#80: Human connection, the easy way.
My greatest learning from widowhood.
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Over the last seven years, I’ve turned into a human connection machine.
This reading recluse traded in her isolation for the ability to reach out to others near and far, forming a dazzling constellation of relationships, Big Dipper style.
This aspect of my post-tragedy transformation endlessly perplexes me. It’s the most stark change. So over the last 80 posts, I couldn’t help returning to it over and over again.
Thus far, I’ve uncovered some very good reasons for why I made the change:
Connection is the best safety net when going through hard times (post #12)
Avoidance and isolation make heavy emotions worse, not better (post #13)
Sharing vulnerably is both personally relieving and helpful to others (post #25)
Loneliness is literally detrimental to our health (post #26)
Fulfilling love and support can come in many forms, not just romantic relationship (post #50)
Yet over the last two weeks — with the help of Supercommunicators by Charles Duhigg — I’ve finally figured out how I made the change. How, with no experience, no overt intention, no clue, I mysteriously upgraded my capacity to create deep and rapid connection… and how you can too.
Old Sue’s strategies when meeting new people were stamped from the same three patterns.
Pattern #1: Fun facts.
Example: “Oh, you’re from Darwin, Minnesota. Isn’t that the home of the biggest ball of twine in America?”
Pattern #2: Random connections.
Example: “You went to Michigan? Did you know Bob Jones? I worked with his sister!”
Pattern #3: Shared shallow commonalities.
Example: “You are a Steelers fan? I’m a Steelers fan too! I have a Terrible Towel in my closet!”
Recognize any of these tiptoe-through-the-tulips games? We’re trying to get to know the new human in front of us, but simultaneously trying to avoid anything intimate or emotional, god forbid. So we stick with facts.
“Well, it’s technically the biggest ball of twine rolled by a single person, but yeah, it’s pretty big.”
“How big is it?”
“13 feet in diameter.”
“How much does it weigh?”
“I don’t know. I’ll google it… Ok, here we are. 17,400 pounds.”
“Wow, that’s so big!”
“Yep, pretty big…”
Turns out conversations about facts, unless we’re problem solving something, are pretty boring.
No wonder connection feels like a chore to most people. We’re told to show interest in the other person, to ask questions about their lives, but often this piece of advice misses an essential component.
The point isn’t to feign curiosity, it’s to ask questions that we actually care about.
Asking personal questions can feel scary.
We’re afraid that we’ll:
come off as awkward or unprofessional
somehow say the wrong thing
offend, trigger, or weird out the other person
spontaneously combust
I could say, “Get over it and do it anyway!” But these concerns, if not that likely, feel real. So instead of sticking with our old, inch-deep questions or trying to strong arm our way through our discomfort, there’s an Option C: take a “safe” question and twist it a bit. Just enough that the responder has an opportunity to disclose some emotion or experience.
As Duhigg coaches us in his book, instead of “Do you have hobbies?”, ask “If you could learn anything, what would it be?”
Instead of “Where are you from?”, ask “What’s the best thing about where you grew up?”
And instead of “What do you do for a living”, ask “What ideas or projects are you currently inspired by?”
All the modified questions have two things in common. One, their answers will tell you about the inner workings of the responder. Two, they are invitations to share something that lights the other person up. In other words, something they want to be talking about.
What happens next is social-bonding magic.
Your conversation partner’s enthusiasm becomes infectious. They’re glowing with passion, and as social creatures we can’t help but be drawn to it. They share personal details, you ask follow-up questions, then share a bit about your own passions... Soon, you’re swapping inside jokes. Boom! Connection is born. Real connection.
After Mike died, I did not have sufficient barriers in place to keep my emotions at bay.
They’d all been washed away in the flash flood of heartbreak. Without those defenses, my emotions were ever-present and all over the place. What’s a girl to do? Forget all social norms and seek connection. Get a dose of someone else’s happiness, a taste for someone else’s life. Feel normal for a moment. Enjoy some shared laughs, instead of being alone on my crazy island of grief.
Being broken made me open. Without any of my own emotional regulation, I used conversations to co-regulate. I was able to match enthusiasms and feel others’ aliveness.
In this way, asking questions that lead to deep connections was actually a coping mechanism. Maybe at first I was coping dirty, like an emotional vampire trying to absorb other people’s positive feelings to boost me up. But the more I did it, the better I got at sensing what my conversation partner was feeling… Like a dog on a scent, I could track their enthusiasm, ask the question that would bring it to the surface, and literally watch the smile spread across their face.
It was a win-win.
Asking better questions, deeper questions, questions that elicit emotions is really only scary for the asker.
The askee is just touched that someone cares enough to ask! Even when the question possibly awakens unpleasant emotions…
In Supercommunicators, Duhigg shares, “When my father died a few years ago, and I told people I had recently attended his funeral, some of them offered their condolences. But almost no one asked me any questions. Instead, they quickly moved on to other subjects. The truth was, I was desperate to talk about what I had been through, about my dad, about the eulogies that had made me so proud and sad, about how it feels to know I won’t be able to call him with good news. His death was one of the most important — most emotional and profound — events in my life. I would have treasured someone asking, ‘What was your dad like?’”
People want to be seen. They want to be thought about. They want to matter.
You don’t need to be charming or charismatic to make connections. It’s so much simpler. If a primary ingredient of our close relationships is care, why don’t we just start there when building new ones?
Care enough to ask real questions. Let people show you their depth. Let their passion spark yours.
The resulting connection is worth any initial awkwardness. It got me through grief after all. What could it do for you?
With emotion,
Totally agree Ivan, I think that’s the best way of caring - - kindness.