Working from home: inspiration for the undisciplined
By Kate M. Jackson, 3/20/05
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Illustration/Randy Stevens
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It's been said the ability to work at home has to be wired into someone's DNA.
Spending so much time alone would seem to require an innate desire for solitude and a fascist-style self-discipline that cannot be learned.
It's really no surprise that home-based workers are often regarded as socially awkward souls who keep odd pets and frighten little kids who come to their doors selling candy. At first glance, a freelance lifestyle may appear best left to the hermits and those a few degrees south of crazy. But if scientists ever identify a work-at-home gene, they may be baffled by the results.
People are in shock when I tell them how much I love working from home. I am an antihomebody. Highly social and fiercely undisciplined, I would describe my former office work experience as an extended coffee break with scattered bursts of productivity. My cubicle functioned as a lounge rather than a workspace, accommodating a steady stream of co-workers looking for a quick break.
Of course, everyone has had that day at work: You're trapped in a windowless conference room, the air thick with carbon dioxide from a verbose colleague's rambling. You have a lukewarm Diet Coke for lunch. Back at your desk, there is a passive-aggressive e-mail waiting from that co-worker who uses the "cc" function to highlight your mistakes. Before you can reply, you're off to another epic meeting where you endure the relentless abuse of the word "vis-à-vis."
My epiphany was not the result of a few bad days at the office. It came on a random Tuesday afternoon when I was working in high-tech public relations. During a meeting, one of our interns said "my poorly lit cubicle is turning me into a narcoleptic." He actually said "necrophiliac" but promptly corrected himself, lightening up the usual climate of gloomy restraint. We discussed cubicles, or "veil-fattening pens" as Doug Coupland called them in his 1991 book Generation X. We wondered why, with all the technological advancements in the world, cubicle design has yet to evolve.
The 9-to-5 office environment, with its endless meetings and fault-finding lighting, is completely devoid of inspiration. While this atmosphere could have a narcoleptic effect on any profession, it is particularly unkind to those in the creative field. I felt so relieved. It wasn't me who was lacking, it was my environment.
As I packed up my desk a few weeks later, I listened to "Watching the Wheels" by John Lennon over and over again. Triumphantly casting off the chains of corporate culture, I couldn't wait to tell everyone who assured me I'd go crazy at home that "I just had to let it go." I am a free-spirited freelancer. I can wear my filthy jeans to work. I can grocery shop on my lunch hour.
I set up my home office in a spare bedroom with a lot of natural light.
After adjusting to the financial realities of a horrific pay cut and self-employed Social Security taxes, I felt more like a hostage than a free spirit. As I searched for writing assignments, I learned a large majority of the population views the title "freelancer" as a euphemism for "unemployed." Most people were skeptical about hiring someone who'd recently fled the corporate pen. "Why would you leave a job in this economy? What do you do all day?" one potential client asked. When I hung up the phone I couldn't help but ask, "What have I done?" Luckily some friends took pity on me and sent me some assignments to keep me solvent while I searched for steady gigs.
My first week as a freelancer, I was at my computer by 8 a.m. every morning, enthusiastic and ready to write. By 9:30 a.m., I was usually elbow-deep in a sack of powdered Donettes watching "Texas Justice."
By week two, daytime television had lost its allure. I became desperate for human contact and e-mailed everyone in my address book. Catching up with old friends was therapeutic.
Week three, I spent an entire afternoon cleaning the tile grout in my bathroom with a Sonic Care toothbrush. I have a natural aversion to cleaning and haven't dusted since 1998.
Nonetheless, I vacuumed, scrubbed, and polished my way out of writing that week. By the end of the first month, I'd accomplished very little. Deadlines looming, I thought it may be time to ponder a serious career change. Worse, I missed going into an office every day. I missed my Dunkin' Donuts guy who would melt the sugar in my iced coffee so it wouldn't cascade into a gritty pile at the bottom of the cup. I missed our zany receptionist who used to spritz her plastic flowers with perfume because she was allergic to real ones. I finally decided I didn't need the office; I just needed a new daily routine.
I began working late afternoons into the evenings. The first day from 3 p.m. - 8 p.m., the next from 7 p.m. midnight. Working during these hours, I found I accomplished more than I would have in a full week at the office. I was writing better than I had in a long time. I could almost feel new neural pathways opening up. All of these years, I'd been working normal business hours and my creativity was on a different clock.
It's been more than four years since I started freelancing and work has never been better. I am convinced that social, undisciplined people can be productive in a home office, perhaps even find solace within it.
I still miss some of the perks of office life, like not having paid maternity leave when my first child was born. And since my schedule is erratic, so is my babysitting coverage (that's a whole other essay). After the birth of my second child, my office became a nursery. I now have a small workstation lodged between a crib and a 3-foot tall stuffed Elmo. Still, I can't ever imagine going back to an office.
Today when people ask how I keep myself from going crazy at home, I just tell them I was born this way.
LIFE AT WORK:
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