This week was my friend Cami’s birthday, and my roommate and I decided to treat her to dinner at a Michelin-listed restaurant. No, it didn’t have any stars—but it was on the Michelin website, and in our book, that still counts. A three-star restaurant might have been tempting, but the price tag quickly put that fantasy to rest. Still, the evening was perfect. The food was incredible, the atmosphere was warm, and the three of us spent the night trading stories and laughing until our cheeks hurt.

Just a few days later, I traded the cozy restaurant for the open sea. Over the weekend, I took the overnight ferry to Helsinki, Finland, with the international intern group. The highlight of the trip wasn’t the destination—at least not at first—it was the journey. A group of us stayed up until 5:00 a.m. just to watch the sunrise over the water, freeze our buts off, and take pictures. However, once we arrived, I discovered my true version of paradise: a spa where the day was spent gliding between sauna heat, cool swims, and moments stretched out under the sun. That slow rhythm—sweat, swim, sunbathe, repeat—was pure bliss.

Traveling with such a diverse group also gave me another layer of cultural insight. Conversations on the ferry and while exploring Helsinki were a mix of accents, languages, and personal communication habits. It was fascinating to see how some people were comfortable with long silences, while others (myself included) felt the urge to fill every pause. Observing these subtle differences outside of a formal work environment gave me a better sense of how varied communication norms can be, and it helped me connect the dots between what I experience socially and what I see in the office.

Back in Stockholm, however, life shifted back into the rhythm of work, and with it came a fresh round of reflections on communication. Sweden tends to fall on the low-context end of the communication scale. This means people here value clarity, directness, and transparency—saying exactly what they mean without much reading between the lines. In contrast, I’ve noticed that in American settings, there’s often more nuance, small talk, and indirect hints, even in professional conversations. This shift has been refreshing in some ways, as I rarely leave a conversation wondering what someone truly meant. But it has also made me more aware of just how much I naturally pad my own communication with context and implied meaning.

In my hybrid work environment, the clarity-first approach is even more important. I’m not on a hybrid schedule myself, but many of my colleagues are, which means clear communication is essential to keep everyone on the same page. When part of your team is working remotely, there’s no room for vague instructions or assumptions—misinterpretations can snowball quickly. I learned this the hard way early on when I misread an email and began working on a task in the wrong format. While the correction was quick and painless, it reminded me that I need to slow down, read messages carefully, and, when in doubt, confirm. This is especially true when English is the shared working language, but not everyone’s first language—choosing words thoughtfully can make or break understanding.

I’ve also had to get used to the idea that silence is not awkward here. In the U.S., I might rush to fill a pause, but in Sweden, silence often signals thoughtfulness or processing. In fact, jumping in too quickly can feel like you’re interrupting that process. Learning to be comfortable with these quiet moments has been surprisingly difficult, but also grounding—it forces me to listen fully instead of planning my next words.

This internship has made me more intentional about how I adapt my communication style depending on the context. In a low-context, direct environment like Sweden, I’ve learned to be concise, avoid unnecessary jargon, and not overcomplicate my points. I’ve also learned the value of checking for understanding rather than assuming it. These skills, while born from necessity here, are universally useful, especially in global teams where every word carries more weight than we might realize.

Overall, this experience has made me more aware of the importance of adapting my communication style to the environment I’m in. It’s about finding the balance between my natural instincts—layered, informal, and often peppered with humor—and the Swedish preference for clarity, directness, and minimal fuss. And while I still occasionally miss the ease of joking my way through a conversation, I’ve learned that precision and simplicity have their own kind of elegance.