I went to a party.
I realize that doesn’t rank up there as a headline with “Dewey Beats Truman” or “Ford to City: Drop Dead,” but for me, it was nonetheless a headline-worthy event.
The party was a “welcome back” event for two old friends, but none of our mutual friends were going, and even my wife was out of town. It meant that I would know only the guests of honor, and they would surely be pulled in many different directions A party populated almost entirely with strangers can be an anxiety-provoking event for many, including me. I have long had a recurring nightmare in which I show up at a party where I don’t know anyone (sometimes I’ve gone to the wrong event by accident) and the only difference between the party of my nightmare and this party is that in my dreams
I can never find the front door.
It’s pretty common – not the nightmares, I don’t have data on that – but the anxiety around unfamiliar social situations. Sixty percent of Americans say they often or sometimes feel anxiety in social situations and slightly more Americans say they dislike small talk than say they like it. Social anxiety tends to be higher among younger adults and anxiety tends to decline a bit with age, but for me, at 63, it remains as high as ever.
In previous years, I would have undoubtedly made my excuses: conflicting obligations, under the weather, locust infestation. But this is my Year of Living Socially, and I have committed to saying yes to social events and to getting out and being with people, even when it would seem easier and safer to avoid social entanglement. We’re deep into a national epidemic of loneliness and social isolation and that calls for strong medicine, like going to a party.
The building blocks of good conversation
I dutifully made my way across the river to Alexandria, silently hoping for a flat tire or some other form of divine intervention. No such luck, and I arrived more or less on time, happy party expression firmly plastered to my face.
It was as I expected: 50 or so people, all of whom seemed to know each other, none of whom seemed to know me. But I had not come unarmed. By good fortune, I was in the middle of preparing for an interview with Alison Wood Brooks, a Harvard Business School professor, an expert on conversation, and the author of the book, “TALK: The Science of Conversation and the Art of Being Ourselves.” “TALK” is an initialism, standing for Topic, Asking, Levity and Kindness. I was only halfway through the book, so being funny and nice would have to wait. Fortunately, the first part of the book gave me plenty to work with.
Brooks makes the argument that topics are the building blocks of good conversation and mastering topic management is essential. Spending even a few minutes planning out a few key topics can make an enormous difference to conversational success, she argues. Many people, myself included, rebel at the idea, thinking topic prep will make conversation feel forced and unnatural. Brooks calls this the Myth of Naturalness. She argues that it dooms us in many situations to talking about what pops first into mind: the weather, the food we were just served, or, heaven forbid, questions about our work. I don’t know whether Brooks is right, but not preparing topics hadn’t worked for me for five decades, so I was willing to give it a try.
Perhaps I was lucky, but it worked. Earlier in the day, I had gone to my gym, which is located on the third floor of an urban shopping mall. On the first floor, I noticed a long line waiting for the opening of Snipes, a sneaker store. That’s a pretty common sight, as sneakerheads will wait hours for a new shoe. On the second floor, to my surprise, there was another line – this time snaking around the escalators to snag a new video game at Best Buy.
At the party, I shook hands, made brief introductions, and at the first appropriate opportunity, I shared this story and asked the group, “when was the last time you waited in line for something?” It worked beautifully.
Many of the stories related to music: I heard a cherished story from years ago about queuing for a Bob Dylan concert at a small Washington, D.C., venue called the 9:30 Club as well as one from the night before about lining up to hear 83-year-old Ringo Starr play. But also movies and food and even a story about lining up to vote.
The question evoked fond memories, led to arguments about what is worth standing in line for (universal agreement: no to fancy cupcakes) and turned what might have been an awkward and stilted conversation into fun, revealing and energetic dialogue. Soon, my conversation partners were calling over their friends to ask them to weigh in on the question.
What is 'the liking gap'?
Part of the reason that we are so anxious about conversations with strangers, whether at a party or in other informal settings, is that we consistently underestimate our own worth as conversationalists. Research from Gillian Sandstrom of the University of Essex in the U.K. has shown that people systematically underestimate how much their conversation partners like them and enjoy their company, an effect that she and her collaborators call the liking gap. The liking gap is so pervasive – and invasive – that both participants will often leave a conversation with the belief that they really enjoyed their partner but that their partner was less interested in them.
We may be living in an era of loneliness and social isolation, but if my seven weeks of living socially has taught me anything, it is that people are far more open to engagement and far more interested in human-to-human contact than we give them credit for. Not everyone, not every time, but enough to make me look forward to the next party.
I wonder what I will talk about at Thanksgiving?
Ken Stern is the author of "Healthy to 100." You can follow his year of living socially on Instagram and TikTok.
This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Afraid of small talk? How to lean into the awkward
