It's Not Seventh Heaven

Sometimes specific situations seem like a microcosm of your entire life.

Between July and October, our company moved to a new building. There are more than a thousand people crammed into eight floors of mostly open space, and more are coming. Some like it, many don’t. For me, there are some definite pros and just a few cons. But this week I realized a big con.

I was among the first to move at the beginning of August. I have my own room, which functions as my office and my classroom. Each of the other teachers have similar office/classrooms, each of us on a different floor. Being on the seventh floor, I am the furthest removed from the others and, as I see now, the most isolated.

Having my own office is great, mostly. I can work without interruption, mostly. The noise in the hallways or from adjacent meeting rooms can make it difficult to concentrate sometimes, but that’s not a serious problem, mostly. And I have a private place to relax, have my morning coffee, or eat lunch in peace, which is a luxury afforded to very few in the building. For that, I am very fortunate.

And until recently, my room was a place where friends could stop by to talk for a while. Enjoying the company of good people who I know and like, for a half hour or more, has always been one of the highlights of my day. And even when you don't sit and talk, it's always nice to see a special face when walking to or from the rest room, etc. and stop to say hello and chat for just a few minutes. There were always at least a few such people on my floor, which made visiting easy.

But not any longer.

People are constantly moved from one floor to another as project teams jockey for space and try to get their people as close to each other as possible. This week, the last of my friends on the seventh floor was relocated far below. Now there is no one left.

There are a few familiar faces on the seventh floor, but very few and none who I know well. They are barely acquaintences. The vast majority are complete strangers. At the coffee point and elsewhere, all I see most of the time are blank, generic faces.

Each floor in our building seems to exist in isolation from the others. People tend to meet up with those on their own floors, only venturing further for their closest friends. If you aren’t on the same floor or aren’t particularly close, you just don’t bother.

My teaching colleagues are on lower floors, and I almost never see them. Everyone is “too busy” to make time to maintain the working relationships we had when we shared a room. Make no mistake: having a private, individual workspace is far better, but there is something wrong with a “team” that never makes time to meet. We have pretty much become strangers to one another. It’s not a team at all.

One person, whom I consider my best friend in the company, used to come up for lunch or coffee at least several times a week. I enjoyed those visits immensely. But nothing good lasts, and her project requirements have cut those meetings down to maybe once in two weeks. It’s not her fault; some projects can be pretty demanding. I was spoiled for a time, but that’s life.

So when my last friend on the seventh floor moved away early this week, it was the end of easy socializing for me. I realized today that I am in isolation on the seventh floor. I have a few hours of classes with students who are nice people, mostly, but not “friends.” And beyond that, I work alone, eat lunch alone, walk the floor alone – spend my work time alone. 

I am in exile.

And at this holiday time of year, which behind the colorful trees, decorations, music and merriment, always carries a dark reminder just below the surface that I exist here alone, my day on the seventh floor is a real reflection of my life.

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