Mark: The average young baby boomer held about twelve different jobs by the time they were in their late forties. Twelve. Michelle: Hold on, twelve? That’s a dozen ‘first days.’ A dozen times being the new person who doesn’t know where the coffee machine is, who to ask for help, or even just how to act normal. I can barely handle one first day without needing a week to recover. Mark: Exactly. And that’s not even counting moving to a new city, joining a new gym, or going to a party where you know no one. We are, throughout our lives, constantly becoming newcomers. And that feeling—that mix of anxiety, awkwardness, and quiet panic—is what we're diving into today. Michelle: I am already feeling seen. Please tell me there’s a manual for this. Mark: There is. We're talking about What to Do When You’re New: How to Be Comfortable, Confident, and Successful in New Situations by Keith Rollag. And what makes this book so compelling is the author's own story. Rollag is a professor of management at Babson College, but before that, he spent years as an engineer for Procter & Gamble, including a long stint in Japan. Michelle: Oh, wow. Talk about being a newcomer. Moving to a completely different culture for a major corporation sounds like the final boss of new situations. Mark: It was. And that experience is what sparked his two-decade-long academic obsession with this question: Why is being new so universally terrifying, and what can we actually do about it? He realized the advice we usually get is vague, like ‘just be yourself.’ He wanted to find the concrete, science-backed mechanics of succeeding as an outsider. Michelle: Okay, I’m in. So what’s his big idea? Why is it so gut-wrenchingly awful to be the new person in the room? Is it just me, or is there something deeper going on? Mark: It’s not just you. It’s all of us. And according to Rollag, the reason lies deep within our evolutionary past. We’re all running on ancient software.

Michelle: Ancient software? What do you mean? Like, my awkwardness at parties is basically a caveman instinct? That feels a little too convenient as an excuse. Mark: It sounds like an excuse, but it's more of a diagnosis. Rollag argues we have what you could call a 'Stone Age Brain' operating in a modern world. For hundreds of thousands of years, survival depended on being deeply suspicious of strangers. An unfamiliar face wasn't a networking opportunity; it was a potential threat to your life, your resources, your tribe. Michelle: Right. A stranger could be there to steal your food or, you know, worse. Mark: Precisely. So our brains developed a very strong, very automatic 'stranger-danger' alarm. At the same time, we evolved an equally powerful need to belong. Being kicked out of the tribe meant certain death. So when we walk into a new situation, these two primal drives go to war inside our heads. One part is screaming, 'Danger! Unknown people! Run!' and the other is whispering, 'Fit in! Be accepted, or you'll be left to the wolves!' The result is anxiety. Michelle: That is a fantastic explanation. It’s like our social anxiety is an old program that was designed for a world of saber-toothed tigers, but now it's freaking out over a plate of mini-quiches at a networking event. Mark: That’s the perfect analogy. The stakes feel life-or-death, even when they’re just social. And the book has this harrowing story that shows just how thin the veneer of modern safety is. In 2005, a young Boy Scout got separated from his troop during a camping trip in the mountains of Utah. Michelle: Oh no. Mark: He was in a familiar context—a camping trip—but in an instant, he became a newcomer in the most extreme sense. The wilderness, which was just a backdrop for a fun outing moments before, became a hostile, alien environment. He was alone, without resources, surrounded by the unknown. Michelle: That’s terrifying. What happened to him? Mark: A massive search and rescue operation was launched. For days, this boy was completely on his own, facing real survival threats: hunger, cold, dehydration. The search teams eventually found him, alive, but the story is a powerful illustration of Rollag's point. That boy’s experience is the 10-out-of-10 version of what we feel on a much smaller scale. Michelle: So when I walk into a new office on my first day, my brain isn't processing it as 'Here's my new desk and a bunch of future colleagues.' It's processing it as 'I've been separated from my tribe in a potentially hostile wilderness.' Mark: Exactly. The physiological response is startlingly similar, just at a lower volume. Your heart rate increases, your cortisol levels spike, you become hyper-vigilant. Your brain is scanning for threats and social cues, trying to figure out the rules of this new tribe to ensure your survival. Michelle: But we know we're not in actual danger. My new coworker, Brenda from accounting, is probably not going to attack me. Why can't we just turn the alarm off? Mark: Because it's one of the oldest and most fundamental circuits we have. It’s like trying to consciously tell your heart to stop beating. You can't just will it away. The book’s reception is interesting here; it's widely praised for being practical, but some readers have said, 'Isn't this just common sense?' And your question gets to the heart of why it’s not. We think we should be able to control it, but we can't, because the fear is not logical. It's biological. Michelle: That is so validating. So the goal isn't to not feel the fear. The goal is to know what to do when you do feel it. Mark: You've just summarized the entire philosophy of the book. You can't stop the alarm from going off, but you can choose how you respond to it. You can consciously override the program. And the most powerful tool for that is surprisingly simple.

Mark: The tool is asking questions. Michelle: Asking questions. That sounds… anticlimactic. I was expecting a secret handshake or a magic phrase. How does asking where the bathroom is help me override my Stone Age brain? Mark: Because it’s not about the content of the question, it’s about the social function it performs. Most of us, especially in a professional setting, are terrified of asking questions. We think it makes us look stupid, incompetent, or weak. We want to project confidence, so we stay quiet and try to figure things out on our own. Michelle: Oh, I’ve been there. The first week at a new job is just a long, silent panic, pretending you know what all the acronyms mean. Mark: Right. But Rollag points to fascinating research that flips this idea on its head. There was a famous longitudinal study at AT&T in the 1980s. They tracked managers over many years to see what predicted success. And they found that the newcomers who were most successful in the long run were the ones who actively sought help and asked questions in their early days. Michelle: Wait, really? The ones who admitted they didn't know things were the ones who did better? Mark: Yes. Because asking a question does two critical things. First, obviously, you get information you need to do your job well. But more importantly, you initiate a social connection. You are signaling to the other person, 'I value your knowledge, and I see you as a resource.' You are, in a small way, inviting them into your tribe and asking to be let into theirs. It's a bid for connection. Michelle: Okay, that makes sense. It’s less about looking weak and more about building a bridge. You’re turning a stranger into a helper, which makes them feel less like a threat. Mark: Precisely. It short-circuits the 'stranger-danger' alarm by creating an instant, positive social interaction. And this taps into that other primal need we have: the desperate need to belong. The book highlights a study that is, frankly, one of the most unsettling and powerful social psychology experiments I've ever read about. Michelle: I’m ready. Hit me with it. Mark: Researchers had participants play a virtual ball-tossing game online, called Cyberball. They were told they were playing with two other people. In reality, they were playing with a computer program. In one condition, the participant was included in the game—the ball was tossed to them regularly. In the other, they were ostracized. After a few initial tosses, the other two 'players' completely ignored them and just tossed the ball back and forth to each other. Michelle: Ouch. That’s basically a middle school nightmare, but digital. Mark: It gets worse. The researchers wanted to know if it mattered who was rejecting you. So, they told some of the participants that the other two players they were playing with were members of the Ku Klux Klan. Michelle: Hold on. They were being rejected by the KKK? A group that virtually every participant would despise and want nothing to do with? Mark: Yes. And here’s the mind-blowing part. It didn't matter. The participants who were ostracized by the KKK players reported the same levels of distress, sadness, and lowered self-esteem as those rejected by a neutral group. Michelle: That is… deeply disturbing. It proves our need for belonging is so fundamental that it’s completely irrational. Your brain doesn't care if you're being rejected by your heroes or by people you find morally repugnant. Rejection just hurts, period. Mark: It’s a raw, biological imperative. The pain of being left out is a powerful survival signal. And that’s why being a newcomer is so stressful. You are, by definition, on the outside. Michelle: Okay, I see it now. The whole picture is coming together. The fear of being new is our Stone Age brain screaming 'threat!' and 'rejection!' And asking a question is the simplest, most direct way to counter both of those alarms. It gets you vital information, and more importantly, it creates a connection that satisfies that deep, desperate need to belong, even for a moment. Mark: You've got it. It's a strategic tool disguised as a simple question. The same goes for the other skills in the book, like remembering someone's name. When you remember a name, you're not just being polite. You're sending a powerful signal: 'I see you. You are significant to me. You are part of my tribe now.' It’s a tiny action with a massive psychological payoff for both people. Michelle: It reframes all of these small social graces. They’re not just 'nice things to do.' They are the fundamental building blocks of trust and safety in a new environment. Mark: And that’s the core insight. You don't need to be the most charismatic person in the room. You don't need a brilliant opening line. You just need to master a few of these simple, high-leverage behaviors. They are the keys that unlock the door from the outside to the inside.

Mark: So when you put it all together, the book’s genius is that it connects our most ancient, primal fears to modern, practical, and achievable actions. It gives you a playbook for a game your brain was never designed to play. Michelle: I love that. It’s not about pretending the fear doesn't exist. It’s about acknowledging the fear, understanding where it comes from—this Stone Age programming—and then having a clear, simple strategy to work with it, not against it. Mark: Exactly. The anxiety is the signal, but your actions are the solution. The feeling in your stomach is just a biological alarm bell. What you do next is what matters. You can let it paralyze you, or you can use it as a cue to act—to introduce yourself, to remember a name, to ask a question. Michelle: It’s incredibly empowering. Because it means you don't have to wait to feel confident before you act. You act in order to become confident. The action comes first. Mark: That’s the secret. Confidence isn't a prerequisite for being a successful newcomer; it's the result of it. Rollag’s work shows that by practicing these small behaviors, you slowly recalibrate that old alarm system. Your brain starts to learn that new people and new situations aren't threats, but opportunities. Michelle: So, for anyone listening who is about to start a new job, or move to a new city, or is just dreading a holiday party, the advice is beautifully simple. The next time you feel that knot in your stomach, that wave of newcomer anxiety, don't fight it. See it as a cue. Mark: A cue to do what? Michelle: A cue to find one person and ask one simple question. It could be anything. "I love your shoes, where did you get them?" or "Have you worked here long?" or "Sorry, do you know where the coffee is?" That one small act of connection is the first step to turning down the alarm. Mark: That's a perfect takeaway. And maybe there's one more. As we go through our own lives, we can also ask ourselves: who is the 'new person' in my world today? At work, in our neighborhood, in our friend group? And what's one small thing I can do to make it easier for them? Michelle: I love that. It’s about paying it forward. Once you're on the inside, your job is to help open the door for the next person. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.