In 2016, I started a mastermind.
There was only one problem. I had no idea what a mastermind was.
I had attended an incredible event. For a full day, I laughed beside strangers, cried during keynotes, and watched a shirtless man sprint through the auditorium to a standing ovation. I left with the unmistakable feeling that something extraordinary had just happened. But sadly, the event itself hadn’t given me much of a chance to actually connect with the people around me.
I knew I had to find a way.
I reached out to the organizer and asked for permission to use his event’s Facebook page to invite others to meet up. He graciously accepted, simply adding, “as long as you call it unofficial.” Done.
I announced it, people showed up, and we had an outstanding time together.
But then the question came: “How do we keep on meeting while making this productive?” As in, what happens after the coffee date? That’s when someone suggested a mastermind. “Sure, let’s do it,” I said.
I had no idea what a mastermind was. Late that night, I looked up how it worked. I learned that a mastermind is a group of people who meet regularly to help each other. Cool.
I sent recurring calendar invites and started running the meetings.
Little did I know that not only would this mastermind change my life — helping me get real about my goals and priorities, and re-architecting my life — but also that it would set me on a ten-year journey. I loved my experience so much that I ended up starting a company that runs masterminds, helping thousands of people experience what I had: the power of true peers who completely have your back and with whom you can share anything.
I love my work. I witness deep humanity, tear-jerking moments of people sharing, bonding, supporting, and getting transformed together.
And after witnessing so many different groups side-by-side, I couldn’t help but get obsessed with understanding this:
What made some groups better than others?
As in, bonding faster and deeper? Or lasting longer? Or more helpful?
I started deconstructing the patterns and diving deep into the psychology.
Over time, I realized I wasn’t actually studying masterminds. I was studying human connection.
These masterminds became my window into human behavior. They gave me a front-row seat to observe the subtle conditions that create deep bonds, while giving me the duty to continually refine every group’s experience based on what I had learned from the last one.
Through all those groups, I realized these relationships weren’t forming by accident. They were guided by two major forces: depth of connection and depth of progress.
Depth of connection refers to how deeply these people will bond.
Depth of progress points to how valuable their conversations will be in helping them move forward.
While progress is crucial (and worth its own article entirely), connection is where the magic begins.
For today, here is what a decade in those rooms revealed about how humans build true bonds:
1. The most powerful bonds happen when people get real
When we find a way to move beyond small talk and dive into deeper topics, people naturally lean into one another. Sharing hidden aspirations, admitting uncertainties, revealing stories that shaped your life: all of these draw people closer, help them relate better, and spark a sense of care.
Our humanity is our commonality — and it’s powerfully magnetic.
2. Trust doesn’t take years — it takes design
But clearly, conversations of that depth require trust, and trust takes time to build, right? Not necessarily.
If you’ve ever had a stranger share something really honest with you out of nowhere, you know what I mean.
Trust requires the right setting: safety, permission, invitation, and someone who models going deep first. All these elements can be intentionally designed.
3. People are starved for real connection
People want to have these deeper conversations. They make us feel seen, valued, and profoundly united.
So why is superficial small talk our default?
A few things: starting too strong can overwhelm a relationship. Again, we need to have the right settings in place before going deep. And not every occasion warrants depth. If I’m out jogging, I don’t want my neighbor asking me what stories shaped my values.
But the main reason small talk dominates is simple: most people don’t know that a better alternative is possible.
Like me ten years ago, they have spent most of their lives in surface-level conversations and think that’s where it’s at.
But when you offer it to them, it’s like introducing someone who has lived on junk food their whole life to a warm, home-cooked meal. At first, they might inspect it suspiciously. But once they taste it, there’s no going back. They devour it—and wonder why they waited so long.
Better understanding how people connect has been the greatest gift of my professional life.
It allowed me to design spaces where humans found other humans, where people stopped pretending that their lives were as polished as their LinkedIn feeds, and where seemingly impenetrable professionals would suddenly say “I thought I was alone feeling this.”
When this happens, a wave of relief is felt by the whole group. It’s that instant where the real humans are given permission to show up. It always gives me goosebumps.
Once you’ve seen people become fully human with one another, it’s impossible to look at networking or community the same way again.
Now, everywhere I look, I see conversations waiting to happen. Every person I meet is carrying extraordinary stories that could create remarkable friendships, partnerships, and moments of belonging.
The stories, the trust, and the belonging are already there, waiting just beneath the surface. All that’s missing is the intentional architecture—the spark that gives people permission to unlock them.
