I would like to think that I “bring my whole self to work” as we like to say in the work pop psychology section this year. But I can’t help thinking about how much time I spent writing two three line emails before I headed into the office this morning.
I can tell you how long. Eleven minutes.
I’ve been out of the office, and while I was out, there was a reorganization. I’m returning to a new manager in a different team. The first email was to my new manager, to see if she has a few minutes to help me get up to speed. The second was to a colleague who I worked closely with for much of last year, who, if anything had gone sideways on our projects, it would have been her who had to pull in the slack.
I was sure everything was fine, and in hindsight, it was.
I know that I’m most effective when I can just be myself, which in most cases and most places, including the office, I am. To a fault, probably. I tailor what I say and how I say it to how I know a person. I remember, refer, joke. I’m personable. I like people.
But in a moment where I was writing someone I hadn’t yet met, with whom I didn’t already have a rapport, I found myself thinking, “Is the level of formality appropriate? (backspace) Am I including any superfluous information? (backspace backspace) Would any detail be better mentioned in person? (backspace) Is this exclamation mark effusive, or worse, disingenuous? (backspace backspace backspace)” Then in the next message, to my colleague, “Would she have told me if something blew up? Should I ask? (backspace) Did she feel left in the lurch? (backspace backspace) Does it feel overdone to say I hope she had a good holiday? (backspace)”
Eleven minutes.
85 words.