A Way In

A few times this year, my phone rang with someone standing at the door of The Nexus.

Our number is posted on the entrance, and it rings straight to my cell. So when I was across town in a client meeting, I’d answer, apologize, and explain that nobody was in.

Except sometimes somebody was. Members were sitting inside, working a few feet from the glass, and I had no idea. That guest never got in.

Nobody did anything wrong. The room was full of good people. The door just didn’t connect the person outside to the people inside.

Most of us carry this blind spot in business. We pour our energy into what happens once someone is in the room: the service, the product, the experience. We give far less thought to whether anyone can find the room, see into it, and walk through the door.

Think about the path a stranger takes to reach you. They search your name. They call your number. They pull into your lot and look for a sign. Each of those is a door, and each one either welcomes them or quietly turns them away.

Welcome is a design decision. You build it on purpose, or you lose people you’ll never know you lost.

I’ve been learning this firsthand. The building The Nexus calls home has been sold, and we’re moving out at the end of the year. I’m grateful for the two years we spent there. We got our start in a place that was building something new, and I’ll always appreciate that. But it was a space you needed credentials to reach.

This December, we’re working toward a new home in Tyrone. The first time I walked it, I kept noticing small things. There’s room for a sign that faces the road. There are windows people can peek through. A back door opens onto grass, and I already see it as an extension of the room. Talking it over with a few members afterward, I heard myself say, “I’ve never seen our logo outside in the world.”

The first email I got back from the Town of Tyrone opened with three words: “Welcome to Tyrone!” I’m taking that as a sign.

Looking back on this year, the idea behind The Nexus held up. Our members tell me so every week. People need to be around like-minded people to thrive. The address was the piece that needed to change.

So here’s what I’d offer any business owner, whether you run a storefront or a home office.

The first way to be welcoming is to be findable. Search your own business the way a stranger would. I recently worked with an organization whose website hadn’t been re-indexed by Google in more than a decade, so people kept landing on pages that no longer existed. If your sign, your site, or your listings point to the wrong place, you’re closed to the very people who are looking for you.

The second way is to remove friction at the door. Call your own number. Fill out your own contact form. Notice every spot where someone has to wait, guess, or produce a code they don’t have. Each of those moments is a guest standing outside.

The third way is to make the welcome bigger than you. That phone ringing in my pocket taught me something. When every greeting runs through one person, the door only opens when that person is around. The fix is to build a welcome that lives in your people and your culture, so a newcomer feels expected no matter who’s in the room. That’s the heart of The Nexus: weekly sessions where a first-timer gets a seat at the table on day one, greeted by members who want to see them grow. If you’ve been looking for a room like that, come find us in Tyrone.

I’m about to put that to the test. Tomorrow night is the last Night Market of the year in Peachtree City, and for the first time in nine years, I won’t be there. I’m not worried for a second. The team behind it is incredible. They know the field, the vendors, the music, and the hundreds of neighbors who walk in under the string lights. The welcome will be just as warm, because it was never only mine to give.

This week, walk up to your own front door and look at it as someone who has never met you. Then ask whether it would still open if you weren’t standing behind it.

As you read this, I’m in New York with my family. For thirty years, hopping a train into the city was just part of life. It’s been more than a decade since I’ve been back, and I’ll admit the noise and the crowds make me a little nervous now. Today my kids see the Natural History Museum, the New York Public Library and FAO Schwarz for the first time, and I get to be the one holding the door.

Tomorrow night, back home, my team holds it for everyone else. That’s the goal for any business: when someone shows up, there’s a way in, and someone glad to see them, whether or not it’s you.