I spend a lot of time hanging out at a small airport. Although I am not a pilot myself, I have often observed communities of practice in action among those who passionate about aviation, in particular the interactions among licensed pilots, students, instructors, mechanics, “groupies,” and others who make up this vibrant community.
My friend is a flight instructor – that’s the technical term, but I would say he is an educator. He often gives free workshops for pilots and would-be pilots who want to sharpen their skills and better understand the big picture of how various regulations and procedures connect, with an emphasis on flying more safely and smartly out of our local airport.
In addition to the workshops, he provides food – usually pizza, salad, and well, items that don’t really rate as a food group but seem to appeal to the palates of his primary demographic audience (mostly men of a certain age who clearly have fond childhood culinary memories of snack cakes).
All of this provided gratis and with an open heart.
But here’s where it gets interesting. In response to the workshop invitations, my friend started receiving complaints from people who attend his workshops complaining. Well, not really complaints. Suggestions. Demands. Yelling, even. They wrote about how much they appreciated the workshops. But they wanted to pay for dinner. They told him that it was enough that he was convening the group for a night out and for offering his presentations. He shouldn’t be providing the food without charge – participants wanted the option to help subvent the costs. He was denying them the opportunity to contribute. 
So he responded to their request. At the next workshop, he placed a sign near the inviting people to partake of the free goodies. He added that if they wanted to contribute, they should feel free to donate $5.00, but they were under no obligation. Sure enough, people were more than willing to kick in – and he broke even. Inspired, my friend asked if there were any requests for pizza toppings for the next workshop and he received some good feedback. In addition, one of the participants offered to prepare a special pre-workshop dinner for him the following week.
What I learned from this story (other than the eating habits of pilots) is the power of the transactional nature of communities. People who are invested in a community actively seek ways in which they can contribute – this includes community facilitators who take on leadership roles, as well as regular community members. Sure, there will be members who are more eager or available than others, who make up the core, and there are those with good intentions but limited time or energy who are more peripherally involved (but involved nonetheless). Sometimes community facilitators try to ignite engagement, but miss certain opportunities because they are thinking one way and their members are thinking another.
I shared this anecdote with John Smith and the discussion turned to transparency. Often community members don’t realize the extent of what it takes to keep a community going as a living, breathing entity. It is usually up to the community leadership to set expectations and norms, including commitments of time, finances, and ownership that help grow the community. Sometimes, however, this leadership is undertaken by community members who insist being given the chance to own a piece of the pie.
We listen to each other differently. We remember that community is transactional. This leads to richer engagement. And it could mean the difference between sharing regular cheese pizza and enjoying pizza with “the works.”