My office is just about perfect. It’s as quiet or loud as I
want it to be. The temperature is always to my liking. No one ever throws
garlicy take-out containers in my waste paper basket.
The one thing my office lacks is motivational force. The space is as conducive to napping and pleasure reading as it is to working. I don’t have to worry that my boss will wander by and notice that I’m chuckling my way through Bossy Pants for the third time and there’s no chance that someone will stop in to ask how it’s going on the Penske file. (Yes, that is a Seinfeld reference. Good for you!)
Years ago, I bumped into a former colleague in a local coffee shop. We had worked together for a short time before he was asked to go work someplace else. I was glad to see he was suited up and toting his briefcase.
“Where did you land?” I asked, assuming he’d explain some mid or upper level executive gig.
“I’m doing some consulting,” he said. “It’s great. I work out of my house.”
“Big meeting today?”
“Oh, because of my suit? No. I wear a suit and tie every day. I grab my briefcase, drive here to get coffee, and then go home. It I feels more like going to work. I’m more productive.”
I never understood why he wasn’t onto himself. I mean, how gullible can you be? Still, dressing up and driving around seemed to work for him. When I began freelancing I actually tried it once. I put on clean jeans and my 5% cashmere sweater, went out for coffee, drove home, fired up my laptop, and watched two episodes of the Daily Show.
Now I just remind myself that I can’t invoice work I don’t do. Works like a charm.