Are my words enough?
Photography Karen Alves
Making a good impression is hard when you’re just words on a screen
In the daily editorial meetings, I recite the plans for the day. On these conference calls, I’m a rusty voice without a face, without a personality. No jokes, no charm, no cleverness.
As the meeting progresses, I follow along in bed, hair untamed, half naked. Eventually, we sign off and move things to the corporate messaging platform Slack, where I’m even less than a voice – just words on a screen.
On Slack, I often feel reduced to a specific emoji: the rosy-cheeked one with the eyes squeezed shut, mouth pulled into a tight smile.
As messages pop on screen, I consider commenting on my colleagues’ jokes and links to what they’re reading. Some days, I have the perfect come-back. But imagine a stranger commenting on your stuff. It’s not funny, it’s weird.
“Of course, I am going to do it right away,” I type instead, or “My mistake, you are so right.” I’m way too polite, way too eager, way too cute. I’m the person no one’s trying to be, too much and not enough.
This isn’t how I saw my internship working out.
You have to understand, I had dreamed of working at this publication for years. A respected Danish news site, this is where journalists step back from the breaking news cycle to capture the bigger picture, writing long-form features that go down like a glass of white wine in summer.
So when I was given the chance to join the team for a three-month internship while completing my master’s degree in journalism, I’d never felt so lucky. I imagined introducing myself to my new colleagues over coffee, discussing stories with them over lunch, and laughing about personal experiences over Friday night beers in the park. They would fall in love with me or, at the very least, remember me. And in the competitive world of journalism, where editors often hand out bylines to the names and faces they recognise, this would be crucial. This would be my way in; this would be my chance.
I was in the office three days before the Danish Prime Minister announced coronavirus lockdown.
It’s now been almost three months since our offices closed. There have been no coffees, no lunches, no Friday night beers; no personal relationships formed during late-running shifts. But I still do what I do. I write, write, write, wondering if my words are enough to make them see me, feel me, choose me.
I am looking for the bright side. Were it not for coronavirus, I wouldn’t be writing to you. You wouldn’t know me. You wouldn’t know that I exist in some flat in Copenhagen.
So now that I have your attention, I have to ask – maybe you know the answer.
Are my words enough?
