Decompression Time
Telecommuting is a wonderful thing. You don't have to get up early if there's bad weather, don't have to wonder if the car needs gas, and your commute time rocks. But commuting has its good points, and I mean more than catching up on your podcasts.
Unless you're a crackberry addict or cellphone-inmate, the commute delineates the workday and the non-work with a bright and sharp line. If you hoped to drop by Jill's office to discuss the new budget, too bad, you'll get to it tomorrow. You're driving home and the radio DJ is spinning an Alice In Chains rockblock. Work will resume when you get back to work.
Or maybe you had a bad day at the office. The big boss came down and insinuated that your team could pull more weight, or Accounting screwed up your reimbursement again. You get in the car and drive a little faster than you know you should and you curse at the slow poke in front of you, and ten minutes later you're over it. Muscles unclench and frayed nerves unwind and you start thinking about home, anticipating, and you feel a little better.
The telecommuter enjoys no such separation. You can't get away from the office because you live in it. Maybe you have a separate "office" in your house, but c'mon, it's a room. It's not like you'd have to grab the keys to get there. If you really wanted to get something done and it didn't happen, the desire remains like an itch you can't scratch, unless you keep working.
And if you have a day where you couldn't kill that bug if you worked for RAID, there's no commute to calm down in. You leave your desk and a minute later you're at the dinner table, steaming to rival the broccoli.
Well, I've done far too much of it, and I'm instituting a calming commuting time here at home. I'm going to read, write, listen, and above all relax so that when I walk down the stairs and see my family, I'm ready to not work and be home.
Unless you're a crackberry addict or cellphone-inmate, the commute delineates the workday and the non-work with a bright and sharp line. If you hoped to drop by Jill's office to discuss the new budget, too bad, you'll get to it tomorrow. You're driving home and the radio DJ is spinning an Alice In Chains rockblock. Work will resume when you get back to work.
Or maybe you had a bad day at the office. The big boss came down and insinuated that your team could pull more weight, or Accounting screwed up your reimbursement again. You get in the car and drive a little faster than you know you should and you curse at the slow poke in front of you, and ten minutes later you're over it. Muscles unclench and frayed nerves unwind and you start thinking about home, anticipating, and you feel a little better.
The telecommuter enjoys no such separation. You can't get away from the office because you live in it. Maybe you have a separate "office" in your house, but c'mon, it's a room. It's not like you'd have to grab the keys to get there. If you really wanted to get something done and it didn't happen, the desire remains like an itch you can't scratch, unless you keep working.
And if you have a day where you couldn't kill that bug if you worked for RAID, there's no commute to calm down in. You leave your desk and a minute later you're at the dinner table, steaming to rival the broccoli.
Well, I've done far too much of it, and I'm instituting a calming commuting time here at home. I'm going to read, write, listen, and above all relax so that when I walk down the stairs and see my family, I'm ready to not work and be home.
posted by Christopher A. Dellario at 2:03 PM
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