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The first business trip

The first business trip

af | jan 4, 2026 | Career & Culture

My First Business Trip

My first business trip came only a few months into my first job.

We were traveling to visit customers and suppliers in another country, in a large city. A short flight of about three hours. My manager was coming along, as well as another colleague who had already been with the company for a year. I remember how proud I felt.

I was never one of those students who seemed destined for a corner office. I was not active in every student association, did not attend every networking event, and did not position myself as a future CEO who would travel the world. Not because I performed poorly. My grades in my masters program were actually very good. I simply kept to myself, focused on my student job, and spent my free time with friends from my hometown.

So being selected for one of those sought after and almost mythical business trips felt like a personal victory. Especially because I had landed my job before finishing my degree and started just two weeks after handing in my thesis. While many of my peers were still searching for their first role, I was packing for my first work trip abroad.

I was incredibly proud. And absolutely terrified.

How much should I pack? What do you wear in the evenings when customers are not joining? What if I bring too much luggage? Or too little? What if I make the wrong choice in something as trivial as clothes and it quietly confirms a suspicion that I do not quite belong here yet? I wanted to be prepared, but I did not want to look like an amateur. I wanted to appear effortless, even though nothing felt effortless at all.

So I packed as carefully as I could and hoped neither my manager nor my colleague would comment on it.

I only brought hand luggage and a separate suit bag. I had packed two suits since the trip was only a few days. The others had somehow managed to squeeze their suits into their carry on bags and planned to iron everything at the hotel. That earned me a small remark about why I was carrying a suit bag by hand. Apart from that, everything went smoothly.

What they did not know was that I had brought far too many shirts and sweaters.

In the evenings, unless customers were joining, we were not expected to wear suits. But I had no idea how formal or casual things would be, so I prepared for every possible scenario. When we arrived late on the first day, we went straight out for dinner and then to bed. I had chosen an outfit that could work in both a formal and casual setting. A t shirt with a shirt worn open on top.

If it turned out to be more formal, I planned to button the shirt and casually pretend I had forgotten my blazer in the hotel room so I could go back and put it on. Luckily, it was casual enough that I could keep the shirt open and relax.

Looking back, it is almost funny how much mental energy I spent on these decisions. But at the time, they felt important. Not because clothes matter that much, but because I believed that every small mistake could be added to an invisible list.

That fear was closely tied to ambition. When you want to succeed, perfection can start to feel like a requirement rather than a goal. You try to eliminate mistakes before they happen. You rehearse conversations. You double check emails. You overthink outfits. All in an attempt to prove that you belong and that you are worth investing in.

The meetings themselves were uneventful. They went well. The evenings were pleasant. The journey home was smooth. But I still remember the feeling of that first business trip. Pride. Nervousness. And the sense that my ambitions and goals were suddenly a little closer, even if I was not yet comfortable admitting that to myself.

Since then, those trips have multiplied. Today I travel somewhere between forty five and sixty days a year. Often on long and exhausting journeys. The logistics have become routine. Packing takes minutes instead of hours. The anxiety has mostly faded.

But the underlying thoughts have not disappeared entirely.

I saw that clearly during my second job.

I was traveling to one of our offices in another country together with a junior colleague. We landed early in the morning and went straight to the office, so we arrived at the airport wearing suits. Later that evening, we were going out for dinner with colleagues from the local office. Before that, we stopped by the hotel to check in.

I decided to change clothes. Still, the thought crossed my mind. What if everyone else just goes out in their suits? What if changing sends the wrong signal? Too relaxed. Not serious enough. Not ambitious enough.

As I stepped into the hallway, I met a female colleague who had made the same decision. When I walked down to meet my junior colleague, he came out wearing his suit. When he saw us dressed more casually, he said, “Oh, no suit? I will just change and be right back.”

We waited, and he returned in something more relaxed. And that was it. No comments. No raised eyebrows. No silent judgment. The evening continued exactly as planned.

What struck me afterwards was not his reaction, but how familiar his hesitation felt. That brief moment of uncertainty. The silent calculation. The fear of choosing wrong and having that choice mean something bigger than it actually does.

Many of us carry that with us, especially early on. The belief that one wrong decision could derail a trajectory. That being perfect is the price of admission to that corner office we pretend not to want too badly. Over time, you learn that careers are rarely that fragile. Most people are far too busy with their own doubts to closely inspect yours.

The confidence we admire in others is often just the absence of visible fear, not the absence of fear itself. And slowly, trip by trip, decision by decision, you realize that belonging is not granted by flawless execution. It is built by showing up, making choices, occasionally getting them wrong, and continuing anyway.

That realization does not arrive all at once. It grows quietly, somewhere between packed suit bags, changed outfits, and dinners that turn out just fine.

Office politics, or just emotional logistics?

Office politics, or just emotional logistics?

af | jun 30, 2025 | Reflections & Emotions, Work & Identity

Dear Meeting Room,

Nobody likes to admit they’re playing the game. We tell ourselves we’re above it. That we’re just doing our job. But the truth is, office politics aren’t optional. They’re just there. Spoken or unspoken, subtle or toxic. And once I stopped pretending it wasn’t real, I actually started getting better at my job.

Especially working in sales.

Salespeople don’t exactly have the best reputation in a cross-functional setting. We’re seen as pushy. Selfish. Kind of needy. The ones who always need something urgent. It’s not entirely untrue. Sales is high pressure, and when customers need things, it often feels like everyone else is in the way.

But what I’ve learned, slowly and not without mistakes, is that getting your way is less about pushing hard and more about picking your battles. Not every request needs to be a hill to die on. And sometimes, letting others win small battles builds the goodwill you need to win bigger ones later.

He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.

Sun Tzu wasn’t talking about office diplomacy, but he might as well have been.

I remember a case once with our logistics team. A customer wanted something changed in an order. It wasn’t a big thing, and I knew I could probably push it through. But logistics said no. I could have escalated it, made the case, gone all-in. But it didn’t really matter. So I argued a little, gave them the space to explain, and then said, “Okay, fair enough, let’s do it your way.” They were happy. They felt heard. And the next time I came to them with something important, they listened and helped. That’s office politics. Or diplomacy. Or stakeholder management. Whatever you want to call it.

Another example stands out too. I was heading into a meeting, and just before it started, the leader responsible for the topic quietly gave me a heads-up. He said, “I know where you stand on this, but just so you know, this other guy might bring up something different. If you want to avoid getting stuck with the fallout, you should steer the discussion in this direction.” He didn’t have to tell me that. But he did, and it helped me navigate the discussion exactly how I needed to. I avoided taking on responsibility for something I wasn’t positioned to drive, and I could focus on more important work instead. I think he did it because we’ve built a solid, honest relationship. Sometimes people pick their horses. That time, he picked me. And that’s how trust works.

The more I’ve moved through my career, the more I’ve realized how valuable it is to build real relationships with people in other departments. Not fake alliances. Not transactional favor banks. Just actual rapport. A little trust. A sense that we’re on the same team, even if our KPIs don’t always align.

Sometimes that trust gives you early information. A heads-up before something becomes official. A second opinion before the meeting. Sometimes it’s just the benefit of the doubt when something goes wrong.

You can’t operate like an island and expect to get anything done. Especially if you’re in sales, and especially if you want to stay sane.

And yes, I’m an introvert. I don’t love the constant networking or the surface-level chatter. But relationships don’t always start with loud charisma. They start with respect. With listening. With knowing when to let someone else be right. And remembering that collaboration doesn’t always look like agreement. Sometimes it just looks like patience.

I don’t think it’s about being liked. Not exactly. But it is about being known. And maybe trusted. And when you have that, you don’t have to fight every battle. You just need to show up, and show that you know when to push and when to wait.

Do They Actually Care What I Say — or Just Pretend to?

Do They Actually Care What I Say — or Just Pretend to?

af | jun 10, 2025 | Reflections & Emotions

Dear Meeting Room,

Some days I walk out of a meeting and think, That went well.
Other days, I leave wondering if anyone actually listened. Or if they just nodded politely until I stopped talking.

Right now, I hold a senior position. Director-level. I lead, I decide, I represent. On paper, there’s no doubt, I have a voice that matters. But sitting at that table with others at my level, I’m also very aware of something else: almost all of them have been doing this longer than I’ve been an adult. They have decades of experience. And then there’s me. Early 30s. Still collecting scars.

In theory, I know I belong here. I’ve done the work. I’ve gotten results. I’m not afraid to speak up, challenge ideas, or push back when something doesn’t sit right with me. I prepare. I think deeply. I hold my ground. And I’m also not too proud to admit when I’m wrong. I don’t try to bluff my way through things. If I don’t know, I say so.

Colleagues I respect have even said it out loud, that my contributions are sharp. That I bring a perspective that matters. That people listen when I talk. I try to remember that. But still, there’s this quiet voice in the back of my head that keeps asking me…

Are they just being nice?
Do they actually care, or are they just letting me speak out of politeness?

That thought shows up in meetings. But sometimes it creeps in during those casual conversations about the weekend, about life outside of work. I sometimes find myself wondering if they really care about my answer, or if they’re just checking a box marked “nice team player.” It’s an awful feeling. Like being in the room, but not entirely part of it.

The weirdest part is that nothing around me actually supports this doubt. It’s all in my own head. Because the truth is, I do feel respected. I’m trusted with decisions that matter. I get included in the things that count. But that little insecurity still sticks to the edges.

I keep thinking it’ll fade once I hit that big milestone, the next success, the next measurable win. But deep down, I know that’s not the solution. I think this is just part of the journey. Especially when you move fast. Especially when you climb quickly. It takes time for the room to feel like home. And maybe longer for you to believe you’re not just borrowing your seat.

So I’m trying to work on that belief. Quiet the voice, not by proving myself again and again, but by grounding myself in the facts: I’m here. I earned this. And even if some people are just being polite, most of them aren’t.

Because the real question isn’t whether they take me seriously. It’s whether I do.

Why Did That Email Keep Me Up at Night?

Why Did That Email Keep Me Up at Night?

af | jun 6, 2025 | Work & Identity

Dear Meeting Room,

I’ve always been confident in my writing. Especially emails.
I’m clear, professional, and usually get straight to the point.
So why do I sometimes lie awake at night thinking,
“Should I have written that differently?”

It’s usually after I’ve sent something that felt completely fine when I wrote it…
and then got a weird or angry response.

Maybe it was a question about a project or a customer.
Or a comment on a deliverable.
Or just a normal follow-up that apparently wasn’t read as “normal.”

Suddenly, I’m re-reading every sentence I sent.
Trying to figure out what part hit a nerve.
And if other people were cc’ed, it’s even worse.
Because now I’m not just second-guessing the message — I’m worrying about how others read it too.

It’s happened with leadership.
It’s happened with colleagues.
And in almost every case, the email I sent was misinterpreted.
Completely.

And even though I feel like I didn’t do anything wrong,
I immediately start wondering:
Should I respond?
Should I explain myself?
Should I say nothing?
Should I call them?

I’ve done all of it.

I’ve written back firmly putting the sender in their place

It usually ends in a phone call where things are smoothed out.
Sometimes the person admits they overreacted.
But somehow, I still feel awkward after.

I’ve also written the same kind of email, just more polite and less sharp.

Still clear. Still standing my ground.
That’s led to calls too — where the other person ends up feeling a little embarrassed.
(And I feel a little guilty for making them feel that way… even though I was just being professional.)

And I’ve tried saying nothing.

That’s the hardest one.
Because while I stay silent, I’m still thinking about it.

Recently, a colleague asked for help writing an email to her manager.
She had some concerns about how her role was being handled and wanted to push back respectfully.

She showed me the draft.
And while I knew what she meant — because she explained it to me in person — I told her:
“This could be misunderstood. I’d take this in a conversation instead.”

She sent it anyway.
And it turned into a real issue.

I don’t think we need to sugarcoat everything or walk on eggshells.
But email culture is a weird thing.
It’s supposed to make things efficient, but most of the time, it just makes things more tense.

People misread tone.
They read way too much into punctuation, bold text, or who’s copied.

Now, I always ask:
Would this be easier to just say out loud?

Usually, yes.

And I’ve learned to spot the people who don’t do well with emails.
Sometimes it’s the ones who are more senior or protective of their team or area.
Sometimes it’s just people who are easily triggered by written feedback.

At this point, I write fewer “loaded” emails.
If something’s sensitive, I’d rather just call or talk in person.
It’s less stressful for everyone.

And the best part?
No follow-up spiral at 2 a.m.

Am I a good manager, or just afraid to be a bad one?

Am I a good manager, or just afraid to be a bad one?

af | maj 29, 2025 | Career & Culture, Reflections & Emotions

Dear Meeting Room,

It’s strange how leadership sneaks up on you. One day you’re figuring out your own job, the next you’re responsible for someone else. Their success. Their frustrations. The 1:1s. Their Monday moods.

And suddenly, it’s not just about being good at your work. It’s about helping someone else be good at theirs.

One thing I learned quickly was that becoming a leader doesn’t just mean adding “manager” to your title and continuing as before. I used to think things would more or less run on momentum, that if I just worked hard and led by example, the rest would fall into place. But after a while I realized that leadership isn’t something that happens in the background. It requires time, focus, and deliberate effort. You have to pause. You have to listen. You have to make space to coach, support, and be present for your team. You have to actually take time out of your schedule to be a leader, and to help your team achieve their goals and ambitions where it makes sense. I hadn’t thought about that at all before I was in the role. And I realized this too far into the role. If I am being completely honest I think that for the first 6 months or so, I was not a good manager.

I still think about three moments from when I became a leader for the first time. Not big dramatic events. Just small, ordinary scenes that stuck with me.

1. The Interview I Faked My Way Through

I was 25 and thriving in my new role. I started in a sales manager position, where I was responsible for a customer segment the older sales guys didn’t really understand. I had an amazing boss, and even our commercial director and CEO were genuinely down to earth. One day the CEO asked around the office where I was, and my stomach dropped. I thought something was wrong. Turned out he just wanted to chat about football. That’s when I first understood that leadership didn’t have to be intimidating.

That trust eventually led to them accepting my request to expand the team and hiring someone. My first real direct report. A bright, creative woman who turned out to be the perfect fit. I screened the applications and CV’s, which was quite fun to do. Now for the first time, I was on the receiving end of the CV’s. Which in all honesty is a big task. It takes a lot of time, and now I understand why a good CV that gets attention and cuts to the point is extremely important.

But during the interviews? I struggled. I didn’t know how to ask good questions. I had to force myself to be curious and follow up on her answers. HR sat in on the first round, my boss joined the last, and I did my best to learn from them. And I guess it worked out, since I was very satisfied with my new employee. It’s actually funny, because some time later she said that she felt that the interviews were not going well since I was a bit quiet. Though it was the complete opposite.

2. The Days I Overread Her Silence

Once she joined, the real learning began. Not about onboarding or planning. About my own inner noise. I remember how much I read into her moods. If she was quiet, I’d worry. Did I do something wrong? Was she unhappy? Did I let her down?

I cared. Maybe too much.

Eventually I realized that caring is not the problem. What matters is what you do with that caring. It’s not my job to manage someone’s emotions. But it is my job to check in, to offer a safe and solid work environment, and to give my team what they need to do great work. That’s the line. I can’t dwell on every quiet moment or try to fix every dip in energy. Sometimes people are just tired or thinking. I learned to ask once, to listen, and then let go.

3. The Moment I Realized I Don’t Need to Know Everything

At some point I looked around and saw that I was managing people with more experience than I had years alive. I couldn’t out-skill them, and I didn’t need to. For a while, that was hard to accept. I felt pressure to prove myself, to always have the right answers or the smartest questions. But eventually I learned that trying to be the most capable person in every room is not leadership. It’s insecurity in disguise.

So I changed my mindset. I stopped obsessing over expertise and started thinking about clarity. I didn’t have to be the best at everything. I had to create the best conditions for others to do great work. That meant setting a direction and holding it steady. It meant protecting time, removing blockers, making sure people felt heard, and giving them space to work — really work — without friction.

It also meant knowing when to step back. Some of my team members had decades of experience. I couldn’t teach them anything they didn’t already know. But I could ask the right questions. I could connect dots across projects. I could take responsibility when things got messy and give credit when things went well.

Most importantly, I could listen. Not just nod and agree, but really listen. Because when people feel heard, they speak up sooner. And when they know you see the big picture — even if they don’t always agree with every detail — they trust you’re moving the ship in the right direction.

I’m not a specialist. I’ve learned to stop pretending I should be. My strength as a leader comes from creating structure, offering perspective, and caring enough to make space for the people who do know all the details. That’s what I’ve come to believe: leadership is not about being the smartest. It’s about making others feel like they can do their smartest work around you.