Author Q&A: Ruth Buchanan, Author of Socially Awkward
Today I’m talking with my friend Ruth Buchanan about her new book, Socially Awkward: Pressing through Discomfort to Engage Tough Topics. Ruth is a prolific author of fiction, nonfiction, and plays. Her latest work deals with the fine art of navigating awkward conversations on some of today’s most contentious topics. And, characteristic of Ruth, it’s wise, practical, winsome, and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny!
Q: Your title—and your book itself—have a double meaning. At the ends of chapters, you tell funny stories of awkward situations you’ve found yourself in, but the bulk of the book deals with all kinds of awkward conversations we need to have in life about difficult subjects. How would you say the two different ways of being awkward—the hilarious kind and the serious kind—relate to each other?
A: There’s definitely a major difference between the two. The first, you can’t avoid—you're usually mid-way through an awkward moment before you realize it's happening. The second, you can always side-step by changing the subject. Of course, the whole premise of the book is that we pull that move far too often, avoiding hard conversations out of fear of embarrassing ourselves.
These two types of awkwardness relate to each other because learning to deal with the former can help you develop skills to handle the latter. Learning that you can recover with grace, that you can laugh at yourself, that you’re usually far more embarrassed internally than most situations warrant—these realizations can carry over and help you manage potentially awkward conversations.
Q: As you move through different topics that make us feel awkward—politics, racial issues, infertility, sexual abuse, and many more—you consistently point out two different kinds of responses that many people have. There’s flippancy—responding with a thoughtless joke or just a callous remark—and there’s resistance—pushing back against discussing or thinking about the topic at all. I’m sorry to say I’ve indulged in both kinds of responses before; probably most of us have. Where do you think they come from? In what emotions do you think each of these responses is rooted?
A: Flippancy and resistance are both defense mechanisms. In most cases, we’re deploying these instinctively because our first impulse when we feel afraid is to protect ourselves. It’s only after the fact, when we look back on the conversation, that we might ask ourselves, “Why did I even say that? Why did I act that way? That’s not even how I feel!”
The good news is that change in this area starts with self-awareness. If you’re aware that your first impulse is self-defense, you’re in a much better position to start changing your habits and developing new skills to handle difficult conversations. Rather than seeking merely to protect ourselves, we must think, “We’re entering dangerous territory. How can I best protect us both from harm?” Because flippancy, resistance, sarcasm, and the like are only one-sided, we must train ourselves to lay them down.
Q: Like you, I’m single, and I could really relate to the story you told about the pastor who accused singles of “[turn]ing our backs on God’s will for our lives ... and now reaping the fruit of our self-centered choices.” How should a Christian respond to someone like that who isn’t just ignorant of the truth of a situation, but who deliberately perpetuates stereotypes and speaks unkindly?
A: How I respond in these moments depends greatly on my relationship to the person. The closer I am to the person, the more direct I’m likely to be.
There have been friends whom I’ve simply asked, “Is that how you see me?” My tone is not belligerent but curious. Do the people in my life really see me that way? If so, what are they noticing about my life that makes them think that? If the answer is no, I can ask why are they saying such things in the first place. Either response gives the conversation somewhere to go.
When the person making the statement is a stranger or public figure, the path to fruitful dialogue is less clear. I might turn to the lives of scriptural singles, women and men who had clearly not turned their backs on God’s will. But outside the context of a relationship, these conversations are challenging.
Q: At one point, you suggest to us, “See if you can go at least five steps through the conversation [before jumping in with your own point of view].” I love this idea, but when I tried practicing such a conversation in my mind, I got stumped at the first step! I honestly couldn’t think of a good response even in an imaginary conversation. Can you give an example of a time you did this and talk about a couple of responses you used?
A: Questions are fantastic conversation expanders. Let’s say your friend tells you she has signed up to be on the first ship that colonizes Mars. You don’t think, given her personality and life skills, such a choice would be best for her. You might start by asking, “What about colonizing Mars appeals to you?”
Depending what she says, look to base your second question on the context of her answer. It’s not that you have a pre-set list of five questions that you work through with every difficult conversation but that when you feel rocky road coming, you think, “Before I challenge her on this, let me get as much information as possible so that I don’t mess this up.”
The more context you have, the stronger your position to bring up informed concerns.
Q: Finally, can you share a fun socially awkward anecdote that didn’t make the book?
A: A few years ago, on one of my many trips to Chicago, some friends and I caught a musical downtown. One of the singers impressed me especially—a buff young tenor with soulful eyes and a remarkable vocal range.
An hour or so after the performance, it just so happened that as we were wandering the city near the theater district, I spotted this singer a block away, walking towards us. His long grey coat flapped dramatically in the wind.
My heart stuttered.
Our paths converged, our steps falling into sync as we approached one another. Our eyes locked. The stars aligned.
I saw the continuum of space and time stretched out in both directions, every incident along the way drawing me toward this one moment.
My steps slowed. Music may have even begun to play, although it’s hard to remember now. It’s all a blur.
We stopped at a crosswalk—he on one side, and I on the other.
I gulped the cold air, trying to draw enough breath to alert the rest of my party of my sudden conundrum. How do I let this singer know just how impressed I had been with his performance without inconveniencing him or, worse, embarrassing myself? Be cool, I told myself. He’s looking straight ahead, and you just happen to be standing straight across from him on the crosswalk. This is the simplest thing ever. Our signal turned from red to green.
All I had to do was walk in a straight line, smile, and say good job. I could do this.
We stepped forward at the same time. Our gazes locked.Say it, I told myself. Say it now, before he looks away.
Wait, what was I going to say, again? Good grief, he was still looking at me.
My brain suffered a complete synaptic collapse.
I stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, making intense eye contact while grinning like the Cheshire cat. Not surprisingly, the man broke eye contact, looked resolutely down, and quick-stepped around me, leaving me standing in the street, teeth fully exposed, trying to remember what I was going to say.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the crosswalk, the rest of my party turned and looked back, wondering why I was standing in the middle of the street, staring straight ahead, eyes round and glassy, smiling and nodding at nothing.
(Cover image copyright Entrusted Books)
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