Awkward

  “If-then” scripts operate outside of our conscious awareness, like lines of code operating in the background of a website, which is why awkward people have a hard time picking up on these scripts. Society assumes that everyone will figure out the “if-then” code running in the background of social interactions, but this is not a sound assumption with awkward people. After awkward people violate a social script, you might hear them say, “But no one even told me!” It’s not an excuse, it’s genuine exasperation about all of the hidden “if-then” scripts that no one has taught the awkward person to recognize. Socially fluent children naturally pick up thousands of these scripts through social observation, but awkward children usually need more direct instruction to do so.

  If awkward people are willing to memorize social scripts and have some flexibility about how they and others execute these scripts, then they can navigate a number of routine social situations with far more ease. Both awkward and socially fluent children thrive when they have a routine to follow and parents consistently and fairly enforce the rules embedded in those routines. Well-functioning families look like well-oiled organizations in which each team member knows his role, trusts that everyone will fulfill their roles, and that these actions will coalesce into a well-coordinated effort. Families who have clearly defined and enforced routines are able to get to school on time, clean up after dinner with little conflict, or readily jump to support each other during times of need. A myriad of self-help books about parenting offer all kinds of conflicting advice, but one of the robust findings across decades of developmental psychology research is that children raised with firm, consistent enforcement of reasonable expectations are those most likely to become centered, healthy adults.

  Of course, parents’ ability to get their families running like well-oiled machines is easier said than done. Even high-functioning families go through consistent growing pains and conflicts, whether it’s a parent badgering a child who has a hard time getting up in the morning or a parent who has to explain why dishes cannot wait to be done until tomorrow. This battle of wills can be particularly intense when awkward children are as stubborn as their biological parents, who share some of the same genetic dispositions.

  Parents of awkward kids need to convince them that the process of social interactions matters, that taking the time to make subtle gestures and statements accumulates into something that adds important value to social relationships. Parents need to calmly show empathy about their awkward children’s tendency to become overwhelmed by social situations and find ways to coach their reluctant children about social scripts that help them fit in seamlessly to social situations. For parents hoping to raise children who end up being well liked and respected, they are faced with a painstaking process of making their children show their work in every social situation.

  Helping Awkward Kids Build Social Fundamentals

  ONE OF MY vivid memories from childhood was a recurring incident that begins in the Wendy’s parking lot. My parents would park our station wagon, turn to the backseat where I sat, and one of them would say, “Let’s get mentally prepared.” Maybe it owes to my father’s military background, but these mental preparation drills of my childhood had the feeling of a sergeant’s remedial efforts with a soldier who has trouble marching in step. My parents’ series of well-orchestrated questions led to Socratic dialogues about how I would engage with others.

  These mental preparation drills took place in parking lots all around the city and in the privacy of our home before going to a restaurant, the grocery store, a birthday party, or a church event. The drills would go on for as long as needed, which on one of my bad days meant that we could be in the car for ten minutes trying to prepare for a two-minute interaction with a cashier. My parents wanted to make common social situations, like ordering at a restaurant or riding public transportation, become second nature to me through deliberate practice. These drills might sound pedantic, and at the time I was certainly not an enthusiastic participant in these Socratic dialogues, but as a socially awkward kid I needed this level of detailed instruction. I’m sure my parents disliked these mental preparation drills as much as I did, but they saw them as necessary exercises to help me learn the unspoken rules of engagement, and ultimately they were right.

  PARENTS’ QUESTIONS

  MY ANSWERS

  Why are we at Wendy’s?

  To eat.

  Where should we go when we enter?

  I should find the back of the line.

  What will you do at the front of the line?

  Order something.

  How should you prepare to order?

  Decide what to order, get my money ready.

  How do you speak to the cashier?

  Eye contact. Project my voice. Say please.

  What do you say when you’re done ordering?

  Pay. Wait to hold out my hand for change. Say thank you.

  Where do you stand after you order?

  Move to the side so others can order.

  Table 6.1 Mental preparation before entering a Wendy’s

  My parents’ strategy to help me navigate the social world was to turn my spotlighted attention on three social cues at a time. That’s how they came up with the “big three” that I discussed earlier, and they framed these social expectations as “if-then” statements: “If we are at Wendy’s, then we are here to eat,” and “If we are here to eat, then we need to figure out what to order,” and “If we are going to order, then we should get our money ready to pay.” The “if” referred to the social expectation and the “then” referred to the behavior I needed to execute. I would walk toward the door at Wendy’s while silently rehearing the big three in my mind: “Back of the line, decide on an order, prepare your money.” Once my money was in my hand, then another script of three behaviors would kick in: “Eye contact, project voice, say please.”

  I began to see that these chunks of three social behaviors linked together into bigger systems, such as the system for ordering at a restaurant, and I eventually generalized these systems to navigate interactions at the movie counter or ticket office at the ballpark. I began to see why saying please or thank you in all of these situations communicated things like politeness and respect, which were essential to smooth interactions. These insights might sound like common sense to non-awkward people or like extremely straightforward, easy situations to navigate, but they were entirely nonintuitive to me.

  With time and persistent effort, I began to build social proficiency as I learned to anticipate the social rules required to navigate common social situations. Eventually, my confidence to engage in these common interactions reduced my social anxiety about upcoming interactions and made me come across as calmer and more confident in the interactions. When I was able to automate the first few steps in an interaction, it freed my mental resources to handle unexpected wrinkles in social scripts and created opportunities for me to add social accoutrements such as compliments or a humorous comment.

  If parents present social expectations in “if-then” language for their awkward children, they capitalize on their children’s systemizing nature. As awkward children begin to master individual “if-then” statements, they begin to connect expectations and see the benefits of following those rules that string together into social scripts. When parents get their awkward kids to the point that they start to see how systematic execution of social scripts can produce tangible results, such as people responding in a friendlier manner or wanting to talk to them for longer, then these kids might reach an inflection point where they become naturally motivated to learn the rules of social engagement on their own.

  Although this social-skill coaching can be extremely valuable to awkward individuals, I have observed that it is rarely practiced. It’s difficult for parents to get a kid to pay attention to social graces that are not interesting to the child and are frustrating to understand. But I also wonder if some parents might feel self-conscious, that having to engage in this remedial socia
l-skill coaching means there is something wrong with their kid or that their parenting has been subpar. In the age of the Pinterest-Perfect Parent, there is so much pressure for parents to keep up appearances that they are cruising through the arduous task of raising their children. As my parents watched other kids seamlessly pour their own milk or confidently place their order at a restaurant, it’s understandable if they felt a little self-conscious about coaching remedial social skills to their own kids.

  It is important that parents do not feel embarrassed about their need to coach their awkward kids because the kids will pick up on that hesitancy in a heartbeat. Mentally preparing kids for social interactions is no different from the parents next door having to give extra help to a child who is slow to read or who struggles with math. When parents try to gloss over their awkward children’s rough social edges, they lose an opportunity to make meaningful change by coaching them in concrete skills that actually make a difference in their ability to smoothly navigate social situations and form meaningful ties.

  Personality psychologists have a perspective that is helpful for parents who worry about their awkward children’s unusual dispositions, which is that most personality traits are not uniformly good or bad. Awkward children’s obsessive focus or routines may be challenges in some contexts, but strengths in others. A kid who seems distractible may see unusual things that lead to creativity in certain contexts, or a kid who is stubborn will look determined in other contexts. But awkward kids have to bump around more than other kids to figure out how their own minds work and to find an outlet for their unusual interests. When things go well for awkward kids, they grow up to be focused, determined, disciplined, and able to communicate their unique views of the world.

  I fought against the mental preparation drills my parents imposed on me, but their stubborn commitment to give me a systematic way to develop concrete skills allowed me to persist in showing other people that I was considerate and thoughtful. They also modeled these skills themselves. This was important, because parents need not only to instill a core set of pro-social values in their children, they also need to model the specific behaviors that communicate pro-social intent to help their children become adults who are fair and thoughtful.

  NEGATIVE MANIFESTATION

  AWKWARD TRAIT

  POSITIVE MANIFESTATION

  Asocial

  Narrow interests

  Focused

  Low empathy

  Nonsocial focus

  Notice unusual details

  Compulsive

  Obsessive interests

  Determined

  Rigid

  Need for sameness

  Disciplined

  Table 6.2 Negative and positive manifestations of awkward traits

  Bake a Second Batch

  WHILE MR. Z was bouncing between orphanages and foster homes during his childhood, there must have been little in the way of predictability and stable routine. For a kid who was probably genetically disposed toward needing routines more than the average child, this must have been a particularly unnerving way to grow up. One day during a chemistry detention, I asked Mr. Z why he loved chemistry so much. He took a pause and then showed a rare moment of vulnerability as he told me the story of his adoptive parents.

  I could see the profound respect and deep gratitude he had for his parents as he told his story. His parents were stern but fair and thoughtful caretakers who channeled his rebellious energy through clear expectations and redirected his active mind into the sciences. When Mr. Z fondly recalled the structure his parents gave him and their support for his passionate interests, I realized it must have been like oxygen for a boy who had been underwater for too long. Not all teens are so enthralled with their parents’ discussions about work matters, but for Mr. Z, the topic fit perfectly with his scientific interests. He eventually began to see how his parents’ systematic approach to scientific matters also informed their approach to social propriety: how they wrote thank-you notes if they received a kind gesture or followed up with a phone call if they heard about friends who were facing a challenging or joyous life event.

  Chemistry is a precise science. Mr. Z loved the idea that if you did your part by following the necessary steps to solve a chemistry problem, then you would get a predictable outcome. One had to be precise with each step of the process because small mistakes would yield an unpredictable solution. After our conversation, I realized that science and the systematic thought embedded in the discipline had been a life raft for a kid who had spent his childhood struggling to stay afloat.

  Not all awkward kids face these kinds of extraordinary circumstances, but Mr. Z’s family life illuminates what awkward kids need from their own families. His parents did not try to reduce his impulses or energy, but rather thought about channeling his energy into generative outlets. They laid out clear expectations, gave him a sound rationale for their rules and routines, and they were fair about enforcing these expectations. Science was one outlet that they provided, but they also expected that he be open-minded about other subjects, and they wanted him to be active in at least one extracurricular activity of his choice.

  Freud generally thought that people’s traits were baked into place by late adolescence. This deterministic view that pervaded psychotherapy throughout much of the twentieth century motivated parents to try to not mess up their kids for life. But personality researchers now know that the way our traits influence our adult lives is far more nuanced than what Freud suggested. Even though awkwardness shows heritability, its manifestations across a life-span as strengths or weaknesses rely heavily on environmental influences. It is kind of like those reality television shows about cooking competitions: participants are given a set of ingredients they have to use in a dish, but they are also given discretion about the other ingredients they use and the method to create their dish.

  For most people, their personality traits will stabilize around late adolescence, but there are exceptions to this rule. Some people become more talkative or reclusive as they age, while others become more pleasant or unpleasant. Researchers are still investigating why these changes occur, but many personality psychologists suggest that influential relationships are one of the most likely candidates for why some people’s traits improve or worsen over time. Although we may appear “baked” into a way of being at any point in time, the people we encounter with every new school year, new job, or new social interaction represent a chance to remix our psychological ingredients and to bake a better version of ourselves.

  For Mr. Z, the influence of his adoptive parents was the inflection point in his life trajectory. They did not simply impose their way of living on him, but instead were thoughtful about who he was and collaborated with him to build a set of routines and expectations that worked with his characteristics. Throughout his lifetime, Mr. Z remained high energy, relatively rigid about certain routines, and a little awkward in social situations that fell outside of his normal daily routine. But he had learned how to channel his personality and abilities into outlets that amplified the positive impact of his natural disposition. Mr. Z was not what you would have called charismatic or comfortable in all social situations, but his commitment to being thoughtful about how he interacted with other people made him one of those teachers kids deeply respected and eventually grew to like.

  I never became an A chemistry student, but I did get much better and, more importantly, I eventually understood the deeper lesson Mr. Z was trying to get into my stubborn head. He wanted me to understand that process is important, that people want you to show your work in both scientific and social matters. Mr. Z had picked up on my unusually high energy and saw that when it went unbridled I became distractible and careless. In social situations, my intense energy sometimes caused people to wince, and he saw that would be costly for me if I couldn’t find a way to contextualize it for people.

  As a kid, I was so focused on outcomes that I skipped niceties such as saying hello or taking the time to ask peop
le how they were doing, which are critical steps in achieving the correct social outcomes. Other times, I would decide to leave a social situation or abruptly shift to a new topic of conversation without explaining my thought process leading up to those decisions. This non-contextualized behavior understandably gave people the impression that I was bored or disinterested in their company, when in fact I had simply failed to communicate the innocuous reasons for my social actions.

  Mr. Z taught me to trust the process and procedures in chemistry. If you learn to trust your ability to make the right moves at each step of the process, then eventually you discover that the basic elements with which you started produce new solutions. But if people become impetuous or falter in their confidence to execute each step, then they end up jumping to unreliable conclusions. In this way, the act of doing chemistry is a practice of faith. You need to have faith in your ability to execute each step, be willing to let others see those steps, and have trust that the order of operations will reveal a solution which may be different from the constituent elements. For awkward people, social life relies on this same kind of faith. Until they gain experience repeatedly seeing how eye contact, mirroring others’ postures, and a pleasant vocal tone add up to abstractions such as a good first impression, they need to have faith that their attention to social details will produce a social compound that is greater than the sum of its parts.