Zoom teaching sessions feel like softer versions of the dystopian books we read together in school, futures where our relationships are threatened by unnecessary control, numbed by technological manipulation and authoritarian values.

Our attempts to be uplifting are forced. We set virtual backgrounds to mask our stagnant living rooms, our unchanging lives. I try too hard to be funny, and my students force a smile, waiting for the sessions to end.

There are moments when a sliver of truth seeps through the screen and sparks a connection, but these quickly dissolve in our two-dimensional worlds. And we are back to awkward silences or trivial yacking to fill the space and time.

The best that can come from this painful, soul-tugging experience is a permanent reminder that everything we do is about sharing a space where we can fully see one another.

I will never again take for granted what I’ve always assumed is a given: that school is three dimensional. Because right now, it’s not, and I miss my students.