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This week, I hit the one-month anniversary of working remotely.
The house is humming with the sound of laptops during the week. The Girl is taking her high school classes remotely, and The Boy is taking his college classes remotely. The Wife and I are both working remotely, sitting at the dining room table opposite each other, facing our respective laptops. From the side, it looks like we’re playing Battleship.
I’ll admit that for the first few days of working remotely, I absolutely hated it. Part of that was the intensity of all of those Zoom meetings combined with the intensity of having to figure out how to put the semester back together again on short notice, and part of it was the sense of “invading my space” that came from losing the spatial punctuation of the daily commute. Suddenly I was tethered to the laptop in a place where I was accustomed to being able to pick it up and put it down.
Over several weeks, the strangeness has faded. Now I treat the dining room as a workspace and the rest of home as home (except for when TW and I have calls at the same time and one of us has to move). Regaining that sense of spatial punctuation has helped; when I finally untether from the laptop at the end of the day, at least for a while, switching spaces helps the change feel real.
Saving drive time has been lovely; I’m able to get up at a slightly more reasonable hour and still start on time. I haven’t worn a tie in a month, which is more than fine. Being able to throw a load of laundry in the washer during the day has taken some pressure off the evenings. Other than a gallon for the lawn mower, I haven’t bought gas in a month. I’m behind on podcasts, but that’s a small price to pay.
We’re lucky, in many ways. The kids are old enough to supervise themselves, and they have their own rooms with desks in them. We both have jobs that have allowed us to work from home. The Wi-Fi has (mostly) held up. The dog, Sally, is in declining health, but at least we’re able to spend most of her remaining time with her. She has already crashed a few meetings.
So all is well, right?
Well, no.
There’s no shortage of formal communication. The combination of Zoom meetings, voice calls and emails adds up to a lot of information flying back and forth among various people. On some days I interact with more people this way than I did in a typical day on campus. I’ve even brought back my old “Mondays With Matt,” a sort of weekly fireside chat via Zoom on Monday evenings with whoever on campus wants to check in. That’s much easier in a remote format. (TW suggested that I should start the meetings sitting in our fanciest chair, in front of a bookcase, in a tweed jacket, with a snifter of brandy next to me. I should look up from a leather-bound book, say something like, “Oh, hello, I didn’t see you there,” proffer an avuncular chuckle and start the discussion with a literary reference. It’s tempting, but some probably wouldn’t get the joke. Also, I don’t drink brandy, and we’re all out of snifters.)
But the informal communication is sorely lacking. The random hallway or office conversations that shed unexpected light have gone missing. Conversations now are scheduled and purposive.
Part of the joy of working at a college is the life of the campus itself. As I’ve moved into middle age, I’ve acquired the power of invisibility to young people that often comes with being over, let’s say, 40. Moving around undetected means being able to hear things unfiltered. My formal interactions with students tend to be fairly limited, but when I’m on campus, students are everywhere, and I’m a good listener. In the parking lot, or the cafeteria, or the hallway, I’ll hear things that keep me grounded. Working remotely, student input is almost entirely secondhand. That’s a real loss.
On Zoom, there’s no equivalent to walking around. Everything has a predetermined purpose. It’s the difference between playdates and “go out and play.” Nothing against playdates or purposive conversations, but a lot of life happens in unstructured moments. Lose those, and the whole experience gets flatter.
I’m glad and grateful to have a comparatively positive work-at-home experience. It could certainly be a lot worse. But I miss the feeling of being at a college. It’s the best part of the job.
