Not many things are certain during these uncertain times, but one thing will never change: the joy together mode brings me.
I came to class on day one of remote learning this year with new anticipation. I had seen the mild chaos of Teams class last semester, but I knew things were going to be different this time around. At our Extensive Online Summer Tech Training where we (among other new skills) learned how to make a PDF, I also acquired this critical piece of information: updated Teams would have a classroom setting.
I don’t know about you, but in all my late, tearful nights of missing my friends, thinking too much about my past regrets, and contemplating my unsure future, the one thing I longed for was a Teams feature where I could see my classmates’ phantom body parts sitting in neat rows on my screen.
Together mode delivered. The function could not be of higher comedic quality. At this jarring and traumatic moment, nothing really hits home like seeing your friend’s detached limb quietly sitting on a minimalistic, IKEA-looking chair. There’s something about the horror this gives me, and the concern, that reminds me of my humanity.
Because I never want to get used to this phenomenon, I only turn on together mode on the worst days, and it shocks me every time. I inevitably break out into hysterical laughter, and my teacher inevitably asks if I would like to share something with the class.
Somehow, though, despite the visceral reaction I get every time I turn on together mode, it's oddly comforting. To me, together mode perfectly sums up the feeling of the pandemic. It is the allegory we have all been looking for: no one feels entirely like themselves because parts of us are missing. But no matter what, through all the pain of having your limbs severed from your body, we will always come together as a supportive -- if exhausted -- community.
I came to class on day one of remote learning this year with new anticipation. I had seen the mild chaos of Teams class last semester, but I knew things were going to be different this time around. At our Extensive Online Summer Tech Training where we (among other new skills) learned how to make a PDF, I also acquired this critical piece of information: updated Teams would have a classroom setting.
I don’t know about you, but in all my late, tearful nights of missing my friends, thinking too much about my past regrets, and contemplating my unsure future, the one thing I longed for was a Teams feature where I could see my classmates’ phantom body parts sitting in neat rows on my screen.
Together mode delivered. The function could not be of higher comedic quality. At this jarring and traumatic moment, nothing really hits home like seeing your friend’s detached limb quietly sitting on a minimalistic, IKEA-looking chair. There’s something about the horror this gives me, and the concern, that reminds me of my humanity.
Because I never want to get used to this phenomenon, I only turn on together mode on the worst days, and it shocks me every time. I inevitably break out into hysterical laughter, and my teacher inevitably asks if I would like to share something with the class.
Somehow, though, despite the visceral reaction I get every time I turn on together mode, it's oddly comforting. To me, together mode perfectly sums up the feeling of the pandemic. It is the allegory we have all been looking for: no one feels entirely like themselves because parts of us are missing. But no matter what, through all the pain of having your limbs severed from your body, we will always come together as a supportive -- if exhausted -- community.