There’s no going back.
“Amanda, are you there? If you’re here, give us a sign.” I crack a smile because it sounds like we’re at a seance instead of our weekly team meeting. A yellow highlight appears around the black box with Amanda’s name. I hear every other word, “...unstable…going…connection…,” the black box disappears, and the other boxes automatically shuffle to accommodate its absence. Rick chimes in, “Looks like her internet connection was unstable.” Some folks nod in agreement.
Joselyn eagerly breaks the silence, keeping us on our agenda, “We need to talk more about flexible work. I live in the East Bay, and I’ve enjoyed being able to work remotely.” More than half of the eleven people on the team had long commutes before the pandemic. Still, every day they dutifully trekked into the office, if not convinced that their physical presence made a substantive difference, willing to fall in line with the norm. Joselyn continues, “Before the pandemic, HR told me that I couldn’t work remotely. They said that my job required me to come in.”
It’s been over a year with everyone working remotely. Everything that once happened in person moved online. The en vogue phrase “flexible work” unintentionally implies a lot. I’m not sure anyone would have called it “inflexible work” before the pandemic, but Joselyn’s situation sounds “less than flexible,” especially given our sustained overall performance. After all, we’re knowledge workers, which means we spend most of our time managing information and relationships.
For us, the pandemic changed where we work, but not much else.
Taking a risk, Sarah follows Joselyn’s comment with, “I miss coming into the office. I like having the separation of work and home. It’s been hard blending the two.” Again, people nod. The two statements seem at odds, but both resonate with the group. Before the pandemic, working from home seemed quite attractive. After the pandemic, working in the office also looks appealing. Now that we’re “going back,” how do we blend the two?
Rob accidentally interrupts, “Amanda’s back.” The box with her name on it shuffles the other boxes on the screen. The familiar yellow highlight appears, then her video comes on, as she says, “Sorry, what’d I miss?” She seems frazzled, may be surprised that whatever she did to troubleshoot her connection actually worked. Adrienne responds with, “We’re talking about flexible work arrangements moving forward.”
Adrienne’s voice quiets the group. She’s our fearless leader and effortlessly commands our attention.
“There’s no going back to the way things used to be.”
Her tone reassures us despite the implicit uncertainty on the horizon. “It makes sense that some of us are ready to go back and that some of us want remote work to continue. We’re going to have to find a way to make it work for everyone. We’ll have to try different things and see what works.”
Our meeting goes on for about an hour and a half. As we sign off, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been “in the office,” even though I’ve been sitting in my living room. “Going back” brings the tension between work and home, between being together and being apart, into stark relief.
What does it mean to “go back,” exactly? Did we ever really leave?
Part of me wonders if an uneven sentimentality colors our thoughts on “re-entry.” For those of us dreading the day-to-day drudgery of a long commute, “going back” feels like a punishment. We’ve shown, out of necessity, that we can be as productive working from home, so why can’t we keep doing it? For those of us yearning for spontaneous interactions with secondary (tertiary?) colleagues around water coolers, “going back” feels like a breath of fresh air, like opening a window after a long, stuffy, and lonely winter. For many, it feels like a bit of both.
Maybe Adrienne’s right. There’s no going back, only forward.
“Re-entry” might force us to confront it.
I can’t think of a pre-pandemic scenario where I might ask, “Amanda, are you there?” during a meeting. Maybe there’s some wisdom in that fleeting moment. “Are you there?” The answer’s yes and no. Leaving revealed what we took for granted, a broader range of options and new approaches to old problems. Still, some part of us wants to go back. We brace ourselves, nostalgic for our pre-pandemic life, persistently trying to summon it, to revive what we lost.
Going forward means trying different things out; it means constantly troubleshooting. Going forward means getting comfortable with ambiguity, not knowing the answer to seemingly obvious questions like “Who’s in the room?” Going forward means getting used to contradiction. We will be together, and we will be apart. We will be at home, and we will be in the office. Get used to the pseudo-seance. Get used to asking, “Are you there? If you’re here, give us a sign.”
