There is an interesting paradox at play: on one hand, our lives are extremely public, with no deed or photo, and its associated comments, going unseen — perhaps forever. On the other hand, we are operating ever more remotely, isolated, alone, and unseen.
I’ve written before about one of the overlooked impacts of social media on young people: it keeps interactions sealed inside a box, invisible to parents, teachers, and counselors until long after the misery has set in. I compared that to the olden days (you know, way back in ancient times when I was a kid) when our parents knew exactly what was going on because the only way to socialize was to be physically present with friends, or heard on the very shared telephones all over the house (no headphones, either). They knew when we were socializing and when we weren’t, and they knew, more or less, how we were doing.
Lately I’ve been thinking about the further costs of our increasing isolation, particularly for emerging and young adults, including those just starting in the workplace. Growing up, I was exposed to world-class negotiating tactics simply by living at home with my ever-bargaining mother. I learned to assert myself with banks and utility companies, plumbers and electricians, from years of hearing my parents on the phone conducting business. I had models of excellence to use as templates while I found my own voice, clunky at first, but stronger and more effective over time.
When I left for college, I landed on a freshman floor full of a whole variety of styles and skills to observe and pull from. In that relatively safe environment, I could negotiate with professors and registrars, navigate club and team dynamics, manage dorm room politics. These interactions happened visibly, out in the open, not fired off in texts and emails and automated systems where no one could see or hear or learn. That process of watching, listening, and trying continued through jobs, roommates, projects, and so on.
The workplace version of the same problem
Which brings us to an argument currently roiling the business world. Fidelity Investments recently ended its hybrid work policy, citing concerns that remote work deprives employees, especially younger ones, of valuable networking and learning opportunities. The company put it plainly: “being physically together creates more opportunities for a meaningful associate experience filled with connection, mentorship, and learning.” (Read the article on Investment News) That is precisely the dynamic I’m talking about. Some of this can happen on Zoom, but the subtleties get lost. You cannot absorb what you cannot observe. And the casual conversations where relationships are actually built aren’t prescheduled.
But the conversation gets more complicated. An opinion piece in the New York Times referenced a study finding that opposition to remote and hybrid work was most strongly associated with narcissistic personality traits among managers and executives, not with legitimate concerns about collaboration or mentorship. The only trait that consistently predicted objections to remote work, across thousands of executives, middle managers, and frontline supervisors studied over six years, was narcissism. (Grant, Shandell, and Elliott, NYT)
I’m not convinced the picture is that simple; plenty of reasonable leaders genuinely believe in the value of in-person culture, and the research doesn’t say otherwise. But it does raise a question: when a company mandates full-time return to office, how much of that decision is about developing people, and how much is about something else?
The truth is probably that both things can be true at once. In-person work creates organic learning opportunities that remote work struggles to replicate. And remote work offers flexibility that matters enormously to certain employees: caregivers, people with disabilities, those with neurodiverse needs, and those who do their best thinking outside a fluorescent-lit open floor plan. That flexibility has been shown to support retention. A blanket policy in either direction ignores that complexity.
The better question for any organization isn’t “home vs. office?” It’s “how do we make sure people, especially those early in their careers, are actually learning, being seen, and getting feedback?” Because that can happen in an office, but it can also fail to happen there if company policies and culture don’t genuinely recognize and invest in the people contributing to its success.
Fast forward to today: silent social media interactions and working from home
Where do people, so entrenched in isolation, ever get to see what alternative methods of communication and interaction actually look like? They may sense that what they’re doing isn’t getting results, but what other tactics can they consider when they’ve had no exposure to things being done differently? I can already hear the young people in my life making their case: “That outside world thing doesn’t matter anymore. No one is expected to talk that way. We’re fine, leave us alone, what’s for dinner?”
The current environment offers far less in the way of constructive feedback — fewer observations to learn from, and fewer examples from which to offer helpful guidance in return.
Our parents modeled not just communication and behavior, but consequence. We could see what their choices in style actually produced. Some we adopted, some we rejected. And as painful as it could be, we received feedback from parents, teachers, and counselors on our own methods and choices. There was less to figure out alone because we were given guidance. Yes, some of my mother’s commentary made my skin crawl. But I couldn’t unhear it, and it did shape my future approaches for the better. (Yes, Mom, I’m admitting it. Forty years later, but still.)
Case in point: I once tried to uninvite a girl from my much-anticipated sleepover party. My mother got wind of the scheme when the girl called the house to ask whether my “illness” might have cleared up and the party was back on. To her credit, my mom didn’t throw me under the bus, but she did immediately track me down at a friend’s house to set me straight on the right and wrong way to treat people. I was mortified, both at being caught and at having to bring the girl back into the fold. The story still stings. But the lesson was not lost on me.
The point is: if I’d had my own phone back then and the girl had texted me directly, my mother would never have known. I would have succeeded in leaving her out, gone on with my life, and possibly gone on being a mean girl. At some point all that meanness might have caught up with me, and I’d have found myself the one no one wanted at their parties, with no idea why or what to do about it. God bless my mom. God bless those family landlines.
I would be remiss not to attempt a solution here. Alas, no simple one presents itself. A sweeping policy rarely succeeds across the board; it differs by organization, by department, and by individual. Awareness, as always, is the necessary starting point. From there, creating a safe environment for growth and learning is essential — and bringing your diverse teams together to work on it collaboratively may be the most powerful place to begin. The process itself might just be the answer.