Read my first post with Steve here.
Dear friend,
Sorry for my disappearance these last few weeks, but it comes with good news, which I’ll share soon. Candidly, it’s also been complicated to arrange timings with my “original 52 friends.”
I’ve been reading Joan Didion’s book, The White Album. Its focus is the history and politics of California between the late 1960s and 70s—through Joan’s lens, of course.
In her first essay, which shares its title with the book, Didion writes about wanting to buy a wristwatch so she can tell time during her trips without having to ask the hotel reception. I was instantly transported to 1969 and noted that her writing serves as a time capsule.
I’ve always been impressed by people whose words and ideas come to define periods of time. Steve Joordens, a psychology professor at the University of Toronto, is one of those people—he who stands at the forefront of a movement that encourages social connection.
Over Google Meets, on a recent Tuesday, he and I caught up. We were first connected via email three years ago by a former mentor of mine named Kirsten.
“From the pandemic on, every year I’ve been measuring social anxiety, feelings of community, fear of negative evaluation and loneliness,” shares Steve. “I’m tracking this stuff and trying to understand it to help my students make friends.”
Throughout his efforts, he’s noticed that the most difficult area for students is initiating first interactions in public. “The ‘Hi Miriam, I’m Steve’ is the hard part. It causes a fear of negative evaluation,” he explains.
Steve introduces me to a psychological variable called digital authenticity, which refers to the degree to which someone’s online and offline presence aligns.
“I was watching a movie called Let’s Talk About Lonely, and there was a Japanese girl who said that just about every time my friends and I post a photo, we alter images by making our eyes bigger, and maybe we’ll make our faces a slightly different shape. I asked my students here if they do this, and they said yes, all the time. They have all the tools to do this,” says Steve.
We agree that this alone adds a layer of complexity to meeting in person, because if you first chat online, someone may notice dissimilarities from the person they sit with in real life. Which would lead one to question—why do you have to present yourself differently online?
The various social media platforms also call for specific types of content. Instagram is where we curate the most interesting, not always the most important moments of our lives. LinkedIn is for bragging about our professional accomplishments. TikTok is for candid moments—our short videos should look cool, effortless, and trendy.
“I worry that people don’t have a sense of who they are,” says Steve.
Whether we like it or not, part of our reality now exists on our phones. Even when we’re offline, we often wonder if someone has messaged us or shared an update. Many of us move through the world thinking about what we can post, buy, or experience next, using social media as inspiration—feeling as though the experience isn’t complete until we’ve documented and shared it ourselves.
“Have you heard of Instagram face?” I ask him.
“No,” replies Steve.
“It’s kind of this generic, ethnically ambiguous look that can be achieved with Botox and maybe a bit of plastic surgery. Plump lips, a small nose, not a lot of movement in the forehead,” I explain.
“Is it even an attractive look?” questions Steve. “Or just attractive for the moment.”
I’ve been meaning to ask him about the role of ego in friendship-making. Do some people think they’re too good for others?
“What you're calling ego might actually be locus of control,” says Steve.
Locus of control refers to how much we believe we influence the events and outcomes in our lives. We tend to strive for an internal locus of control—the belief that our actions shape our successes and failures—rather than an external locus of control, which attributes outcomes to luck, fate, or other people.
“Is it ego or is it fear to give up control and put ourselves in a risky situation where we might look bad?” says Steve.
I begin to think of when I started working on 52 Friends, entering what Steve tells me is the zone of proximal development. Essentially, it’s stepping outside of our comfort zones for the chance to grow. At the time, over three years ago now, it felt liberating, like pulling a piece of duct tape off my mouth. It’s the only way to get what we want.
Not lost on me is the fact that I mitigated risk by documenting my journey to make friends. When I messaged new people or those I had lost touch with, it was with the ask to write about them for my blog—if they said no, it had nothing to do with me. Almost all accepted, knowing we’d talk about friendship, a topic most people enjoy.
Steve points out that one of the best tactics for meeting people is asking for a favour, as long as the favour is genuine and low-effort. “This was something I noticed when we were motorcycling, one of the things you learn is that things are going to go wrong, but when they go wrong, they always work out. When it works out is when you make new friends. If your tires are flat and you're stuck at the side of the road, you’re going to be okay, and you’re going to be okay because someone is going to help you and that someone is going to become a friend,” he says.
Naturally, we have to be open to receiving help, to which some people are apprehensive because connection comes with a certain level of responsibility. If you become friends with your neighbour, you’ll probably stop for pleasantries, even when you’re in a rush. “People want a light life, but that’s the frontal lobe talking. The emotional system wants [social connection] badly,” says Steve.
After our conversation, I couldn’t help but reflect on my casual connections, people I see at events, on neighbourhood walks, or throughout the work day. People I wouldn’t necessarily get lunch with on the weekend, but who add value and joy to life by making the world feel more familiar and comfortable. I guess that is where friendship begins.
Till next time,
Miriam
"It's the sides of the mountains which sustain life, not the top."
―Robert M. Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values