This week, I listened to a Hidden Brain episode about the Liking Gap, a well-researched and somewhat depressing phenomenon in which humans tend to assume that people like us less than they actually do.
The episode is filled with anecdotes and data and strife of all sorts, but the worst were descriptions of friends who drifted into estrangement. In each case, the friends both wanted to see each other again, but wrongly assumed the other wasn’t interested. So they avoided inviting or calling or checking in, waiting for the other friend to make the first move, until enough time had passed for the relationship to die a slow, passive-aggressive death.
And I thought it was rude of Hidden Brain to attack me so personally.
I don’t know about you, but I am struggling with how to rekindle some of my friendships post-COVID. There are people I didn’t see for this entire winter, and then there are people I didn’t see for two years. Not because I didn’t want to, but because we all had to choose our spheres of risk, and it felt like friendship level-jumping to ask certain people to be part of mine.
Yet now COVID restrictions are pretty much over, and it feels like level-jumping to even send a text and ask how they’re doing.
This has been especially acute in the sticky, gooey realm of parenting friendships, or Playdate Purgatory, as I like to think of it. I have no read on these friendships because they’re not technically mine. Sure, my six year old thinks it’s high time Friend We Haven’t Seen for Nine Months comes over, but what if her mom disagrees? What if the kid disagrees?
And how the heck would I know either way? By taking the word of the person who thinks the Tooth Fairy lives under the cat’s litter box?
I will say that after listening to that Hidden Brain episode, I went ahead and texted a parenting friend. And she reported, as you might suspect, that she was glad I reached out—she wanted to ask for a playdate, too, but wasn’t sure how to get the ball rolling again.
Humans, man.
We could take away from the Liking Gap that we should have a little more self-confidence, but it’s the other side of that equation is sticking with me more. There wouldn’t even BE a Liking Gap if we just told other people how we felt, yes? If we mostly like each other more than we’re saying, and the not saying is making us anxious and lonely, why don’t we just… say it?
Well, partially because we’re all walking around with something called negativity bias. It makes us more likely to voice negative opinions than positive ones (hello there, Nextdoor app), which means that, unless something is going wrong, we don’t often speak up. Words of affirmation are not part of our default settings.
So it feels weird to just be out there saying nice things to people. As a teacher, I used to make random good news phone calls every week, and I can confirm that the first thirty seconds of delivering an unsolicited compliment are grueling seconds indeed. People are confused. People are alarmed. People are afraid you have the wrong number.
But then, something magical happens, which is that they start to feel really good. And then you, too, start to feel good, and a little goodness rainbow connects your classroom to their cell phone and, for a few moments, goodness Skittles will rain down on everyone in between.
And then, because of negativity bias, everyone forgets, and you need to do it all over again.
I used to like writing Be a little kinder than is necessary today on the whiteboard outside my door, because the quantity of kindness we think is necessary is never going to be enough. Did you know it takes four to five times as many positive comments as negative ones in order to make a similar impact? If you’ve ever had a performance evaluation—or a book editor—you certainly do. We all pick out the one crappy thing and assume it’s the whole thing, and apparently, we’re doing that with relationships, too.
I was the recipient of some unnecessary kindness this week. People said nice things to me about my writing, right when I was feeling like bathing my computer in Diet Coke, and I believe it granted me some temporary hearts. Maybe even enough to finish the book. No one needed to do that, but a couple of people did anyway, and I got a little reprieve from assuming that people like my stuff less than they actually do.
So if you think your friend knows you hold them in high esteem, probably they don’t. Ditto for your colleague and your children and maybe even your dog. Nobody knows. We’re all out here together, assuming no one wants us to call when probably everyone does.
Go say the thing, my friends. Go taste the rainbow.
