Rebuilding from Scratch

After more than two decades in one place, I'm discovering that networking has... completely changed.

Or maybe it hasn't changed at all, and I just never had to do it before.

Coffee meetings? LinkedIn DMs? Informational interviews?

I used to just... know people.

Now I'm googling "how to reconnect with your network without being weird about it."

Last week I wrote about letting go of the "big breakthrough" myth and learning to move forward imperfectly. This week, I'm talking about what that actually looks like in practice.

And the truth is: it's awkward. Really freaking awkward.

When you've been in one organization for over two decades, your network isn't something you build. It's something that grows around you organically. You know who to call when something breaks. You know whose opinion matters on a given topic. You know how decisions get made, who holds influence, and which relationships will move things forward.

That knowledge becomes invisible infrastructure. You don't think about it as "networking", it's just how stuff gets done.

And then you leave. And suddenly, that infrastructure is gone.

The mechanics of networking - the actual how - feel completely foreign to me now.

I know I'm supposed to "reach out." But what does that even mean? Do I send a message to someone I haven't talked to in three years and just... ask for help? Do I schedule coffee with a stranger and hope we have something to talk about for 30 minutes? Do I attend networking events and make small talk with people I'll probably never see again? (Have I mentioned how much I hate small talk?)

It all feels performative in a way my old network never did. Like I'm playing a role I haven't learned yet.

And honestly? I'm struggling.

The bigger challenge is this: Most of my network is in automotive. I spent my career there. I know that world. I could pick up the phone tomorrow and call a dozen people who would take my call, trust my judgment, and probably help me find a role.

But right now, I'm exploring opportunities where I can give back to my community. Work that centers community in ways I haven't been able to before.

Which means I'm not just relearning how to network. I'm trying to build connections in spaces I'm still discovering.

I don't know the players. I don't know the language. I don't know which organizations are doing meaningful work and which ones are just performing impact. I don't know who to trust, who to learn from, or how to position myself as someone worth talking to when I'm still figuring out what I have to offer.

It's not just a skills gap. It's an identity shift.

In my old world, I knew who I was. I was the person who could diagnose a system, solve a problem, manage a transition. People knew what I brought to the table before I even walked in the room.

In this new space, I'm starting from scratch. And starting from scratch at this stage of my career feels... humbling. And vulnerable. A little bit embarrassing. And freaking scary, if I’m being honest.

Because the narrative we're sold about career transitions is that they should be strategic. Intentional. A natural next step that builds on everything you've done before.

But mine doesn't feel like that. It feels like I'm starting over in a lot of ways. Learning a new language. Building credibility from zero. Trying to translate skills from one world into value in another - and hoping someone will take a chance on me long enough to see it.

So what's actually working?

Honestly, I'm still figuring that out. But here's what I'm learning so far:

Admitting I don't know what I'm doing is surprisingly disarming. I've stopped pretending I have it all figured out. When I reach out to someone, I'm honest: "I'm exploring this space and I don't know it well yet. Would you be willing to share what you've learned?" Most people say yes. Whether those conversations turn into something more remains to be seen, but at least I'm trying.

My old network isn't useless - it's just different now. I can't call someone from automotive or tech and ask them to hire me for community-based work. But I can ask them how they navigated a career shift. Or if they know someone in a space I'm exploring. The relationships still matter. They just serve a different purpose now.

Showing up imperfectly is still showing up. I wrote a LinkedIn post a few weeks ago that felt too unserious to publish. Something about "just vibes" being a valid project plan. I almost didn't share it. It resonated with people, and it reminded me that authenticity matters more than polish. But I'd be lying if I said it's translated into concrete connections yet. Mostly, it just proved I could show up without a perfect plan - and that felt like progress, even if it's not the kind that shows up on my “find a job” project plan.

I wish I had a tidy conclusion here. A clear formula for how to rebuild when your infrastructure disappears. A set of best practices that would make this feel less awkward.

But I don't. I'm still in it. Still fumbling through conversations. Still second-guessing whether I'm doing this "right." Still wondering if I'll ever feel as confident in this new space as I did in the old one.

What I do know is this: Rebuilding from scratch isn't a failure. It's just what happens when you choose a direction that doesn't fit the path you were on before.

And maybe the awkwardness is part of it. Maybe learning to be a beginner again… at this stage, in this way… is exactly what I need to be doing.

So if you've navigated a transition like this… if you've had to rebuild your network in an entirely new space, I'd genuinely love to know: What actually worked for you?

And please tell me I'm not the only one who feels like they're learning a completely new skill set.