I spend most of my workdays looking at faces on a computer screen.
Like so many people who work remotely, my coworkers and I have built genuine relationships through video meetings, emails, and phone calls.
We celebrate successes, brainstorm ideas, solve problems, laugh together, and occasionally commiserate over deadlines. Even though we’re separated by hundreds or even thousands of miles, we’ve become a team.
Still, there is something special about finally meeting in person.
That opportunity came recently when I attended our company’s annual conference in Chicago, where I was fortunate to present two sessions alongside colleagues Jacob Merrifield and Beka Pica.
The Encoura + RNL National Conference was my first chance to spend several days face-to-face with many of the people I’d worked alongside for years.
As excited as I was, there was one thought quietly lingering in the back of my mind.
I’ve made no secret that I live with Relapsing-Remitting Multiple Sclerosis. Most of my colleagues already knew that. They also knew my wife, Jennifer, lives with Secondary Progressive MS and uses a power wheelchair. They knew I was her primary caregiver.
Those conversations had happened long before the conference.
What many of them had never seen was how MS affects me physically. Like many people living with Multiple Sclerosis, I’ve learned that symptoms aren’t always obvious until someone sees them in person.
I walk with a noticeable limp. I move more slowly than I used to. Every now and then, I stumble before catching myself and continuing on my way.
None of that embarrasses me. But I was aware that, for the first time, my coworkers would see a part of my life that had previously existed only in conversation.
Conference hotels aren’t exactly known for being compact, and there was plenty of walking throughout the week. My Apple Watch showed that I walked nearly four miles on back-to-back days.
Let’s just say that was waaay more walking than I’m used to after living with MS for 26 years.
Then came an email from our awesome AVP inviting our team to dinner. The restaurant was described as an easy walk from the hotel.
I’ll admit it.
I gulped.
A second email estimated the walk at 10 to 15 minutes.
Double gulp.
Thankfully, a few paragraphs later she indicated it was also just a short Uber ride away.
Relief.
Most of us ended up sharing Uber rides, so by the time we arrived at the restaurant, transportation wasn’t the story at all.
The staircase was.
There were a dozen or more steps leading up to the dining room.
Without thinking much about it, I did what I’ve learned to do over the years. I let everyone else go ahead, then made my way up at my own pace. When dinner was over, I let everyone head down first and carefully followed.
And then…
Nothing.
No awkward comments.
No uncomfortable silence.
No one treating me differently.
Throughout the conference, people undoubtedly saw me walking more slowly through the hotel, navigating long hallways, and occasionally catching myself after a misstep.
But they also saw me presenting alongside two wonderful colleagues. They saw me asking questions, sharing ideas, laughing over meals, and enjoying conversations that had been years in the making.
In other words, they saw me.
Looking back, I realized I had spent more time thinking about my limp than anyone else had.
The colleagues who had known me through countless meetings weren’t waiting to evaluate how I walked. They were simply happy to finally spend time with someone they already knew.
Some days my gait is steadier than others. Some days it isn’t.
What I can control is how I show up.
I still do quality work. I’m still curious. I still encourage others. I still laugh. I still contribute. I still build meaningful relationships.
By the end of the conference, I realized something that had nothing to do with presentations or hotel hallways.
I arrived wondering if people would finally see my MS.
It turns out the person they met in Chicago is the same one they’d already come to know through a computer screen.
My gait may have been new to them. Everything else wasn’t.
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