It’s been four months of working from home now, and we’re on this three-team rotation system.
I love working from home. No more commuting– meaning I’ve reclaimed roughly two hours of my life each day that I used to spend contemplating my existence while stuck behind someone who changes lanes as if he’s moments away from an emergency of the digestive variety.
No more of that delicate office fashion balancing act, where you try to look professional yet remain insulated enough to survive the arctic tundra that is corporate air conditioning. And best of all? No more physically attending meetings that could have been emails– you know, those 45-minute pre-meetings about other meetings that we are going to have.
Life is beautifully straightforward now. Sure, we lose that “personal touch” that management gurus love to lament, but between you and me, I think that’s highly overrated. Or maybe that’s just my inner introvert talking– the same voice that silently cheers whenever social plans get cancelled due to bad weather.
Work life is better, though calling it balanced might be pushing it. Take my mancave– once my sacred refuge, the place where I escaped to immerse myself in books and go down YouTube rabbit holes that are not safe for the living room TV while my two daughters are around.
Now? It has absorbed the metaphysical stench of work frustrations. It’s like my office migrated into my home and is marking its territory. What was once my decompression chamber has become a compression chamber. Which is why, more often than not, I now find myself sprawled in the living room with the family, attempting to cleanse my psyche of PowerPoint and Excel residue.
But I digress.
One unexpected perk of working from home? More time on my bike. No longer do I have to leave the house at an ungodly hour for an equally ungodly 8 AM meeting. I also get quality time with Cheryl (when she’s not in her office) and the kids during breaks, which is something I’m genuinely grateful for.
I have no idea how long this arrangement will last, but I’m determined to squeeze every last drop of benefit from it while it does.
If only I could develop some immunity to the siren call of the kitchen cabinet. Working twelve short steps away from my snack supply has revealed a disturbing truth: my self-control has all the fortitude of a comic book geek being offered an exclusive sneak peek at the next Avengers movie.