memoriae-lectoris
Memoriae Lectoris
Excerpts from my readings.
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The Google searches revealed a darkness and hatred among a meaningful number of Americans that pundits, for many years, missed. Search data revealed that we lived in a very different society from the one academics and journalists, relying on polls, thought that we lived in. It revealed a nasty, scary, and widespread rage that was waiting for a candidate to give voice to it. People frequently lie—to themselves and to others.
[…]
Silver found that the single factor that best correlated with Donald Trump’s support in the Republican primaries was that measure I had discovered four years earlier. Areas that supported Trump in the largest numbers were those that made the most Google searches for “n****r.”
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When you’re first getting started, expect some false starts. We all get a little weird and desperate when we’re lonely. If you’re out of practice, you become less and less confident that you even know how to talk, much less form full sentences to which another human can respond. Worse, we also start interpreting everyone as threatening, every smile as scornful, every interaction as rejecting.
But then we make it worse: we act as if the world is against us, a self-fulfilling prophecy called behavioral confirmation.
If Maddy expects no one will talk to her, she won’t say hello.
If Nora expects the moms to be judgy instead of friendly, she’ll make a beeline for home, not the playground.
But don’t base success on the other person’s response. Don’t base success on how nervous you feel. Base success only on what you do.
Did you manage to share a little bit of yourself? Great. The first times are the hardest. Try again, and try again soon—not weeks later.
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Anxiety is often vague: Everybody will think I’m weird! Something bad will happen! People will judge me! I will do something stupid! Anxiety [...] is hazy enough that we can read just about anything into its predictions. Watch for the red flags of imprecision—“always,” “never,” “everybody,” “nobody.”
[…]
So get specific.
What exactly is the worst that can happen?
What particular stupid thing do I expect I will do?
Who, precisely, do I expect is going to judge me?
As the defense attorney says, name names. Everyone will hate me turns into My boss will hate this particular presentation. Everyone will think I’m a freak turns into The five or six people I talk to at the party might notice my hands shaking and think something is wrong with me. People will think I’m ugly turns into Mackenzie and Carmen will be judgmental of my outfit and hair again.
[…]
To sum up, when your Inner Critic kicks the anxiety into gear, first ask, “What’s the worst that can happen?” Answer as precisely as possible; remember: specify, specify, specify.
Then ask:
“How bad would that really be?”
“What are the odds?”
“How could I cope?”
[...]
Grumpy, judgy people are out there. Heaven knows most of us are related to at least one of them. But if something rude is said, who is acting inappropriately? You or them? […] Being judged does not render the judgers correct.
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Next, be specific.
Rather than, “Wanna do something sometime?” try, “The kids have been bugging me about trying that new rock climbing place—are you guys free this weekend?” Or, “Wanna grab coffee on Monday? I’m free after one o’clock.”
Specification shows you’re sincere.
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The researchers had used a well-established method to measure popularity: Each kid got a list of others in their grade. Students were asked to circle the names of the three kids they liked best and the three kids they liked least. Then they were asked to do the same for those who were “kind,” “someone you can trust,” “cooperates,” “starts fights,” “easy to push around,” and “can’t take teasing.” It was a simple tally: You were popular if you got lots of “like most” votes and few “like least” votes. You were unpopular if you got lots of “like least” votes and few “like most” votes. Easy-peasy.
But in the face of the kids’ feedback, Parkhurst and Hopmeyer reconsidered how to measure popularity. Maybe popularity wasn’t just a tally of likes and dislikes. They did another study, this time with one simple tweak: they added “popular” to the list. Then they crunched the numbers again. What they found changed the game.
With the new method, being chosen as “popular” didn’t actually mean a kid was well liked; it meant they were dominant. The kids who were pegged as “popular” did get lots of “likes,” but they also got many “dislikes.” These alpha dogs and queen bees were liked by some, but mostly by other high-status kids. With others, they racked up the eye rolls.
It’s easy to mistake being dominant for being liked, because dominant kids get a lot of attention. Their visibility is high. The shy among us despair, thinking, I’ll never be able to do that, or, That’s not me. But you don’t need to be someone you’re not. You don’t need to own the room to be liked. You don’t need to be a big shot, alpha, or self-important. True, honest, by-the-numbers popularity, as Parkhurst and her colleagues discovered, didn’t come from commanding attention or gaining deference. It didn’t even come from having the most confidence.
Instead, the kids with the most “like most” votes and the fewest “like least” votes were those who were also rated as the package deal of kind, cooperative, and trustworthy. Dominance, it turns out, equaled perceived popularity. Warmheartedness equaled actual popularity.
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Thompson and Rapee asked women with high social anxiety and women with low social anxiety to take part in the study, which, unbeknownst to them, began as soon as they stepped into the lab’s waiting room.
Shortly after each woman was seated, a male confederate sat alongside her and attempted to make small talk. This was the unstructured portion of the study. The confederate made benign statements like, “I hope we don’t have to wait too long,” and then rolled with whatever chitchat ensued. If thirty seconds of silence elapsed, he made another comment, attempting to jump-start conversation again.
After five minutes that might have ranged from pleasant to excruciating, a researcher entered, thanked the pair for waiting, and changed the task to one with structure. “Imagine you’re at a party,” the researcher instructed, “and have to get to know each other as well as possible in five minutes.” More small talk ensued, but this time the women had a mission—structure. Both five-minute interactions were videotaped, and assessors later watched the tapes and rated them for social competence, including body language, conversational skills, and more.
In the unstructured interactions in the waiting room, the women with social anxiety scored, predictably, quite a bit worse than the non-anxious women, who chatted with the confederate without a second thought. But after the structure was added, the whole game changed. Once the socially anxious women had an assignment to fulfill, the gap in the assessor’s ratings of social competence narrowed dramatically, with the two groups nearly neck and neck.
Turns out the socially anxious women had considerable social skills; they just needed some structure on which to hang them. Even against a low-anxiety group who were more confidently chatty than average, the socially anxious group, once handed some structure, laid down one impressive showing in the oft-dreaded game of small talk.
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This tendency to remember our anxious moments in our mind’s eye, even if we never saw that perspective, is common. But it’s also the key to busting the how I feel is how I look myth.
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Another remedy: JOMO, or the joy of missing out. JOMO is the deliberate choice to enjoy the moment one is actually in.
Sometimes JOMO is celebrated as an escape—all sweatpants, unwashed hair, and Nutella with a spoon—but it’s more about intentionally focusing on wherever you actually are. A constant stream of technological connection makes people crave and value space, so a deliberate decision to stay home with a book, to cuddle with your sweetheart instead of painting the town, or to simply have a cup of tea and go to bed early can be a perfect antidote for the perfectionistic pull of constant social connection.
Now, this is where I have to point out it’s easy for avoidance to masquerade as JOMO. We socially anxious types are perfectionists, after all, so it’s easy to get into an all-or-nothing mind-set—hit every party or stay at home with the shades drawn.
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The study’s current director, Dr. Robert Waldinger, is a psychiatrist who exudes such tranquility that it’s unsurprising to discover he’s also a Zen priest. In a viral TED Talk, he revealed what decades of Grant Study data have brought to light about what makes a life happy, healthy, and meaningful. He said, “The clearest message that we get from this seventy-five-year study is this: Good relationships keep us happier and healthier. Period.” He continued: “People who are more socially connected—to family, to friends, to community—are happier, they’re physically healthier, and they live longer than people who are less well connected.”
To drive the point home, Waldinger revealed that the men in the study who were the most satisfied in their relationships at age fifty were the healthiest at age eighty. But Waldinger also points out that social connection isn’t just numbers. It’s not quantity. It’s quality. But even more, it’s not the category of social connection that matters—it doesn’t have to mean being married or partnered. Instead, the biggest predictor of a healthy, happy life is the warmth of your relationships. From middle school to middle age and beyond, warmth, defined as being kind and trustworthy, fuels connection.
And connection, the Grant Study tells us, in turn fuels not only happiness but also health and longevity.
#book : how to be yourself#robert waldinger#science#experiment#social behavior#mental health#health#physical health#community#connection
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Best yet, you can lose social anxiety without losing the good things that come along with it. The good things? Yes, remember, a propensity toward social anxiety comes as a package deal.
We are empathetic—we have the ability to understand and share the feelings of others.
We are conscientious—we do things thoroughly and well. Those high standards of ours propel us to success in what we do.
Finally, we value getting along. And in an increasingly fractious world, the ability to get along—to be kind, to be trusted—is ultimately what will draw others to you.
But most of all, inseparable from caring what people think is, simply, caring about people. Think of the Hallmark slogan, “When You Care Enough to Send the Very Best.” By caring enough, you send into the world your best efforts. By caring enough, you offer the world incredible strength and value.
So while it’s important to turn down the dimmer switch of social anxiety to the point where it no longer freaks you out or gets in the way of living the life you want, don’t lose your care and concern for others. We care about people. We make wonderful friends and partners for the people who are lucky enough to know us.
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Usually, we assume making mistakes is bad. We go to great lengths to avoid screwing up. But assuming we’re generally solid and competent, it actually works the other way. The blunder has the magical effect of enhancing the attractiveness of the competent contestant. Why?
Aronson and his colleagues conclude that the coffee incident made the contestant more human, more approachable. He’s still impressive but no longer intimidating. It takes him from being superhuman to human, and therefore more attractive. We like people more when they’re imperfect. This is why self-deprecation is so charming and why celebrities who trip on the red carpet come away looking adorable.
No one likes feeling embarrassed, but evolution has us covered. Embarrassment is thought to have evolved as a non-verbal apology and gesture of appeasement—plus it actually fosters trust. People who are more “embarrassable” are nicer, more trustworthy, and more generous.
Remember: social anxiety is a package deal.
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But despite frequent anger experience, folks prone to social anxiety have less anger expression than their non-anxious compadres.
Which means what? It means sometimes we suppress our anger. But inevitably, it leaks out, perhaps as hostility, irritability, or passive-aggressiveness. Or it might leak inward, leaving us with GI problems, back or neck pain, or a sore jaw from gritting our teeth.
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Welcome to the stratosphere of perfectionism.
No wonder we can’t breathe. Here we find the fourth myth of social anxiety: I have to perform perfectly. We’ve crossed a line into unrealistically high standards, rigid and relentless adherence to those standards, and, most important, a belief that one’s self-worth is contingent upon the results.
Indeed, in a culture that places the standard at “flawless” it’s no wonder we’re anxious. But “perfectionism” is actually a misnomer. Few of us expect our lives—social or otherwise—to be truly perfect. Instead, perfectionism is about never being good enough.
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This myth of inevitable judgment gains great momentum from the spotlight effect.
The spotlight effect is a phenomenon in which we overestimate the extent to which our actions and appearance are noticed by others. This phenomenon strengthens when we feel particularly exposed or vulnerable. Studies show that whether we’re having a bad hair day, wearing a conspicuous T-shirt, screwing up a volleyball game, or sucking at old-school Nintendo (how awesome are these studies?), we consistently overestimate the amount of attention paid to us.
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This is called attention to threat.
Once we feel threatened, we lock in and see threat everywhere. It makes sense—the rabbit keeps an eye out for the fox at all times. But it costs us. To illustrate, look around you and scan for things that are blue. The blue sky, your blue jeans, perhaps a bluebird outside or a blue book on your shelf.
Done? Okay, now try to recall what you saw that was red. Exactly. When our attention is directed elsewhere, we miss out. There are probably plenty of red things around you, but since you weren’t attending to them, you didn’t see them. So it is with threat.
When we selectively zoom in on turned backs and grumpy scowls, we miss the nodding heads and smiling faces surrounding them.
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Why do we keep using safety behaviors? When we do, there is a sense that we are hiding, which makes us feel safer. But instead of truly hiding, we are hiding in plain sight. Even though we feel like we are concealing our flaws, people can see us.
I know that sounds obvious, but while we’re busy trying to keep ourselves safe we’re actually sending an entirely different message. We rehearse what to say in order to come across as well-spoken but end up appearing preoccupied. We pepper others with questions to avoid talking about ourselves but leave our conversational partner feeling interrogated. We agree with everything our boss says, which makes her wonder if we’re even listening.
As Dr. Alden puts it, “Every behavior sends a message to others. People with social anxiety can forget that; they think they’re erasing themselves.” But in reality, safety behaviors send a loud and clear message, and it’s exactly the opposite of what we’re trying to do. We accidentally send the message of I’m aloof, I’m distant, I’m snobby, I’m prickly, when nothing could be further from the truth.
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This is so common it has a name: the worry mismatch. It’s called a mismatch for a reason: just like my experience with the parking space, the consequence of intentionally trying something outside our comfort zone is, typically, nothing. Sometimes we get a raised eyebrow or an incredulous stare, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. […]
“That mismatch gets corrected really quickly. Do it a couple of times and your calibration changes pretty fast. When I started, everything I was thinking about was the worst-case scenario: the person would pull out a gun, call the cops, or cuss me out. My mind was treating this as a foregone conclusion."
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