We’re Gonna Need your Shoelaces

“We're gonna need your shoelaces. We don’t want you harming yourself or anyone else with them”. 

That phrase, and the smell of bleach is something that I'll always remember when I arrived at the psych ward nearly 20 years ago. I remember thinking to myself, “I'm not sure why I'm here. I was supposed to go whitewater rafting”. Instead, I was about to walk into hell.

Had I made a mistake?

Had the doctor?

Who knows, I was 14.

Being sad and lonely wasn't a new experience for me. I was 10 when I smelled the scent of old books and coffee that came to represent the first doctor that tried to help me feel less sad.

It didn't work but it did get better for a time.

Middle school was rough, but I survived, then I got sick...newspaper cover, give you a museum exhibit because you didn’t die, type of sickness. I had contracted a rare tick borne disease that was only caught by a series of fortunate events. My mom had managed to convince my neurologist to collaborate with a veterinary researcher she knew. Looking back, I'm still not sure how a veterinary researcher and neurologist managed to collaborate to save me. I’m glad they did though, had not they had collaborated I most likely would have been dead by 18. 

Even though I was "better", something still wasn't right. I was in pain constantly, and that experience of almost dying destroyed my childhood and made it difficult to make friends.

High school I thought would be different. 

It was, it was worse.

I had tried meds, tried therapy, nothing seemed to work. My family and I decided I would try one more doctor before a trip, what a mistake. I told him I was sad, I didn't see the point of living, and that was that. Labeled "Imminent danger to myself" and I needed to be committed now. I didn't know what that meant, I used to enjoy the doctors office, how bad could it be?

It was bad, I don't like the doctor's office anymore.

As I was shuffled upstairs to the boys ward, in my laceless shoes, I remember thinking, “what the hell have I gotten myself into here”. Even now, I'm not sure I know what exactly that experience did to me. I do remember one of the "classes" they had during my stay.They had brought in an elementary teacher to "teach" us, despite us all being high school aged; although, not sure many of the people in the room were even in high school.

The lesson was on Norse Vikings, and I remember her emphasizing how berserkers frequently wore almost nothing and would aim to terrify their enemies into submission. I thought, how funny would it be if one showed up and ran down the halls screaming. Maybe it would be more entertaining than the screaming I was subjected to each day there.

Our “class” was a combination of people like me who were sad, some who had tried to kill themselves, and some people who had simply been abandoned by their parents. The worst were the ones who had been abandoned. They would frequently give up, lash out, and they would be put into the equivalent of a rubber room, self-isolating.

It usually didn’t work. They would throw themselves against the walls and yell even louder. From what I remembered, that room was filled with those corny motivational posters, high enough you couldn’t tear them down, but impossible to ignore.

To me there's nothing worse than seeing a post that says "Smile, it'll all be all right" when it definitely wasn't. I managed to survive the week, and as I was leaving, one of the orderlies took me aside and said, "I don't want to see you back here, whatever it takes, don't come back".

Why do I try so hard to make friends and be social?

Because I never want to go back.

The next week I went back to school, I think I told people I had been on vacation. Guess that's easier to digest than the truth. Shortly thereafter Facebook arrived at my high school. Classmates buzzed about it in the hallways. I stood by my locker, confused. "Why would I need that?" I thought. A classmate kept insisting though, "Come on, I'll make one for you!". One day they did.

That moment marked the beginning of my uneasy dance with digital connection. In college, I remember people checking their phones and seeing their facial expressions contort when they discovered their post didn't get enough likes. I heard the hurt in their voices as they wondered aloud why their follower count wasn't growing. All the while, I felt like an outsider, unable to decode the rules of this new social language.

I tried to adapt. In Dallas, fresh out of college, I attempted to build a networking group. I envisioned a vibrant community of young professionals, sharing ideas and forging friendships.

Reality hit hard. At every event, I watched people's eyes dart to name tags, searching for the right schools, the right companies. Conversations felt like job interviews, not the beginnings of friendships.The group fizzled out, leaving me more isolated than before.

Two years ago, I decided maybe an MBA would help. A group of ambitious young people from all over the world, I thought, surely this would be the place I could find my people. Maybe I could even launch my networking idea here.

I applied to 6 schools, and only UCLA seemed interested in me. Not too interested though, they didn't even call me until after the notification window had passed. It felt like being picked last in gym class. Benchwarming through multiple high school seasons. In short, it felt like the past. 

No, big deal though, I had a shot, here we go. I arrived in LA ready to meet my entire class of 300+ students. I was told that was a bad idea...I didn't care. Alumni said it was better to make a few friends than try to meet everyone. I threw myself into creating an MBA-focused social network determined to prove them wrong.

Surely, ambitious professionals would see the value in expanding their circles?

I was wrong.

"I'm just here to get a job," they'd say, or "I don't have time to meet people right now". I kept thinking "not again", if only I can find the right group, I can help people connect.

At conferences at school?

Nope!

People didn't use the QR code to sign up, then would complain in surveys afterwards "I wish I met more people".

Better connecting alumni?

Nah!

"It's too much work", while then asking me "why is it so hard to find alumni to help me get a job".

I had to put my idea on hold last January, I needed something to pay the bills this past summer.

Amazon internship? Sure, I'll take it.

Arriving at Amazon, I felt a spark of hope. Maybe it is only a UCLA problem. I thought, "This is it. This is where I'll find my tribe." But as weeks passed, I heard the same refrain over and over: "I'm tired of meeting people. I don't want to meet anyone else this summer."

The words hit me like a physical blow each time.

If these future leaders of industry couldn't be bothered to connect, what hope was there for anyone wanting to make new friends? Dejected, I retreated into myself. The summer passed in a blur, I had some fun hikes, but I didn't answer two questions from myself.

How do I make friends?

What am I going to do after my MBA?

Has there been a time I didn't feel like I was an outsider?

Yes, my second year in Hong Kong. I felt the first genuine stirrings of friendship. Not through carefully crafted online profiles or networking events, but in the most primal of human experiences.The thudding bass of a nightclub, bodies moving in unison.The satisfying crunch of a rugby tackle, the shared grimaces and grins of teammates pushing through pain.In those moments, drenched in sweat and adrenaline, is the only time I have felt truly seen.

No screens separated us, no carefully curated images to maintain. Just raw, messy, glorious human interaction. Why can't I seem to recapture that feeling?

Had we, in our quest for constant connection, actually built walls between us?The irony wasn't lost on me: in trying to expand our circles infinitely through technology, we'd somehow made them smaller, more insular.

I think a lot about the viral photos comparing the papal elections of Benedict XVI and Francis, just 8 years apart.

The first, you notice a crowd looking up with their own eyes.

The second, is a sea of glowing screens, each person experiencing the moment through a tiny screen.

The same location, but as different as Earth and Mars.

We were more "connected" than ever, yet increasingly alone. My journey has led me to a bittersweet understanding. We need both breadth and depth in our connections. A wide network of acquaintances, yes – those soft ties that can offer a friendly face in a new city or a crucial introduction. But also, critically, a core of deep friendships.

People who challenge us, who see us at our worst and still show up. Friends who push us to be healthier, to dream bigger, to live fuller lives. Finding this balance in our digital age is no easy task. It requires conscious effort, a willingness to step away from the comfort of our screens and into the messy, unpredictable world of face-to-face interaction. As I continue to navigate this landscape, I'm driven by a vision: to be able to land in any city in the world and find not just a tour guide, but a true connection.

Someone with whom I can share a meal, swap stories, and for a moment, feel like I belong. It's a selfish desire, perhaps. But isn't that what we're all searching for? A sense of belonging in this vast, interconnected, yet often lonely world?

That's what I hope to create.

That's what I hope you create.

That's what I hope someone creates.

So here I am, still that confused kid walking into a hospital looking for friendship in all the wrong places. Still trying to understand why I feel alone in a crowd. I have hope. I've tasted real connection, felt its power. I know that for all our digital tools, nothing can replace the simple, profound act of being truly present with another human being.

As the glow of my screen fades and I look up at the world around me, I'm ready to take that first, terrifying step.

To reach out, to be vulnerable, to connect.

I'm ready to get my shoelaces back.

Maybe you are too.

Maybe we all are.

I hope you'll join me.

Let's lace up our shoes.

Let's explore this world together.