If home is where I live, the office can be where I work. I’ve never had a problem with this distinction. In fact, I used to quite like it until it disappeared.
If I ask you “How’s the office?” right now, you’ll probably say some version of: “What office? My office is everywhere, as long as it’s in my house.” But what if I slightly alter the question? What if I ask you: “How do you feel about the office?” What’s the first thing that comes to mind?
Maybe, it’s the spicy hot dogs you inappropriately ate at 9 AM in the morning in the canteen of the place you interned at when you were 23. Maybe, it’s that one overbearing boss whose antics made you paranoid about details in a way you can’t quite shake to this day, paranoia you now often wonder about, hating it, yet thinking it may actually, ironically, contribute to your success.
Maybe, it’s the friendly doorman greeting you with a relentless smile each morning as you entered a big skyscraper you knew you’d only leave when it was dark again. Maybe, it’s the pungent smell of your colleague’s desk plant, a plant you wanted to throw into the trash every time you walked by but that now, you still somehow seem to miss.
Whatever they may look like, chances are, your feelings about the office are more complicated than “I’m so glad to be rid of it.” At least mine are.
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