Work Release

Some days, my commute to work can be pretty tough.

If one of the kids spills their milk, conditions can get slippery. And when there's a pileup -- of toys on the basement steps -- there can be significant delays in getting downstairs to my office.

I started working some of my hours from home almost 7 years ago, and for about half that time I've been a 100% remote employee. I vaguely remember those office days, but it's hard to imagine going back at this point. On the other hand, I may actually observe a stricter dress code for the most part than my last office -- I find that the more casually I dress, the dumber I am. I must say I particularly appreciate the "footwear-optional" policy at this location, however.

Obviously self-discipline can be an issue when you're all alone. If nothing else, the combination of no one watching, a little bit of stress, and unlimited access to snacks can be dangerous, if not lethal. The biggest challenge, however, is probably the isolation. I'm pretty solitary by nature... but even for me, there's a fine line between solitary work and solitary confinement.

That's why my occasional forays out of "the office" can feel a bit like being let out of jail (or at least like the prison work-release program). Taken to its extreme, I get to go to a meeting in Las Vegas; after all, the 7 people on my immediate team live in 6 different states, so that kind of extravagance is the only way we ever get to see each other.

Even my last "outing", although not reaching the Vegas standard, was a significant treat. Last week I drove about an hour to attend a class in Microsoft Excel (no, Bill doesn't get a link from me). I got to wear a shirt with a collar, and real shoes, and carry a briefcase. Just for one day I got to feel like a grownup... as opposed to a kid holed up in the basement playing video games or something.

Granted, the impartial observer might see it as a bit of a disappointment. I drove a long way, in the rain, to sit in a drafty meeting room with a mob of strangers (some of these strangers, judging from their inane and repetitive questions, had a difficult time finding their way home afterwards). The instructor was... well, not a natural teacher, with a decent but not awe-inspiring grasp of Excel. Though I was only four rows back, I couldn't see much of the work on the screen anyway; I could frankly sit down for an hour with the handout and get more out of it. Even my long-anticipated lunch out was just okay.

On the other hand, I just kept remembering it was my Grand Day Out -- and isn't it fortunate that I have such a relentlessly sunny outlook on life? After all, the next workday is back to the slippers, and back to the basement... at least as soon as the traffic clears on the stairs.