Perhaps I’ll never become an “authoritative senior.” I came to realize this as I moved into middle management and began meeting junior colleagues more than ten years younger than me, one after another. The more I let go of the mask of “seniority” rather than putting it on, the stronger our relationships became.

At first, I was anxious. I worried about which emojis to use so I wouldn’t seem awkward, whether my speech patterns sounded old-fashioned, and how much “seniority” my title required me to display. Would getting too close make things sloppy? Would being too formal create a wall? The compulsion to “perform” the role of senior colleague often weighed on my shoulders.

But my junior colleagues didn’t seem particularly interested in those boundaries. They laughed first, opened up first. In their natural ease that covered even my awkwardness, I gradually learned to relax. I didn’t need to be a perfect senior. I could stand beside them as a colleague, working together. That realization brought me relief.

1 S, the Steadiness of Living in the Present

The first face that comes to mind is S. A few years ago, on my birthday, she started her first day as a contract assistant director, and she is ten years younger than I am. From the moment she walked into the interview room, she radiated a strangely solid presence. Her calm answer—”I may make mistakes due to lack of experience, but I’ll work hard to learn”—was without pretense. From day one, she was herself, without straining or being unnecessarily tense. Thanks to her, I didn’t have to force myself into performing the senior role either.

In the car on the way to a filming location, usually quiet, S connected her playlist and said, “I’m really into this song these days.” Casually sharing what she loved, not pulling future worries into the present. At the time, I was constantly clinging to anxieties like “Will this project work out? What should I do about the next proposal?” But S was enjoying this moment. That day, as the view outside the window merged with the music, I envied her steadiness while also feeling somehow comforted by it.

Of course, there were minor conflicts. I had her create a cue sheet table for a project, but the alignment and borders were sloppy. The content was sufficient, but the final details were disappointing. I believe that people who work well demonstrate a unique quality, even in a single photocopy. So I carefully said, “I’d appreciate it if you could think a bit more from the perspective of the person who assigned this. Putting more effort into the final details changes the outcome.” But in that moment, the air grew stiff. It felt like I was scolding her, and my heart sank. I know well how deflating it is to receive criticism as a new employee.

Fortunately, S listened quietly and did the work more meticulously. The materials I received a few days later were utterly transformed. The alignment was smooth and visually solid. It was a change that would have been impossible if she’d been hurt and withdrawn. Her ability to absorb criticism gracefully and turn it into growth was a lesson for me, too. After that day, we grew closer.

Even after her short contract ended, we still met often. We’d sit in a corner of a café, tapping away at our laptops, then suddenly look up and continue conversations. Our work was separate, but sharing the same atmosphere, we felt an odd sense of kinship.

One day, we discovered a notice for a quirky quiz show and applied together. It wasn’t like we had high expectations, but the drive to the venue and memorizing questions felt like a memorable field trip. We were eliminated early by an unexpected question, but the moment we sat across from each other in the loser’s seats and burst out laughing remains vivid.

After that, whenever we discovered strange events or small opportunities, we became each other’s first call. Together or apart, a friend who brings small laughter into each other’s daily lives. That kind of relationship was the gift left by our brief time working together.

2 J, Who Made Me Feel I Was Not Small

S’s position was filled by J, a new employee. She came from a small rural town, and her first impression was of someone very thin and fragile-looking. She was visibly nervous, and her voice was quiet. “This is my first time in Seoul. I found a studio apartment in a hurry.” Her words tugged at something in me. Could she really manage alone in this big city at such a young age?

On the first day, I discovered J sitting at the desk next to mine. I wasn’t in great condition. The number in my inbox was getting on my nerves, and my head felt heavy. But suddenly, I thought that one curt remark from me, mixed with fatigue, might make this girl shrink into herself. That feeling strangely stopped me in my tracks. So I took a breath and spoke as warmly as I could.

“Hi, first day at work? Pretty nerve-wracking, isn’t it?”
It was a brief greeting, but relief spread across J’s face. In that moment, I understood. Being a senior isn’t just about teaching the work.

On her first day leaving the office, I drove J home. While driving, instead of using the training manual, I shared small things. “The cafeteria food is good, and the employee discount is pretty nice.” “The team leader seems a bit old-fashioned, but he’s actually really kind.” Watching her face gradually relax, my own tension eased too. Slipping into someone’s day and lighting the path, even a little. It brought more joy than I’d expected.

After that, we often walked together hand in hand along the trail in front of the office. Talking about the weather and laughing about new convenience store products. Like an older sister, I stayed by her side, hoping she wouldn’t feel lost and alone in Seoul. The walks were short, but there was a quiet warmth in the air between us.

But J turned out to be surprisingly strong. She was meticulous, clear-headed, and spoke her thoughts with certainty. She gradually started speaking up in meetings and confidently said, “I’d like to participate from the planning stage too.” I taught her how to express ambition with polish, and J quickly made it her own. The way she steadily handled her current responsibilities while simultaneously requesting the next opportunity felt reassuring.

A few months later, on my last day at the company, J handed me a palm-sized card filled with writing. “Dahye, you made me feel like I wasn’t small.” Reading that sentence, I sank to the floor at home and cried for a long time. We had crossed through each other’s vulnerable times together. As J learned the work and found her voice, I learned how to protect someone.

Looking back, it wasn’t just a senior-junior relationship, but a friendship between colleagues. Conversations on the way home from work, the air on our walks, brief greetings that steadied the heart. Those small moments held on to J, and at the same time, they held me up, too. I could only understand how precious that time was after it had passed. I have the conviction that she’s someone I’ll know for a long time. The belief that someday J will extend her hand to another junior colleague just as I did for her. That was the greatest gift I received from J.

3 Who Became a Colleague Through Crisis

B, the assistant director I first met after joining Amorepacific, was like a small salvation to me. When I took on my first project as an experienced hire, my clip files became a mess as I fumbled around with them. Layers were stacked dozens deep. I couldn’t even begin to know where to start. The fact that I, someone hired for experience, was crumbling in front of such a basic mistake terrified me. In that moment, I was exhausted enough to want to scrap everything.

That’s when B quietly said,

“Dahye, this version is plenty interesting. We can save it with just a little work.”

That one sentence held me together. We sat side by side until midnight, organizing the files. We named each nameless layer, untangled the tangled timeline, and pieced together the messily inserted video fragments. In the early morning air filled only with keyboard sounds, steam rising from coffee cups, and monitor glow, a strange focus arrived in place of fear.

Eventually, we finished the video. Even after getting home the day of the first upload, I watched it dozens of times, practically memorizing the scenes and dialogue. The next morning, B said with a bright smile,

“I kept watching it last night, and I think it turned out really good.”

My heart raced at those words. Having endured the same exhaustion and shared the same joy, B was no longer an intern. She was a real colleague.

After that, B often sent messages with cute, exaggerated emojis. Hearts fill the screen, and exclamations appear in parentheses. On tired afternoons, that small notification window would ease my mind. One day, she called me “Dahen-nim.” At first, I thought it was a typo, but it was a nickname she’d made up herself. That modest nickname felt like a mark of trust. I eventually changed my nickname to “Dahen-nim” altogether. Someone’s playful affection had brightened my daily life.

Those small flourishes changed the temperature of work. A short joke B tossed out during meetings would ease the tension, and a small compliment could change my attitude. From experience, I know that one kind word can cover over a mistake or two. Thanks to B, I became even more certain of that truth.

Sometimes B would ask seriously,

“Dahye, what do you think I’ll become?”
I always paused at that question. Because compared to who I’d been at her age, she seemed so much more upright and genuine. Someone who doesn’t waver in the face of crisis, who unhesitatingly shows care for others, who faithfully completes assigned work while thinking about better ways forward. I playfully answered, “You’ll be number one on Forbes’ 20-something leaders list,” but deep down, I meant every word. Someone who knows how to make her own path, whatever road she takes. I wanted to leave at least a small signpost along that path.

Now I see that what I learned from B wasn’t simply technical collaboration. She was someone who showed me how trust forms as we endure exhausted moments together. I won’t forget that experience for a long time.

5 What Lasts

In retrospect, the workplace was a space where things I couldn’t have done alone became possible. That strength came from people, from relationships. From S, I learned the steadiness of enjoying the present. From J, I learned how to express ambition with polish. From B, I learned about trust and how we doesn’t lose our laughter even in a crisis.

Thanks to them, I could become someone less hardened, less cold. The reason waking up early in the morning isn’t painful. It was because of these faces.

Just as they did for me, I hope that I, too, can make someone’s day a little less lonely. That slight feeling still keeps me in this world. Perhaps generational differences aren’t a divide, but the warmest bridge we extend to one another.