On November 22nd, 2020, I had a Zoom call with a group of very spiritual people who were looking for design support on a project. I felt a kinship with one person on that call in particular. For the next three and a half years, we met weekly and tackled a number of projects together.
I never met her in person, and our calls were always about work. I don’t know how tall she was, but I do know that she always took time to connect with me as a person before we got to business. We shared brief glimpses into our personal lives and practices through this strange rectangular portal.
In our most recent project, we put together an ambitious plan to conduct a series of extensive research interviews. We knew it would take a lot of doing, but we also knew the potential impact. The leaders at her organization seemed a bit blind to how their message was landing outside their bubble.
We wanted to pop that bubble.
Just as the project ramped up, she told me about her diagnosis. She said she wouldn’t have the energy to make it happen. We found a way to get help and work together on it. We got the interviews done and she took the data for a final analysis.
In our last meeting together, she showed me a work-in-progress slide deck. I saw some powerful research findings, delivered in a half-baked way. She apologized and said she didn’t have the energy to take it as far as she wanted to. She was in rough shape, but bravely had her camera on. I told her to take it slow. I told her everyone would understand if she needed more time to recover first.
She didn’t have more time.
The moment I heard the news, I felt the emotion hit my body. I had to step away for a while to reflect. For anyone who says people can’t have authentic relationships online, I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s not like we were best friends or anything, but I definitely felt the loss.
Every Wednesday, I get a reminder for our weekly meeting and I take a moment to stop and wonder and listen and mourn. I haven’t found the heart to delete it from my calendar yet. Last week, I used that hour to go for a walk in the sun.
Of course our flesh and blood relationships feel like our closest ties, but that doesn’t mean digital relationships can’t be real. Whether you connect with a stranger on social media, follow niche interest groups, play games in virtual community, or work remotely, you can definitely find a sense of connection online. It’s not nothing.
After my colleague’s diagnosis, I asked her if we should just cancel the presentation, but she wanted to keep working on it. Revision history on the slide deck suggests she made some tweaks just a few days before she passed. In our little corner of virtual reality, there was an epic journey leading up to that presentation. A story that was cut short.
Her colleague confirmed that they received the final deck and will be going through it together, and I’m not sure any of them knew what an emotional piece of information that was for me. I was so relieved to know those insights would get heard.
A slide deck feels like a weird tribute, I know, but she cared a lot about the organization she worked for. I think it would have made her happy to know she helped her team improve how they show up in the world, even if just a little bit. I’m sure our project was a tiny part of her life, but in the end, little things matter too.
There’s a sort of cliché that tells us that we will regret how hard we worked on our deathbed. It’s a good reminder the life isn’t all about achievement and success. But I imagine there’s also a lot about our work we won’t regret. A sense of purpose is vital to a good life. Even better when we get the chance to share it with someone.
What a beautiful tribute, Jay. And powerful words about connections made virtually and work that we dedicate ourselves to that makes life richer. Your colleague sounds like someone who had an impact in big and small ways.
I truly relate Jay. Moving to a small town January 2020 looking forward to start my retirement with my husband I was hit smack in the face by the Pandemic. And even though retirement isn't work, I was forced to find community on my Macbook. This experience has been new, weird and very enriching and continues to this day. Thank-you for sharing this powerful story.