one another.

I am even continuing to work toward publishing my second book, Starving for Connection: Social Capital in a Hyper “Connected” World, which explores many of these ideas at a much deeper level.

And yet, I’ve arrived at an uncomfortable realization:

Understanding how to connect and actually connecting are two very different things.

You can understand vulnerability without being vulnerable.

You can study trust while still protecting parts of yourself.

You can teach people how to build relationships while struggling with your own.

You can understand belonging intellectually while still wondering where—and with whom—you fully belong.

Knowledge gives us a map.

It does not make us walk the terrain.

Turning the Lens Inward

That realization is part of why I’ve been doing deeper personal work through EMDR and Internal Family Systems.

There is something humbling about turning the analytical lens away from organizations, leadership teams, social networks, and communities—and pointing it toward yourself.

What parts of me learned to protect themselves?

What parts learned that achievement created safety?

What parts learned to seek connection?

What parts became afraid of losing it?

And which of those patterns still serve the person I am today?

Those aren’t questions that can be answered from a conference stage.

They require a different kind of work.

Quiet work.

Sometimes uncomfortable work.

Work without applause.

And perhaps most importantly, work that requires accepting that insight alone does not equal transformation.

The Château and the Scaffold

Travel has a funny way of providing metaphors when you aren’t looking for them.

Standing in front of Château de Chambord, you’re confronted with something extraordinary—centuries of architecture, craftsmanship, history, ambition, and human imagination.

But places like Chambord have also required restoration.

Things that are beautiful still require maintenance.

Things that are strong still require care.

Things built to endure still need attention.

Why would we believe human beings are any different?

We are all continually under construction.

Healing something here.

Strengthening something there.

Discovering that a part of ourselves we thought was finished could use a little restoration.

Maybe growth isn’t becoming a completely different person.

Maybe it’s continually tending to the person who is already there.

From Social Capital to Human Capital

The more I explore connection, the more convinced I become that the deepest form of social capital begins with something remarkably personal.

Can I allow myself to be known?

Not the professor.

Not the author.

Not the consultant.

Not the speaker.

Not the person who understands the research.

Me.

Because authentic connection requires something much more difficult than networking.

It requires revelation.

It asks us to slowly remove the armor that once served us and trust that the person underneath it is worthy of being seen.

And that’s scary.

There is risk in being known.

But there is also an enormous cost to remaining hidden.

The Work Ahead

So I find myself entering another interesting season.

Paris behind me.

October and November ahead.

Speaking engagements taking shape.

Partnerships growing.

A second book still searching for its publishing home.

And beneath all of it, perhaps the most important project I’m working on:

Myself.

Maybe that is what makes this next chapter of my work around social capital different.

I’m not only interested in asking how organizations can create connection.

I’m increasingly interested in asking how we become people capable of receiving the connection we say we want.

How do we become safe enough within ourselves to be fully seen by someone else?

How do we stop performing connection and start experiencing it?

How do we build relationships that aren’t simply large networks, but places where our full humanity is welcome?

I don’t have all of those answers.

And for someone who has built a career around studying connection, maybe admitting that is important.

I understand connection better than I ever have.

Now I’m learning how to live it.

And perhaps that’s the work that matters most.

— The Social Capitalist