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AI keeps getting smarter and smarter.
Writing text.
Creating images.
Putting documents together.
Coming up with plans.
Talking things through with you.
Things we believed only humans could do until quite recently — AI has been taking them on, one after another.
And as robots evolve further, physical labor may shrink even more than it already has.
So what is left for human beings then?
Lately I've been thinking about this quite seriously.
And one of the answers, I think, is
“community.”
That's where I keep landing.
People gathering with people.
Having someone remember your name.
Having a turn that's yours.
Being counted on.
Cheering someone on.
Laughing together.
Making something together.
None of this can be explained by efficiency alone.
If anything, it's interesting precisely because of human clumsiness, chance, and emotion.
From here on, just as much as “what can this person do,”
“what kind of people gather around this person”
is going to matter.
I think of this as
“skill × community power.”
That's how I see it.
No matter how extraordinarily capable you are, if there's no one around you, it's hard to extend that ability.
Conversely, even if you have no standout skill of your own, if you have the power to gather people, you can call in excellent people and create a space.
And someone who has both skill and community power — that person is strong indeed.
So how do you actually build a community?
I tried to sort it out in my own way.
The first thing you need is “super content.”
“Super content” sounds difficult, but what it really means is
“something you could talk about passionately even if only one person were listening.”
That's all it is.
Doing it because it's trending.
Doing it because it looks profitable.
Doing it because everyone else is.
That alone won't last.
You love it, so you end up talking about it.
You end up spending time on it.
You end up spending money on it.
You end up looking things up about it.
Is there something like that for you?
And on top of that:
You love it.
You're good at it.
It's useful to other people.
There are people who'd pay to have it.
When these start to overlap, you've got the core of a community.
“I haven't found anything like that yet” —
some people will say that.
In that case, you don't have to start a community right away.
Start by championing someone else — be their supporter first.
Cheer on interesting people.
Join a community you like.
Help out at events.
Introduce people to each other.
And while you're there, ask yourself:
“Why do people gather in this place?”
Just observe.
Before long, what you yourself love will start to come into view.
Another important thing is
the sense that a community organizer is a “village chief.”
When you receive participation fees or membership dues,
don't just think, “My revenue went up.”
Instead,
think, “I've been entrusted with the village's tax revenue.”
That's the better frame.
What should you spend that money on to make the villagers happy?
What kind of space would make it comfortable to be here?
Who should be given which role so that they shine?
Even the kid who doesn't stand out at school might have the job of “goldfish keeper.”
Once you're the goldfish keeper,
“Thanks for feeding them,”
someone says.
And just like that, that child has a place of their own.
A community works the same way.
It's not just about showing up.
Having “a turn that's yours”
is what matters.
MC is fine.
Reception is fine.
Photographer is fine.
Presenter is fine.
The one who comes up with the plan is fine.
When you're useful to someone,
that's where your own place gets made.
And one more thing.
In a strong community,
“the stars keep changing.”
That's what I believe.
Only the organizer ever speaks.
Only the same person ever MCs.
Only the same person ever gets recognized.
When it's like that, everyone else slowly turns into an audience.
On a strong baseball team,
today it's the number-two batter.
Next time, the number seven.
After that, the pitcher.
The person who shines changes from day to day.
A community is the same.
This month, A plans it.
Next time, B MCs.
The time after that, C presents.
The star changes.
The organizer changes.
Even the host role gets handed over, little by little.
New gaps open up, and new people come in to fill them.
So what if you're starting from zero?
You don't need to gather 100 people from the start.
Five is enough.
A get-together to watch soccer is fine.
A birthday party is fine.
A dinner is fine.
A tasting of some kind is fine.
“I'm doing this thing soon — want to come along?”
Whether you can say that.
That's the start.
In fact, building a community may be less about
“the skill of gathering people”
and more about
“getting used to inviting people.”
That might be all it is.
Invite, again and again.
Create the space, again and again.
Fail, again and again.
Through that, your capacity grows, little by little.
Next, decide
“who is this space for?”
Settle that.
If you try to do it for everyone, it usually reaches no one.
One person is enough.
“I want this person to come” —
decide who that is.
And then create a space where that person can feel,
“This — this is a place for me.”
That's what you're building.
And once five, then ten people have gathered, ask them.
What was good?
What fell flat?
What do you want next time?
Don't think it through alone.
Ask the villagers.
At the same time, go visit other communities too.
“Why does this place feel so good?”
“Why do I want to come back?”
Take in what's good.
At the next stage,
try holding an event that faces outward.
Not an insiders-only gathering, but
an event where people can bring their friends.
A showcase is fine.
A festival is fine.
A study session is fine.
What matters here is
not doing all of it yourself.
A takes the MC role.
B presents.
C handles reception.
Hand out the roles.
You become the conductor.
When participants take the stage, their friends come to watch.
And from there, new people come in again.
As it grows bigger still,
you connect beyond your own community,
with people who run communities of their own.
X's community.
Y's community.
Z's community.
Invite those leaders as guests.
And then,
from “the person who grows one community”
to
“the person who connects communities to one another” —
your role starts to change.
Once you can do that, the number of people who gather changes all at once.
And as a community grows, the kind of people it needs changes too.
At first you need someone who brings the energy.
Next you need someone who creates order.
After that, someone who runs the events.
Bigger still, and you need people who organize the information, and leaders for each region.
What's interesting is that
“every time a problem arises, the next role you need comes into view.”
That's how it works.
In other words,
the trouble itself becomes your next content.
Right now, I'm rethinking several of my own communities, too.
Up to now, I stood at the front.
I did the talking.
I did the teaching.
That was usually the shape of it.
But from here on, it's a little different.
Rather than remaining the lead myself,
I want it to become “a place that gives birth to the next lead.”
That's where I want to take it.
For those who can coach,
I'll build a system that actually refers clients to them.
For those who can create events,
I'll entrust the events to them.
For the young ones,
I'll hand over a stage where they can shine as next-generation leaders.
From “a community you come to in order to learn”
to “a community where work and turns in the spotlight are born.”
That's the shift I'm making.
I think the way seminars run will change, too.
Until now, it went:
the teacher teaches.
The participants take notes.
They go home and put it into practice.
That was the model.
But in reality, once you get home, you don't do it.
So — do it right there, on the spot.
Message your friend on the spot.
Set the event date on the spot.
Post to social media on the spot.
Invite people on the spot.
Not a lecture room, but
an “execution room.”
That's what we make it.
The teacher isn't someone who teaches,
but someone who executes alongside you.
The deeper we go into the AI era,
the more the value of simply having knowledge shifts.
Search, and the answer appears.
Ask AI, and a plan comes out.
It'll write the text for you, too.
Which is exactly why —
Who you're with.
Who you laugh with.
Who you're useful to.
Who you make something with.
The value of these, I suspect, goes up instead.
A community isn't about fencing people in.
It's about creating a place where someone can feel,
“Here, I can bring myself fully to life.”
That's what it is.
And in the end —
it runs even without you.
New stars are being born.
The next leaders are growing.
When it gets that far, that community is strong.
What we'll need from here on isn't
someone who gathers people, but
someone who can create a place where people shine.
In the AI era, I think people like that will be wanted more and more.
Link to Takumi Yamazaki’s ENGLISH Book “SHIFT”
https://amzn.to/2DYcFkG
Translated from the original Japanese post: https://ameblo.jp/takumi-yamazaki/entry-12978926818.html
