Why Broadcasting Isn’t Enough

That connection is just a few more stories, a few more shares, a few more likes away. 

We can end up living our lives in feeds, believing that the solution is to continuously post. What we need is to create space for bringing people together.

Here is what I’ve learned after more than a decade of building something that’s grown beyond me. You don’t build belonging by posting more, you build it by inviting others in and creating space for them to matter.

It’s easy to think that visibility means progress. If you consistently show up online, it may seem like you’re building something significant.

Just because someone is more visible online than you, it doesn’t mean what they share is more valuable.

When you live a life entirely in the feed, it means you leave little room for the moments that truly matter. 

We’ve mistaken activity for connection. We’ve confused audience with belonging.

There’s nothing wrong with sharing on feeds, we need people to discover us. I do it every week, but it doesn’t guarantee anyone is listening or leaning in. 

The trap is thinking that visibility (not longevity) is momentum. That louder equals better. All too often, it just means we’re talking more and feeling less. 

Living our lives through feeds is easier than through friendships. Connection does not equate to community.

The act of creating and distributing has become the end in itself, rather than a means to bring people together. 

When every day is spent updating, publishing, promoting, and performing, there’s no energy left to gather, listen, and host. I found out the hard way, a few years ago when I became burned out, by doing everything myself. It’s not sustainable. 

The reason it’s grown isn’t from hitting “publish” more often. It’s from inviting people to something they feel a part of. It’s from trying to find ways that say, “you matter” not just “look at me.”

That’s the shift, from broadcasting to belonging. If you can’t find a way to move that into a shared space, if it doesn’t bring the right people together, it’s just noise that scrolls by.

We’ve started to confuse visibility with value. What is worse, we’ve convinced ourselves that being constantly online is the work. It isn’t. The real work happens when people feel welcome. When they show up not just to listen, but to participate.

The temptation is to believe that more equals more.

More posts = more reach = more success. This isn’t always true, especially if you want to build something meaningful. 

We’ve built these amazing tools, AI, scheduling, apps, analytics, but none of them can stand in for what it means to be in a room with other people.

You can’t automate trust.

You can’t scale warmth.

You can’t shortcut serendipity.

The shift happens when you create moments where people can step in and be seen, not scroll past.

That’s what in-person moments offer. It’s where the groundwork is done. This is where people don’t just tune in, they turn up.

Lunch Club and Creator Day were not built behind a screen. They came from people choosing to show up with me.

Over time you realise you can’t just invite everyone to the party, you have to open the door, greet them when they arrive, and make sure they don’t feel like strangers. This is why we have set a capacity of 300 people for Creator Day ’26, it’s because people can talk and get to know others and I can say a ‘thank you’ to everyone who attends. 

It’s easy to post something. It’s harder, but far more rewarding, to host something. It doesn’t come from more content. It comes from more care.

What starts with you doesn’t stay with you.

When people feel part of something, they don’t just consume, they contribute. They tell others. They share stories that reinforce the collective identity. That’s when it stops being “your” project and becomes “our” thing.

That’s how progress happens.

The narrative moves between people. It’s not just one person pushing, it’s many people participating.

I’ve seen this happen time and time again. Someone attends a Lunch Club, tells a friend, that friend joins, and then they are at the front either on a panel or one of the event segments. Not because they were told to but because they wanted to.

Ownership doesn’t have to be formal, it just has to feel like the everyday.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that you stop broadcasting when the narrative moves between people, not just from you.

In the early days of YATM, it was about me, writing, sharing, recording, organising. Over time, it’s shifted because I invited people to take part. To host, to share, to contribute. What happened was that it wasn’t my thing, it became our thing.

When people start saying “we” instead of “you,” you know something deeper is happening.

This is the shift from an audience to a community. From content to connection. From reach to relationships.

Here’s what has made the biggest difference over the years, not just for me, but for everyone who’s come along for the ride:

1. Make the invite personal.

This isn’t about thinking the world needs an invitation. It’s asking people to be part of something with intention and is relevant to them.

2. Build rituals.

At Lunch Club, it always starts with lunch. At Creator Day, we open with a film on the cinema screen. These small, consistent elements create rhythm and people know how it all fits in.

3. Prioritise small, repeatable moments.

A big event once a year can feel special as it brings people together, but it’s the ongoing, everyday participation that creates belonging. We have this in YATM Club, or the Friday sea dips for the people who live near to Poole.

4. Let other people lead.

This isn’t about holding the spotlight. It’s about warming up place for others. When someone steps into a hosting role, runs a panel, or suggests a new idea, they are not an attendee anymore, they are part of the show.

5. Don’t be afraid to start small.

That first newsletter in 2013 didn’t look like much and I didn’t have grand expectations. It was consistent and as time progressed, it had a point of view. Showing up, week after week helped to build trust.

You move from being a broadcaster to a host. You stop performing for an audience and start building with them.

Broadcasting isn’t wrong. It just can’t be everything.

If all you ever do is post, promote and push, you’re not building something people can join, you’re just asking them to watch. It’s easier to post than it is to host.

The real work happens when people gather.

One day, when the feed quiets down, what’s left?

The people who stood with you.

The ones who felt like they belonged.

The ones who didn’t just scroll past, but stepped in.

What matters most isn’t how many people see what you post, it’s how many want to step in, stay, and say: “I’m part of this.”