13 Jun 2014
I am really used to working from home. Grad school will do that you, and a dissertation will drive it home (ah, those cold mornings I spent researching at my kitchen table in Berkeley, with a hat on!) Writing, the kind of writing I do now, lends itself well to this way of life too. Over the last ten years, I’ve become so comfortable and cozy at home, putting together rhythms and routines that work for me and switching them up every couple of months when they get stale. I love getting out and about, but home is my base, a place of books and warm Earl Grey (in a few months!) These past few months have been busy ones, though, and every day there are places to go: checkups and appointments, grocery runs and other household errands, and all manner of baby prep. Also, I would probably go crazy if I didn’t get to hang out with Hillary at least twice a week. So these days, a whole day at home is a rarity. It happens once every few weeks, and I love it.
My home days feel expansive as they stretch out before me, and I often find that I have more focus if I know I won’t have to stop working to go somewhere. On home days I write and I research and I clean and I play with my toys: paint or paper, fabric or felt. I get things done that I have been meaning to tackle for weeks. I take time to read and have Skype dates and cook (well, I cook almost every day anyway because I am a pregnant T-Rex, but I enjoy it more when I don’t have to be rushed.) These days are so restorative, and they leave me ready to rush out to a prenatal appointment or a birthing class or even the farmer’s market. I always make sure to get out for a walk or a trip to the gym in the evening, and the whole world feels new: the brilliant blue of the sky, the gentle whisper of leaves in the wind, the shadows of palm trees dancing at my feet.
I think that I’m extroverted by nature, but as I grow older, I find more introverted traits developing in myself, and I kind of love it. A new branch growing on an old tree.