Networking your way to loneliness

During lunch one day, Ron tried to convince Jacob to skip his child’s choir concert in favor of attending a “fireside chat,” a gathering that would surely draw the right people and connections needed to build a bank balance large enough to avoid attending such events in the future.

The promise was enticing: networking, the quintessential American pastime of trading authentic family moments for uncertain, lucrative opportunities. This raises the question: Why do we make these types of choices so often?

It’s a curious and stubborn belief that success requires personal sacrifice, especially sacrificing family time. Many professionals seem convinced that missing soccer games, choir concerts, or bedtime stories shows seriousness and ambition.

In his influential book Excellent Sheep, former Yale professor William Deresiewicz argues that contemporary American society is defined by misguided worship of “busyness” and professional success at the expense of meaningful relationships. “We’ve become adept at impressing strangers,” Deresiewicz writes, “but hopelessly estranged from those who matter most.”

Beneath the philosophical lament lies a deeper issue: a common cultural belief that attaining professional success inevitably requires sacrificing family milestones. But do these sacrifices produce the remarkable rewards we’re led to believe?

Data suggests otherwise. A seminal study from the Harvard Business Review found that, ironically, those who prioritize family commitments by establishing clear boundaries around family time report higher job satisfaction, improved mental health, and, surprisingly, better long-term career performance. Conversely, professionals who frequently skip family events for work commitments consistently report higher stress, lower satisfaction, and a greater likelihood of professional burnout. It’s as if missing the choir concert leads not to the corner office, but to the corner couch in a psychiatrist’s office.

Part of this disconnect may stem from what sociologist Arlie Hochschild termed “The Time Bind.” In her book, Hochschild notes that workplaces have subtly evolved into surrogate homes — spaces where validation, meaning, and identity are increasingly pursued at the expense of personal relationships. As Hochschild explains, “Workers often willingly accept longer hours, believing this sacrifice affirms their value in ways that home life does not.” This illustrates a fascinating paradox: networking events present themselves as opportunities for career advancement but primarily function as self-reassurance rituals.

Such reassurances come at a cost. The family calendar, proudly pinned to the refrigerator, doesn’t lie. Missed events quietly accumulate, each one a small wound until one day, the choir concerts stop altogether.

Psychology professor Daniel Kahneman, a Nobel laureate and author of Thinking, Fast and Slow, reminds us of our misguided intuition about happiness and success: “When thinking about how successful we’ll feel tomorrow, we rarely consider how we’ll feel looking back on missed opportunities ten years from now.”

So why do we persist?

Perhaps because networking is, at its core, performative theater. Who among us hasn’t come back from one of these events to say that everyone was just “pretending to like each other,” trying to transform superficial interactions into vague career benefits? The participants themselves are not oblivious to this fact. Yet, they persist, fearful of missing out on some enigmatic, game-changing opportunity — like a gambler continuously placing bets despite knowing the house usually wins.

Wharton professor Adam Grant argues that the most successful professionals effectively blend authenticity and personal relationships with their professional aspirations. Grant emphasizes, “Success isn’t about what you sacrifice; it’s about what you refuse to sacrifice.”

Ultimately, we must confront this uncomfortable truth: skipping your child’s (or family’s) event could indeed change your life — but perhaps not in the ways you hope. The sacrifices we make aren’t neutral exchanges; each choice shapes not just our careers but also who we become.

Jacob’s child probably won’t appreciate his “sacrifice” but will only remember scanning the audience, hoping to see his father’s face. The irony is painfully clear: in a world where everyone worries about missing the right event, perhaps the most significant moments are the quietest ones — not those labeled “fireside” or “networking,” but simply and sincerely called “choir concert.”