We’re all ordered to limit the time we spend in the outside world, and for me this imposed disposition is nothing new since I’ve been operating remotely for the past three years.
At first it was liberating to have the freedom to conduct my editorial calendar based on my preferences without the nagging presence of hovering micro-managers.
But within the last six months there’s been a major shift in the way I view the notion of being tucked away from the annoyance of sharing space with co-workers, who each present a unique form of communication skills, and problematic traits.
After spending most of my adult life as a resident in energetic hubs like New York City and Los Angeles, the initial embrace of a location with a much slower temperament finally wore off.
I made a new year’s resolution for the first time since I don’t know when, and the goal was to make a triumphant return back to the chilly bosom of my first love, in the hopes that our long separation would yield mutually beneficial rewards.
I even convinced myself to accept the bet of a long overdue makeover, that was supposed to include a snazzy haircut and the reignited affair with facials.
There was also the strong commitment to in-person meetings with recruiters and the…
