The Awkward Optimist’s Guide to Human Connection is a hilarious, insightful, and refreshingly honest look at the challenges of social interaction. Why was this an important book for you to write?

The Awkward Optimist’s Guide to Human Connection grew from my own spectacular failures at small talk and my uncanny ability to say “you too” when waiters tell me to enjoy my meal. After decades of collecting enough awkward moments to fill a museum (or is that a mausoleum?), I realized I wasn’t alone in this special kind of social purgatory—and that maybe my pain could be everyone else’s comedy gold.

Writing this book was important to me because I believe humor is like social WD-40—it makes the squeaky, uncomfortable parts of life glide a little smoother. Plus, it felt therapeutic and cathartic to transform my most cringe-worthy moments (like the time I waved back at someone who was actually hailing a taxi) into stories that might make others feel better about their own social blunders.

Beyond the comedy, I wanted to create an antidote to those insufferable Instagram influencers who make authentic connection look as effortless as their “candid” sunset yoga poses. Real human connection isn’t filtered or perfectly lit—it’s messy, sometimes awkward, and occasionally involves spinach in your teeth during important conversations. Take a look at my podcasts and YouTube casts. They are not NPR Perfect-are you kidding? They are perfectly awkward and authentic.

Ultimately, this book is the guide I wish I’d had during my own journey—a reminder that we’re all just awkward optimists hoping someone will laugh at our jokes and forgive us for accidentally calling our boss “mom” that time in a staff meeting. Everyone else was laughing, so I joined in. That was awkward.

What were some ideas that were important for you to share in this book?

The core ideas I absolutely had to share in “The Awkward Optimist’s Guide” emerged from years of underfunded research (read: embarrassing myself in public and taking mental notes). Some of the most important concepts include:

First, the “Three-Second Rule of Overthinking” – not the one about eating food off the floor, but rather my discovery that giving yourself more than three seconds to analyze a social situation is like falling down a rabbit hole lined with your most embarrassing memories. Action before anxiety became my mantra.

I also needed to debunk the “Perfection Myth” – this bizarre cultural notion that everyone else is navigating social waters like graceful dolphins while you’re flopping around like a caffeinated seal. The truth is we’re all seals. Some just hide their flippers better.

The concept of “Authenticity as a Superpower” was crucial to include. I found that when I finally stopped performing what I thought was a convincing impression of a socially adept human and just showed up as my awkward self, people actually connected with me more. Turns out, vulnerability is like social catnip.

And finally, the idea that “Connection Happens in the Cracks” – those unplanned, unfiltered moments when someone sees you spill coffee all over yourself and instead of pretending to be perfect, you both laugh until your sides hurt. Real relationships aren’t built during flawless dinner parties; they’re forged in shared catastrophes and mutual weirdness.

I wrote this book to give permission to the awkward optimist in all of us to stop waiting until we’ve figured it all out, because spoiler alert: none of us ever do.

What is one piece of advice you wish someone had given you when you were younger?

One piece of advice I wish someone had given me when I was younger? “Your awkwardness isn’t terminal—it’s your personality’s immune system fighting off inauthenticity.”

Throughout my teens and twenties and thirties and forties, I treated my social awkwardness like a contagious disease that needed to be quarantined. I spent approximately 60% of my mental energy trying to appear “normal” in social situations (worrying about what others were thinking), 30% replaying my conversational fumbles in excruciating detail, and the remaining 10% avoiding eye contact with anyone who witnessed said fumbles.

No one told me that those cringe-worthy moments—like the time I confidently waved at my crush across the cafeteria only to realize I had ketchup smeared across my face like war paint—were actually building my resilience muscles. Or that the person who called out “enjoy your haircut” after I left the barbershop (to which I brilliantly responded “you too” to someone clearly sporting a shaved head) would become one of my closest friends because we bonded over mutual awkwardness.

If I could go back, I’d tell young me to save the energy I spent trying to be a smooth operator and redirect it toward something more achievable—like solving cold fusion or teaching cats to respect personal boundaries. Because eventually I learned that people don’t connect with your highlight reel; they connect with the blooper reel you’re brave enough to share.

So, my advice? Embrace the awkward early. It’s not the obstacle to connection—it’s the express lane.

What is one thing that you hope readers take away from The Awkward Optimist’s Guide to Human Connection?

If readers take just one thing from The Awkward Optimist’s Guide to Human Connection, I hope it’s the liberating realization that everyone else is also mentally rehearsing conversations before they happen and then performing extensive post-mortems afterward. We’re all members of the same neurotic book club—some of us just have better covers.

I still remember the day this truth hit me: I was standing frozen in the grocery store, contemplating whether saying “I like your shirt” to the really pretty cashier would come across as friendly or deeply unsettling and creepy. Then I noticed the person behind me muttering what appeared to be their own same conversation script under their breath. That’s when it clicked—we’re all out here simultaneously terrified of each other and desperately wanting to connect. It really hit me after the COVID 19 Pandemic. We needed understand personal connection again.

My fondest dream is that somewhere, someone will read this book in public, laugh out loud at a particularly embarrassing anecdote (probably the chapter about my disastrous attempt to network using only movie quotes), and the stranger next to them will ask what they’re reading. They’ll strike up a conversation, both fumbling through the social niceties, until one of them bravely acknowledges the awkwardness—and in that moment of shared humanity, a real connection will form.

Because ultimately, that’s the paradoxical magic I hope readers discover: our collective awkwardness isn’t the barrier to connection—it’s the bridge. So next time you accidentally text “Love you!” to your plumber or walk into a room and immediately forget why you’re there (I do this a lot!), remember you’re not failing at being human. You’re actually doing it exactly right. As awkward as it is, your call to action is to go buy my book. I can guarantee it will be a mistake worth making.

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