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May's avatar

Anne, my friends are sick of listening to me talk about “the newsletter I’m subscribed to” and reading the walls of quotes from your articles I paste into our groupchats, but this piece and the crux of the contradiction about connectedness in a remote world really did strike me in a particularly poignant way that I’m afraid I can only share here.

Last week, I attended a quarterly all-staff meeting. We all dutifully filed into the Zoom room as the president of the organization heaped praise on us for a hard year fought well (our work is relevant to the US domestic political landscape), and how connected and effective we had proven we were as an organization for weathering 2020 despite the odds.

It was at that moment that I realized that I, someone who had joined the organization remotely at the start of the pandemic, couldn’t relate to anything that was being said. I did my part, yes, but I didn’t feel connected to the president (one Zoom box) or any of my other colleagues (all the other Zoom boxes). No matter how many Slack channels about pets or memes I commented on or how many virtual coffees I scheduled, they were still just people I shared the same e-mail signature with, so many months later.

This made me feel so empty that within minutes of the all-staff meeting ending, I decided that this disconnect was /my/ fault— my fault for not setting up more Zoom check-ins, for not chasing down a senior colleague who never responded to my Slack message, for not working enough hours over the weekend to beat my deadlines before my boss asks about them, for failing to be a good employee while staring into the void of my laptop camera and trying desperately to show that I /was/ trying.

I had a Zoom meeting with my boss the following day and when he asked me what I thought of the all-staff meeting, I burst into tears and couldn’t stop crying. He very gently suggested I take some time to collect myself, but even as I logged off, I felt even more like a failure than I had before — “had anyone in the history of the working world broken down over a fucking ALL-STAFF, and in front of their boss, no less??”

But reading this piece, of course I broke down crying. Of course the only way to think about a broken system (whether a company’s culture or society as a whole) is to blame yourself for not doing more to keep the illusion going - even if it’s only for yourself.

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Davide Tarasconi's avatar

As a consultant working "outside company culture" I have the luxury - ah, "luxury", I have to call what up until now I considered a "sane way of working" a "luxury" - of not having to deal with too many meetings or too many emails.

My job entails teaching and coaching people into new ways of working though: this year could have been a great opportunity for doing that, but it turned out to be very much like trying to put out a fire with a glass of water.

All my experience in remote work, self-discipline, great focus habits, clear and concise written communication, time-boxing, everything turned out to be pretty much useless in the face of the power of the vicious cycle you just described.

I've been spending my days trying to piece together crumbles of other people's agendas (and attention) while previously I had their attention, in person, for full-day workshops.

"Productivity obsessions have historically correlated with precarious job markets, extended recessions, and overarching instability. [...] and nothing looks like working quite like a calendar full of meetings.": this is why everything about this year is so visceral for a lot of people, they fear for their job, consciously or unconsciously. And it's really hard to fight against that fear.

I'm switching more and more into teaching and writing about mental models and different "ways of seeing" and less about the technicality of "how to do (remote) work better", because unless people start to help themselves, my job as a consultant will be pretty much pointless.

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