What We Lose Not Returning to the Office

Geoff’s hand begins to shake slightly as he switches the kettle on. He leans back on the counter and can hear in the background the skype chat alerting him of new messages – ding, ding, ding. He feels as though he has almost forgotten what it is like to have a “real” conversation in person.

His workplace recently decided to dissolve the office after working from home for so long, and although the change was a sigh of relief for many so they could continue their new-found routines, Geoff couldn’t help but feel unease as though it felt something was being lost.

The only parts of the day he had time with the rest of the team was a 15-minute virtual “stand up” meeting in the morning, discussing capacity and then getting on with their already busy days. The number of times he had tried to call colleagues only to be met with a tone that dials out, he couldn’t begin to count.

As the kettle begins to tumble side to side with the heat inside, Geoff takes a sigh and closes his eyes.

As he opens them up again, he looks inadvertently out of the window and sees his neighbour dressed in his work suit as he is walking towards his car. Geoff cannot help but notice the subtleness of his smile, the refreshed energy, the look as though that he is a part of something more.

As he looks a little closer at his neighbour, hiding behind his windowpane, he can see that his neighbour is on the phone talking to someone. Geoff can hear him through the slightly open window… ”Yeah, I’ll see you very soon. It’ll be so good to meet you in person finally! I’ll be the guy with slicked brown hair and a big smile on my face” his neighbour says as he chuckles to himself.

Geoff can feel this pang inside of him with the memory of how it felt to go into the office. The memory of connecting with his colleagues – not via zoom or by phone - but to sit there and have an unintended conversation about something going on in life – not even something important, just a conversation that isn’t via a camera or a scheduled call.

The kettle bell sings off and Geoff’s thoughts are interrupted. He makes his tea and sits down at the dining table with the single placemat set up, ready for his next meal. He looks at the stacked unused placemats in the corner of his table, and back to the single placemat in front of him and sighs to himself.

He traces his fingers along the design of the placemat, thinking about how it would feel to be himself again, to feel part of something beyond the four walls around him.

He sits there, listening to the neighbour’s car start up and drive off. He takes a deep breath and realises he cannot help but feel the overwhelming sense of loneliness reverberating throughout his body. He didn’t think going to the office mattered, he didn’t realise he’d care.

Geoff shuffles in his seat, listening to the silence of his home, feeling as though he has lost something he didn’t even know he had. As he hangs his head down, trying to shake the feeling off, his attention is interrupted as he looks over to his work laptop open in the corner – ding, ding, ding.

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By not going to the office, there were many things we were happy to lose.

The $6 train ride. The obnoxiously loud passenger that we all tried to avoid sitting next to. The waiting in queues to swipe our opal card then missing the train by 30 seconds. The loud schoolkids, the smelly colleague who eats tuna at their desk, the squished sandwich from our laptop bags.

We got flexibility to work how, where and when we wanted, and no longer had the micromanager breathing over our shoulders as we tried to work away at a desk waiting for our hour long commute home.

Many of us were relieved to use our time wiser, spending our morning commute time walking and making lunch in our fully equipped kitchens. Many of us finally felt that we might be able to achieve the unachievable of managing our busy personal lives with our busy work schedules.

But with all the things we’ve gained, the things that we’ve lost are less obvious.

We’ve lost the incidental conversations, the “how are you going”, and the “nice to meet you”.

We’ve lost body language, and, with our camera-shy colleagues, we’ve lost being able to read facial expressions. As we stare into our own camera reflections, we’ve forgotten what it feels like to not see your own face looking back at us for the best part of the day, hyperconscious of our hair or how we look.

We’ve lost learning by listening and convenient conversations. We’ve lost introducing ourselves to unknown colleagues that we’ve only met because we wanted to use the coffee machine at the same time. We’ve lost connecting with each other by simply looking over our shoulders and seeing who was laughing so loud around us.

We’ve lost going to the morning coffee shop with colleagues and planning the day ahead not in a video call, but in actual meeting rooms.

We’ve forgotten the notebook, the meetings where our heads aren’t in a laptop screen. We’ve lost thoughtful deliberation and meaningful phone calls.

We’ve lost talking to each other, not because we have to, but just because we can.

Our workdays are now filled with back-to-back video calls, news feeds, scrolling, typing, on repeat. We’ve lost boundaries between our homes and our offices, and the lines are so blurred, many of us don’t have lines at all.?

We’ve lost what it feels to simply to look up around us and feel connected beyond our own four walls.?

Returning to the office may seem like an inconvenience at first, and don’t be alarmed if you turn up to your first day in the office with your hair dishevelled and still wearing your Ugg boots, but you’ll look up to see you’re in the office.

You’ll breathe in that tuna-filled air and hear that “just a little too loud” colleague on the phone all day and you’ll be part of something great again. Even if you won’t be able to pinpoint what it is, you’ll feel that tiny part of you crawling out again, feeling a sense of connection that no zoom call can replace.

About the Author

Camille Wilson?is an inspiring key note speaker and author in the space of mental health. For sponsorship of The Hard Truth, reach out directly for details.