Agreed. People are different. There are tons of different things that could be the “limiting factor” for someone’s success in the world; some are overcome-able, like akrasia, and some aren’t. However, people don’t know themselves perfectly, and a lot of the reasons I articulated to myself for why I wanted to be a certain way were bad reasons, in that they weren’t entirely consistent with my actual preferences, interests, and talents.
Things like akrasia, which prevent people from achieving goals they’ve already formed, have been discussed in detail on LW. However, the factors that decide which goals people choose, and whether those goals are easy or hard relative to their abilities, haven’t been discussed as much. Undoubtedly some of those factors are hard to change, but some might not be.
For several years I have known that I ‘max out’ at groups of five. If I’m in a conversation with up to four other people I’m charming and relaxed. Add a sixth and I clam up and turn into a totally different person. My working explanation is that my, as you call it, social modeling circuitry gets saturated and can’t handle the combinatorial jump. For me it feels like an exponential increase in difficulty. I can’t get the timing right, I don’t feel like anything I say is interesting enough to cut in.
Interestingly, I am excellent at public speaking, because there’s no need to model the audience on an individual basis.
I’m pretty sure this is the most joke-theoretically perfect joke I’ve ever encountered. Not only did I laugh, but 3 minutes later I was still laughing again for new reasons.
I’m pretty sure this is the most joke-theoretically perfect joke I’ve ever encountered.
Joke theory is such that the maximisation thereof is bestiality puns? I mean, it cracked me up too but my theoretical conception calls for a perfection where the lewdness is on the subtle side of the spectrum!
I’m now being entertained by contemplating the difference between an occasional solipsist who believes that they are occasionally the only real person in the world, and one who occasionally believes they are (and have always been) the only real person in the world.
Well, if one considers p-zombies a coherent idea (which I don’t), I can’t see how it’s noticeably less plausible to have someone who is sometimes genuinely conscious and sometimes a p-zombie. From there, to the idea that everyone is like that, seems a small step.
Of course, this also allows for the occasional solipsist who believes that occasionally there’s only one real person in the world and it isn’t them.
Years ago someone said to me “There are only forty-seven real people in the world, the rest are just bad special effects” to which i replied “I take exception to that: I am a damn good special effect!”
I actually find a variation on the part-time zombie to be...spot on, In terms of what the algorithm feels like.
All you need is a bit of sleep deprivation.
This is a decent suggestion, but limited. I’m similar to moridinamael (except I find my cliff isn’t as steep; 6 is when I start feeling my ability degrade and ~9 is where it’s almost gone), and I find it easy to see most people as irrelevant in technical contexts (lectures, work, etc.) but not in most social contexts. If I’m at a party with 12 people, the only way I’ve found effective to stay talkative is form a subgroup that’s 5 or fewer and just focus on them. Writing off active participants is a recipe for awkwardness / hurt feelings, which shutting down prevents.
I have a similar “transition mode”, but it’s between one-on-one conversations and groups of three. If I’m talking one-on-one, I usually contribute at least 50% of the conversation, sometimes significantly more. In theory, talking to two other people should result in me contributing about 1⁄3 of the conversation...but it’s more like 5%. I think part of it is because the conversation dynamics with three people are more complicated, making it hard to manage things like taking your turn without interrupting the others. Part of it is because in a group of three, I’m not needed to avoid awkward silences.
The amount I’ll actually talk in a group conversation drops even more steeply above three. I wouldn’t say specifically that I’m less relaxed, that I’m uncomfortable, or even that my comments become less interesting, but I tend to go to “listening mode” instead of “talking mode”, which is less work for me anyway.
I have no problems in public speaking, or elaborating on a question someone asks me specifically during a group discussion.
I’m the same. Great one-on-one, and extremely awkward when there are two or more other people, which I find to be very exhausting due to the extra conversation dynamics you note. It’s also very difficult too when you’re the sort of person who likes to periodically be silent for a period in order to think more deeply about what you’re talking about—with more than one other person there, somebody else will just start a new conversation on a new topic to avoid the “dreaded silence”.
I wouldn’t say I’m quite that clinical about it. I try to connect with people, I try to imagine what it’s like to be them, and there is a certain amount of calculated questioning in order to determine if I’m seeing them clearly. I try to make people feel liked and respected even when I’m arguing with them, and general would rather be polite than win an argument. When there are too many people, I feel like my interjections will not serve to meaningfully connect with anyone, so I refrain from saying anything.
So I suppose you’re exactly right that I generally don’t use small talk, except as an “opener.”. I’m quite bad at it. Of course, I doubt that anybody but myself notices any of this about me.
It sounds like at the very least, you are quite aware of what your “limiting factor” is, and which things it limits or doesn’t limit. If you’re an adult and still have this problem, you might be right that it would be difficult or even impossible to overcome.
However, it seems to me that building social skills for structured situations, i.e. the particular situation of filming and giving a bunch of people directions, are things that improve with time and practice. I used to find most social situations stressful and exhausting, but the ones I’ve put myself into over and over again have become comparatively comfortable. For example, teaching first aid to a group of rowdy 20 thirteen-year-olds is something I would have found extremely challenging and frustrating when I was younger, and I still would have been scared as little as three years ago–but now I’m confident enough to enjoy it. Whereas large group events, like school cocktail evenings and parties where I don’t know a lot of people, are still generally unpleasant–I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, what my role in the situation is and how I can execute it gracefully. That’s likely because I hardly ever go to those kind of parties.
[Side note: your experience of directing in filmmaking brings me back to a tenth grade experience being the unofficial leader of a group in drama class and trying to direct a mini play. This is probably one of the most frustrating experiences I’ve ever had at school–I have no ability to tell other people (my equals) what to do in a socially graceful way, without being rude and making them dislike me. Situations with a power differential, i.e. teacher-student, make it a lot clearer to me how I can and can’t instruct other people.]
I don’t know whether your social skills are an overcome-able barrier to success, or not. If you’ve reached adulthood without them improving at all, that doesn’t sound promising–but if you’ve improved from the point of not being able to work in small groups, i.e. bands, to being able to...then it might just be a matter of structured practice in situations where you have positive feedback. Though your “deliberate-practice-to-broadened-vocabulary” might be very low compared to areas where you are “talented”.
Agreed. People are different. There are tons of different things that could be the “limiting factor” for someone’s success in the world; some are overcome-able, like akrasia, and some aren’t. However, people don’t know themselves perfectly, and a lot of the reasons I articulated to myself for why I wanted to be a certain way were bad reasons, in that they weren’t entirely consistent with my actual preferences, interests, and talents.
Things like akrasia, which prevent people from achieving goals they’ve already formed, have been discussed in detail on LW. However, the factors that decide which goals people choose, and whether those goals are easy or hard relative to their abilities, haven’t been discussed as much. Undoubtedly some of those factors are hard to change, but some might not be.
.
For several years I have known that I ‘max out’ at groups of five. If I’m in a conversation with up to four other people I’m charming and relaxed. Add a sixth and I clam up and turn into a totally different person. My working explanation is that my, as you call it, social modeling circuitry gets saturated and can’t handle the combinatorial jump. For me it feels like an exponential increase in difficulty. I can’t get the timing right, I don’t feel like anything I say is interesting enough to cut in.
Interestingly, I am excellent at public speaking, because there’s no need to model the audience on an individual basis.
Can you train yourself to pretend certain people do not even exist?
.
That is the funniest thing I have seen in quite a while.
I’m pretty sure this is the most joke-theoretically perfect joke I’ve ever encountered. Not only did I laugh, but 3 minutes later I was still laughing again for new reasons.
.
Joke theory is such that the maximisation thereof is bestiality puns? I mean, it cracked me up too but my theoretical conception calls for a perfection where the lewdness is on the subtle side of the spectrum!
.
Could you expand on that?
.
I’m now being entertained by contemplating the difference between an occasional solipsist who believes that they are occasionally the only real person in the world, and one who occasionally believes they are (and have always been) the only real person in the world.
.
I wonder what the first kind of occasional solipsist would think happened to all the other people when they became the one real person.
Well, if one considers p-zombies a coherent idea (which I don’t), I can’t see how it’s noticeably less plausible to have someone who is sometimes genuinely conscious and sometimes a p-zombie. From there, to the idea that everyone is like that, seems a small step.
Of course, this also allows for the occasional solipsist who believes that occasionally there’s only one real person in the world and it isn’t them.
Years ago someone said to me “There are only forty-seven real people in the world, the rest are just bad special effects” to which i replied “I take exception to that: I am a damn good special effect!”
I actually find a variation on the part-time zombie to be...spot on, In terms of what the algorithm feels like. All you need is a bit of sleep deprivation.
Wow. That is a really brutal joke.
.
Yes. You shocked me.
What was this?
Fascinating suggestion. Worth a shot.
This is a decent suggestion, but limited. I’m similar to moridinamael (except I find my cliff isn’t as steep; 6 is when I start feeling my ability degrade and ~9 is where it’s almost gone), and I find it easy to see most people as irrelevant in technical contexts (lectures, work, etc.) but not in most social contexts. If I’m at a party with 12 people, the only way I’ve found effective to stay talkative is form a subgroup that’s 5 or fewer and just focus on them. Writing off active participants is a recipe for awkwardness / hurt feelings, which shutting down prevents.
That’s really interesting!
I have a similar “transition mode”, but it’s between one-on-one conversations and groups of three. If I’m talking one-on-one, I usually contribute at least 50% of the conversation, sometimes significantly more. In theory, talking to two other people should result in me contributing about 1⁄3 of the conversation...but it’s more like 5%. I think part of it is because the conversation dynamics with three people are more complicated, making it hard to manage things like taking your turn without interrupting the others. Part of it is because in a group of three, I’m not needed to avoid awkward silences.
The amount I’ll actually talk in a group conversation drops even more steeply above three. I wouldn’t say specifically that I’m less relaxed, that I’m uncomfortable, or even that my comments become less interesting, but I tend to go to “listening mode” instead of “talking mode”, which is less work for me anyway.
I have no problems in public speaking, or elaborating on a question someone asks me specifically during a group discussion.
I’m the same. Great one-on-one, and extremely awkward when there are two or more other people, which I find to be very exhausting due to the extra conversation dynamics you note. It’s also very difficult too when you’re the sort of person who likes to periodically be silent for a period in order to think more deeply about what you’re talking about—with more than one other person there, somebody else will just start a new conversation on a new topic to avoid the “dreaded silence”.
.
I wouldn’t say I’m quite that clinical about it. I try to connect with people, I try to imagine what it’s like to be them, and there is a certain amount of calculated questioning in order to determine if I’m seeing them clearly. I try to make people feel liked and respected even when I’m arguing with them, and general would rather be polite than win an argument. When there are too many people, I feel like my interjections will not serve to meaningfully connect with anyone, so I refrain from saying anything.
So I suppose you’re exactly right that I generally don’t use small talk, except as an “opener.”. I’m quite bad at it. Of course, I doubt that anybody but myself notices any of this about me.
It sounds like at the very least, you are quite aware of what your “limiting factor” is, and which things it limits or doesn’t limit. If you’re an adult and still have this problem, you might be right that it would be difficult or even impossible to overcome.
However, it seems to me that building social skills for structured situations, i.e. the particular situation of filming and giving a bunch of people directions, are things that improve with time and practice. I used to find most social situations stressful and exhausting, but the ones I’ve put myself into over and over again have become comparatively comfortable. For example, teaching first aid to a group of rowdy 20 thirteen-year-olds is something I would have found extremely challenging and frustrating when I was younger, and I still would have been scared as little as three years ago–but now I’m confident enough to enjoy it. Whereas large group events, like school cocktail evenings and parties where I don’t know a lot of people, are still generally unpleasant–I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, what my role in the situation is and how I can execute it gracefully. That’s likely because I hardly ever go to those kind of parties.
[Side note: your experience of directing in filmmaking brings me back to a tenth grade experience being the unofficial leader of a group in drama class and trying to direct a mini play. This is probably one of the most frustrating experiences I’ve ever had at school–I have no ability to tell other people (my equals) what to do in a socially graceful way, without being rude and making them dislike me. Situations with a power differential, i.e. teacher-student, make it a lot clearer to me how I can and can’t instruct other people.]
I don’t know whether your social skills are an overcome-able barrier to success, or not. If you’ve reached adulthood without them improving at all, that doesn’t sound promising–but if you’ve improved from the point of not being able to work in small groups, i.e. bands, to being able to...then it might just be a matter of structured practice in situations where you have positive feedback. Though your “deliberate-practice-to-broadened-vocabulary” might be very low compared to areas where you are “talented”.